Toujours Pur

Dead.

Easy. Dead she could do. She was sure that, with the poison as a base for future potions, she could do dead in a hundred different ways. It should have unsteadied her exponentially but it was the seduction of dark magic seeping through her, making her painfully excited. The lust that was thrumming under her skin was not kept wholly to that branch of magic, either. She eyed Alexander curiously for a moment before burying the desire, deciding it most definitely was not the time.

Nodding, Isadora abandoned her broom and stepped back into the other room. She looked into the cauldron where the thick, black liquid was still thrumming away to itself and she lifted the lid onto the top. Picking up a block of sticky notes she wrote ‘do not touch’ in big, bold letterings before sticking it on the lid. She had the ingredients written down in her journal and she was sure there would be a lot of sleep when the night came. She wanted it perfect. She wanted them to die quietly.

There weren’t enough rats in Hogsmeade to deal with the kind of rigorous testing left.

“Are there any Dark Followers left?” She asked distractedly, pressing her fingertip over the note. She turned back to her husband, briefly stepping into the other room to grab her broom.

Shuffling the broom at the glass in the back room she made another pile, sending it out into the alley way, and put the broom down by the door. She strode back into the main room and leaned against the frame, reaching a hand up to rub her finger at the cut in the wood interestedly.

“I’d rather be the budding benefactress,” she responded with a half-smile. “As I’m sure you can tell, I am not partial to doing my own dirty work.”

“And besides,” the blonde went on. “That sick vampire has my house,” she scowled. It was all part of the reason why she’d been married into the Notts in the first place. No one had any money anymore. “If and when I join a faction, I’d like to assume control of some sort. Not to send the Death Eaters running around after the Order, but for my home.”

That, she’d never let go of. She hated being subservient to the vampire in way of employment but she was biding her time. She would bide her time. No wars were won in a day, after all, and she wanted her house back. She’d get it eventually, too – of that she was certain.

“Also,” she pointed out, “wouldn’t you rather to play nice with Madam Du Hunt and take my potions for your own? I’ll let you have a werewolf, and all the Death Eater glory – what a good wife I am.”

Alexander listened to his wife as he continued to clean up her mess. Oh she was a good wife wasn't she, letting him have all the glory. However, Alexander couldn't help but doubt that would be the case. What if she changed her mind, much like she'd changed her personality? Once a shy, quiet girl now killing had gone to her head and she was ready to slaughter another werewolf tomorrow. What was to say she didn't decide to prove her husband a liar and take the glory for her own?

No. If he did use her potions Alexander would make sure to be honest, allow the death eaters to know exactly who brewed such a potion. Truth be told he liked the picture of having such a powerful, useful wife. The other death eaters would envy him, it would propel him up their ranks soon enough and with little work from himself. If asked why she doesn't want to join the faction, well, she's still a student isn't she - Scoprius could probably vouch for him in that it'd be too dangerous for her at the present, she's best behind the scenes.

'Of course.' He amused her, admiring his handy work at fixing the shop and turning to the body in the center of the shop. 'There are dark followers. We just do a good job at keeping our identities private. My sister's one.' He added, not needing to go into detail which of his two sisters. If Isadora had noticed anything during her stay at the Nott mansion surely it was that Anastasia Nott was like the others. She was an annoying brat who, if it wasn't for her thirst in gaining her Fathers approval, defy all pure blood ideologies without the blink of an eyelid.

Creak. Alexander froze. They weren't alone...

'What's going on?' Bertie asked as he stepped into the main room after coming in the back entrance. His brown eyes hadn't yet caught sight of the werewolf, instead focusing on Alexander Nott and Isadora Malfoy - two faces he'd seen around Hogwarts. Chances are they didn't know who he was, Isadora maybe being only a year older, but to the Slytherin he may as well have been a muggle.

Earlier that day Bertie, working in Flourish and Blotts next door, had heard screams, yells, bellows from the apothecary next door. It appeared some of the customers had also heard the commotion but when Bertie had stepped outside to investigate the front windows had their curtains drawn and a 'closed' sign hung from the door.

Deciding to continue the day as if nothing had happened Bertie got back to work and helped a customer select the perfect book for magical first aide.

Three hours later there was more commotion, this time in Flourish And Blott's itself. One customer, a girl who would be starting her first year at Hogwarts, had accidentally let her new owl from it's cage where it began to wreck havoc in the book store. There was bird poo on books, books fallen from shelves, the odd feather drifting from the ceiling where the girls parents had attempted to grasp the owl. Five minutes later and Bertie found himself dumping the stained and damaged books into a box in the back yard behind Diagon Alley.

It was during this brief trip outside that he heard voices coming from the apothecary next door. They weren't friendly voices, nor had they been the sort of voices that were from Ministry officials. They belonged to students. Quickly checking the other sales assistant would not need him Bertie left the yard of Flourish and Blotts, pushed open the gate to the apothecary yard and momentarily froze.

The back window had been smashed, probably by one of the forgotten bricks that was stacked near a bottom-less cauldron. Usually Bertie would have turned away, retreated and pretended that nothing had happened but a wave of curiosity had overcome him and the Ravenclaw had entered with a creak of the opening back door and now found himself in the apothecary.

It was not the most conventional bonding sessions – the murder of a rather innocent werewolf. Albeit, a werewolf would never be innocent of anything but he’d come for help, not for trouble and not for his life to be ended. If it wasn’t such a breakthrough then Isadora would have been devastated. She was half certain that would sink in later. For now, though, she was balancing feelings of satisfaction and an eagerness for Alexander to hurry up.

She laughed a little, opening her mouth to comment that the Dark Followers had to be well hidden for them to be almost urban myth style missing in Hogwarts. She would keep out of their business she knew. But then, learning that his sister was involved, she was tempted to stick her eggs in. For now though Isadora would keep her peace. Though that peace was going to be disturbed.

Isadora turned at the sound of a voice and felt all of the dread slip into her stomach. She finally felt the guilt. It hit her with a start what she’d done. Someone else would have the capacity of knowing and she surged forward desperately, her hands seizing the shoulders of the young Ravenclaw.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed at him, trying to turn him around. “The shop is closed. You’re trespassing.”

Alexander had turned on the spot when the person behind the creak from the back door made themselves known. It was a Hogwart student he was certain and, despite Isadora's physical restraint on the poor boy Alexander had aimed his wand in the boys direction, moving closer and pressing it against the boys cheek.

'I-I work next door!' Bertie gasped, his heart thumping hard against his chest as he felt Isadora's finger constrict around his shoulders taking away any physical power he may have had. 'Please, I, I only came in because I saw the backdoor window was - was smash!'

An audible squeak concluded this announcement as the Ravenclaw felt the nails of Isadora Malfoy piercing through his uniform top and into his pale skin. So this is what curiosity got him was it? A wand in his face and fingers clutching to his shoulders.

His eyes darted from Isadora's fierce eyes to Alexander's slits, then, his eyes halted. Behind them on the floor was a man, a man so still that Bertie could have easily passed him as a mannequin. Had this been madame malkins then perhaps he would have, but Slug and Jiggers wasn't the sort of place to have a mannequin.

'W-what, what, I,?' Disjointed words and audible yelps were all that escaped Bertie as he tried to take in the horror before him. All colour draining from his face as his eyes didn't leave the body. At the moment Bertie was in denial about there being a murder, in denial that the person before them was dead. Nobody had said those words as of yet, to Bertie it didn't seem real, it couldn't be real.

The feeling of Alexander's wand pressing harder on his cheek silenced Bertie, the Ravenclaw looking teary-eyed from Alexander to Isadora, flickering down to his shoes in fear of looking at them in the eye.

'Please. Let me go.' The tears began to fall.

“Close your eyes,” Isadora hissed darkly. “And forget everything you’ve seen.”

Isadora turned her head and looked at Alexander. There was an insecurity in her gaze here. Everything upon everything could fall apart before them if the boy opened his mouth. Isadora softened her grasp on him somewhat, feeling her nails excuse themselves from where they’d dug into his skin. As the boy’s tears began to fall, Isadora lifted one of her hands and in a small burst of maternal affection she wiped her knuckles underneath his eyes, taking away the cracks.

She turned back to Alexander, catching her lower lip between her teeth, and she pushed on the boy again, directing him in towards the back room. She put her hand on his head, slowly petting back a few locks of dark hair and she gently set him down in one of the chairs. She patted him on the head and sighed testily, unsure how to progress.

“Do we change his memories?” She asked carefully.

That wouldn’t work, though. Of that she was near positive. Memories didn’t stay quelled forever, after all. Isadora bent down and placed her hands on the arms of the chair either side of Bertie. She would have to indulge the blind faith of a child. She didn’t have another choice.

“You listen to me,” she murmured. “Bad things are going to happen to the people who know about this. Bad things are going to happen to anyone who knows who isn’t meant to. You’re not meant to know. You don’t want to be hurt, do you Bertie? We'll let you go, won't we Alexander, but you need to forget this. You need to not know."

Bertie allowed Isadora to pet him, although it did initially give a shiver down the spine. For a brief period Bertie felt frozen, the only image before him was that of the dead man. Whoever that man was, whether he was in here attempting to burgle the place or was simply here to pick up some dung beetles he had a purpose. People cared for him, people loved him. He had a purpose.

Bertie had often wrote novels where a character dies, it was always painful, especially if he had grown attached to the character. Whenever that happened he thought about who would miss that character, whose life it would affect him being dead. Until this moment he never suspected a character that didn't know them. However, the Ravenclaw was starting to get an idea of how Vivianna must have felt when she saw Bertie's limp body, believing him to be very much like that man.

His surroundings started to return to him. Isadora was talking about modifying his memory, how bad things will happen to anyone knows how- She knew his name. It probably wouldn't have been that surprising given there was a years difference and rumours of his 'death' had spread around the school, but still. She knew his name. If she knew his name what else did she know? Did Isadora know the person who mean't more to him in the world than anybody else? Vivianna? Erika? His Mother?

No. His Mother was a squib, she was safe. The Malfoy girl wouldn't know where to start looking for his Mother and as for his Father? As far as Bertie was concerned he didn't have one.

'I. W-what happened?' He asked sadly, his eyes staring straight ahead at the broken back door window. Why he was wanting to know Bertie wasn't quite sure, although it would probably help with giving closure on this awful turn of events.

Not nearly enough terror had been instilled into the boy and Isadora felt a small sigh slide past her lips. She licked them briefly and rose back up to her full height. She passed a hand over the front of her dress thoughtfully as she reached up to play from the pen that hung from a chain around her neck and she glanced briefly at her husband, trying to consider the best course of action. But then it occurred to her, she could tell his lie.

“Well sweetheart,” Isadora began, her voice sickly sweet but in keeping with the slight undertone of danger. “He was poisoned, you see. He came here looking for a remedy for it and when I couldn’t supply one, things got a little bit out of hand. My husband here came just at the right time but the poison seemed to do for my would-be-assailant just as Alexander arrived. It was truly dreadful. But you don’t need to worry your little mind with it. He can’t hurt you. He’s dead.”

Isadora took up Bertie’s hands in her own, chilled ones and squeezed them gently before tugging, urging him to his feet. Then she stepped back a few paces towards the door, setting one of her hands on his back. She rubbed what should have been calming circles into his back but she needed him out. She had trouble finding affection in the first place for people. She couldn’t do it under these stressful circumstances, either. She felt awful for the boy, as it was. He couldn’t think about it, though. He just had to forget for now.

“Really little one,” she added, “think of it only as a bad dream. He was going to die anyway. The person who did this to him was incorrigible. We could only do so much. He was a fugitive too. You’ve heard of James Blood’s pack, have you not? It’s not safe to be tied up in such things. So what I’ll do for you is I will forget I even saw you, how’s that, and you’ll be able to get along and when the rest of them find out that their pack mate is gone, Alexander and the Ministry will deal with them and you’ll be safe, won’t you, because they won’t know about you. How does that sound?”

Just go already, kid, she thought irately. Before I do something I’ll regret.

Bertie's breathing was slightly rattled. How could Isadora be so open about such a monstrous act? She had slaughtered a man. He was somebody's person and now, now he was nothing. What would Alexander and Isadora do with his body? Sell it for parts, bury it, destroy it? That man had a family somewhere whether he was a fugitive or not and his family deserved to know the truth around his death.

Was Bertie going to declare these feelings? No. He hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason and that reason being he was a coward, someone was hid into the shadows when it was time to stand up and if he didn't run or hide he'd observe. That was the problem with Bertie, he was a watcher as opposed to a doer and in a situation like this he really needed to be a doer.

Finding himself outside of the apothecary Bertie wiped a stray tear away and gathered his breath. He could report them, go straight to the ministry, heck he could alert the entire Alley and have Malfoy and Nott show their true colours: criminals. She had said he was a criminal but wasn't she just the same? A lowly vagabond.

He could run back to Flourish and Blotts but could he work there knowing in the shop besides him worked a murderer? No. He needed to run, escape Isadora and forget he had ever walked in on such a scene. Today he would mull things over, tomorrow? A letter of resignation would find it's way on the managers desk. Of course he'd have to face Malfoy at Hogwarts but he would deal with that when the time came.

Finding the strength in him he attempted to wipe the horrific stare from his face and made his way back to Flourish and Blotts - standing outside the back door for a good five minutes before entering.

'Harsh.' Alexander muttered once Isadora had ushered the boy out of the shop. 'You really do have a wicked streak don't you, Isadora.'

Redirecting his attention Alexander returned to the main room of the apothecary where lay the dead man. A sadness rolled across his eyes. Here lay a man dead, dead at the hands of his wife. He supposed he ought to get used to this sort of work, being a death eater and all, well. He certainly would have a bit more experience than what Henry Yewbeam had had upon joining the faction.

Raising his wand he focused all his concentration and imagined the man becoming smaller, shrinking, pocket sized. It was a tough charm to master on humans but Alexander wasn't an ordinary wizard. He was a Nott. He was exceptional.

'Reducio.' He spoke, not bothering to attempt such a complex non-verbal spell. Slowly, gradually, the man became small enough to fit in his pocket.

Ignoring whatever Isadora was doing Alexander scooped up the man and pushed past into the back yard when he lay him on a upturned cauldron. How would be destroy the man. Fiendfyre? No. That could get out of hand. Transfiguration? Yes.

'Evanesco.' Alexander spoke, choosing to vanish the man.

No change.

'Evanesco.' Alexander repeated, not blushing that he hadn't succeeded in the spell. This particular transfiguration was taught in the fifth year but they never ventured on anything more than a cat. Being a verterbrae they were hard as it was, especially when vanishing the likes of a snail, but this man was no cat he was a human and humans were a lot more complex than cats no matter what their size.

'Evanesco.' Nothing. Turning his back on the small body, Alexander's cheeks reddening he raised his wand fiercely thinking the word Expulso as he swung around aiming the spell at the tiny body.

BAM! There was no sound, what with the man being so small, but delicate bones and organs burst, erupting from the body that was no more. The man was gone. This horrible situation was over... For now.

When Bertie was gone, Isadora slipped down into the chair he’d vacated. A chill was beginning to come over her now as the situation changed. Liberated from the unforgiving eyes of the boy, left only with the cynical words of her husband, Isadora didn’t have a lot else. The initial glowing period of the success had begun to wear off quite rapidly and where once she had been warm and satisfied, now it was beginning to sink in exactly what she’d done. But there was still things to do.

Taking in a breath, Isadora knew something had to be done about the cauldron. The vial she’d initially had was destroyed by the werewolf. That gone, it left only the cauldron and, gathering her wits about her, Isadora got to her feet and looked amongst the vials for something to get rid of it. The lack of wand was really beginning to grate on her nerves now and she couldn’t wait for her birthday to unfold for her. It would have saved her so much grief. Had she been able to use magic, no one would have known.

In the end she decided the only thing to do was neutralise the poison. It was an acid which meant that what she went for was alkaline ingredients. In dumping them strategically into the cauldron she watched as the colours began to change, turning the burner back on and beginning to heat it up. She cut up bits and pieces mechanically and dropped them into the cauldron, changing the potion entirely until she had frothing away what she knew would be a harmless colour changing elixir.

Then, when she turned the hob off, Isadora braved a look into the main shop room. She moved back inside and stood where she’d been before. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the day over again. She’d panicked over the rat, the potion not having done as she’d wanted it to. It should have been a fantastic thing, something that wouldn’t be matched by any potioneer for decades to come. Instead the rat had expelled nigh everything within it, leaving her distraught, distracted, and unable to check what the werewolf was taking. Then, when she did see, she couldn’t help herself. Something had changed. Something had made her goad him on. Then he too was dead.

Gasping another breath in through her lips, Isadora opened her eyes and for a moment she saw the werewolf, looking at her with a desperate, innocent gaze. He’d trusted her and Merlin, she’d betrayed that. To save herself she’d go on to betray another. Deal with another to boost Alexander’s profile at the Ministry. She was half sure she couldn’t do it. Earlier she’d been so pleased, so confident. Now she felt gauche again, gauche and terrified that somehow Bertie would tell someone. She rubbed her hands over her face, wondering why. But of course, it had been a moment in time. She’d only wanted to see after all. She’d never not see it, she was sure.

The blast of the body disappearing stilled Isadora, stilled her to the core. She took another breath. She’d made her bed now, she’d realised. She’d opened that door, the door that she’d always been coached she could grasp and turn the handle of. She was part of dark magic just as it was her. She shouldn’t have been taught it. She should have been kept away from potions, turned onto polo players or something else. But what the Malfoys had instilled in her was an ability to tap into power. There she could find it, where in other places they took it away from her. Therein, what she created was hers. How she tested it was up to her.

But she hadn’t killed him. No, she could assert she didn’t know what he was taking. He wouldn’t be there to dissuade the jury of believing that lie. In fact, she wouldn’t even tell them what she said. She’d stay silent, claim that the potion was there to be documented, if asked at all. It had been a mistake. The best they could pin was manslaughter. Though even that, and the idea of Azkaban, struck her cold.

The main room was clean, sterile, untouched. The back room was even better. She lidded the colour changing elixir and picked up her things, donning her cardigan and putting her satchel on her shoulder. She left her potions things behind, unable to quite look at them. She found the back door, instead, and looked at Alexander.

“Can we go home, please?” She asked softly.