Selkie - 7. Man

Chapter 7

Man

Lucius acquired a boat and a dog in Whitehall, on the island of Stronsay. The boat, more of a skiff with a flat bottom and a small motor, was purchased from a fisherman who looked doubtfully at Lucius, but accepted his money nonetheless. Lucius had been assured by the former owner that it would do well for the short voyages he planned. He spent days outfitting the small boat with anti-sinking, waterproofing, and specially devised compass charms that would ensure he was always able to get to port, regardless of his lack of experience. When he was satisfied, he turned his attention to further preparations.

The dog, a medium-sized black mongrel with a large head, short black fur, and powerful jaws, had happened upon him one day as he made his way from the dock back to the house he had rented. Lucius had shooed it away at first, wanting nothing to do with the animal, but it had persisted, following him around the small town as he conducted his business. It waited for him outside the post office as he purchased the necessary documents and licences to become a boat operator. It sat outside the library of the heritage centre as he conducted his research on the best place to start his voyage, and it followed him home. It was not a slavish dog. It had a keen intelligence to its eyes and a definite do not touch aura that lent it an air of rakishness heretofore unknown to dogs in Lucius' limited acquaintance with the breed. The animal also did not lick his privates or turn around three times before he slept, and was a rather finicky eater, preferring one more expensive kibble over another. He was a singular dog, catlike in his movements and tasteful in his appearance. Lucius, after a week of the animal's diffident stalking, dubbed the dog Man. He took him to a Muggle veterinarian and a reputable groomer after enquiring of his landlady the proper (thoroughly Muggle) manner of care for the creature. She had required an additional deposit, but directed him happily enough once the transaction was completed, clucking over his ignorance as he tightly explained he had limited experience with animals.

"A boy always needs a dog," she said in parting. "It helps him grow to a proper man."

Man was the first pet Lucius had owned since his childhood and the disastrous episode with the kitten. The owls he owned were tools, nothing more. Lucius was vaguely concerned, in the manner of all people adopted by pets for the first time, when he made a trip off island. He had locked Man up in the small yard, left food and water out for him, having already purchased shelter for the animal, a device called a Dogloo. It was a round house with a small opening and a flap to keep out the almost constant northerly winds on the island. Lucius made his way to the docks with more than a few misgivings. Man, it seemed, had a different idea about Lucius' solitary voyage, and had beaten him to the wharf. He awaited Lucius, sitting with kingly pride of place, in the bow of the skiff. From then on, Lucius took Man with him on his jaunts.

He spent the night on the holm in his tent, Man resting at his feet. They returned after finding no traces of magic other than the remnants left by the ancient Pictish runes carved crudely into a rock on the island. Lucius had hoped, when he felt the power emanating from the island, that his search was over, but alas, the magic still powerful after almost a millennium, was carved in rock and covered in lichen, not formed of flesh and blood. It had felt so like Snape's magic however, and that heartened Lucius.

The next holm they went to contained standing stones and an ancient cairn; a house of stone set just below the surface of the land on three sides, with an opening in the centre to allow ingress and egress. The roof, probably once of thatch or hide, was long gone, but remnants of furnishings built of stone gave a tantalising glimpse into the ancient builders. Lucius felt a continuity with those long ago and far away people that he had never felt with the builders of the standing stones further south. Lucius spent the day with Man, scouring the ruins, dodging the odd gull and, keeping warm. He realised, after he returned to his snug little house in Whitehall, that he had enjoyed himself, and had felt his yearning hunger for his dark friend only in passing, as if it was removed from him on that island. He thought he might have been content for a moment.

He spent Yule in Whitehall, feasting on turkey, mushy vegetables, and potatoes provided by his garrulous neighbor, an older lady with iron grey curls and a hawkish gaze, whose husband and son had been lost at sea, victims of the fishing trade. She prattled on about life during the war, a Muggle one in which genocide had occurred, and one that had changed the course of Muggle history. Her husband had been Jewish, and had escaped certain death by hiding in an attic in Denmark, battling the Axis with the resistance until the Americans and British came. It was through that contact that he came to Britain, and ultimately found her. She stated cryptically, at least to Lucius, that she had never properly converted to Judaism, but still observed Shabbat in remembrance of her husband and her son.

Lucius felt uncomfortable hearing about the genocide. Had the Dark Lord's aims been met, he would not be now sitting in an overstuffed chair that smelled of naphtha, in a fusty parlour with this Muggle woman eating at her table and hearing her stories. He might well have seen to the construction of the same type of concentration camps she had described, and the thought chilled him. He had never known any Muggles before, aside from Will, and his contact with them had been limited to brief sexual encounters and humiliating torture. Once his innate curiosity, deadened after years of his father's attention, flared to life, he found he wanted to know more about them. He began reading their literature and history, and listening to their music. Though it was still alien to him, he found he could appreciate their art forms, in a vaguely superior way.

&*&*&

He spent the turn of the New Year in his own manner, foregoing the rather frenetic Muggle celebrations in the town proper; the ba game, a hurly burly contest that made no sense to him, and later, fireworks. He opted for a more traditional wizarding contemplation of his year, in front of a fire built in a pit on the island with the cairn. He came away from his meditations mildly depressed but hopeful. He felt Severus was near, even though he had not yet found him. Perhaps in the coming weeks he would be able to at least learn Snape's fate. He took comfort in that, not daring to think that the man was dead. He simply could not be. Lucius felt his presence, his magical energy, in these far northern reaches with its bitter winters and diffident people.

He looked at the map spread before him, marked in two colours, lit up with the islands he had already visited. Those he would return to, he had marked with a bit of red. Those he would not, were marked with white. The light from the bonfire flickered in the steady breeze, and Man grumbled at his feet. He had two islands in this area yet to see. One, Linga Holm, had been inhabited by Muggles in the nineteenth century. Local legend said the Muggles left because of the strange fey lights that tempted their womenfolk to stray, to disappear, and to come back big with child, unable to say where they had been or what they had done. Lucius thought this a likely spot for a wizarding family. He had heard the legend only a week ago, and cursed himself for his lack of contact with the locals. If he had been less shy, less disdainful of interactions with the natives, he might have saved himself months of searching.

Yet, even with that thought, he did not regret his time away from the only world he had ever known. Somehow, the foreign setting had made him appreciate what he had more than he could have if he had been able to find Severus by magical means. He would be going to Linga Holm tomorrow. He looked down at his still grumbling dog.

"Man, it's time for bed. Come."

The dog seemed to arch his brow, and then followed him, settling at his feet as Lucius secured the Muggle sleeping bag around himself. Sleep came easily that night.

&*&*&

Lucius set out for Linga Holm after packing and shrinking his belongings. He had a good feeling about the destination. The sun was still rising, a red-tinged orb in a lavender-clouded sky, when Man climbed into the bow and they embarked. Lucius laughed, the first joyous sound from him in years, as Man barked at passing wildlife. The dog looked behind to Lucius, his tongue lolling, his warm, brown eyes carrying the same spark of good humour as his master's. By necessity, their journey would be a long one. If Lucius had left from Whitehall, he could have reached the island in less than two hours, even given the rough state of the sea. That he had left from further south added to his time.

He set the spells that he would need to navigate and then rested, covering his eyes with the cap he had bought in Whitehall at the beginning of his travels, and draping Severus' cloak over his body so that he could smell the bitter herb of his friend along with the fresh salt air. He dreamt of flying as Voldemort had done. He skirted the islands, swooping low over the lands that were dotted with hard, white snow. He followed a pod of porpoises or dolphins, he could not tell the difference between the two sleek, grey forms. He watched as a basking shark fed, it's large body floating gracefully on top of the water. He saw the seals, the selkies of legend, dancing gracefully in the water as they fucked and fought and searched for food. He dreamt in greys, blues, and greens, of earth, air, water, and sky. He dreamt of what might have been, had he been born without Malfoy branded on his soul. He laughed as he swooped, sure the Dark Lord had never felt the joy that Lucius did as he flew. In the south, Lucius could see the red pain of his own misery and his son's, but here, under the blue sky, above the grey-green water, all he could feel was the Lucius he should have always been and never was. He felt tears on his face...

It was the rain that woke him as the skiff pitched up and down in the roughened sea. Man had retreated to his side, and Lucius fought to cast the spells that would keep both of them safe. He tried to assure the dog with a calm voice, but the wind ripped his voice from his mouth. He steadied the dog against him with a swift pat to his head, and then cast his spells again. There was no effect as the ocean pitched and rolled. Lucius fought his nausea long enough to secure Severus' cloak around his person and his wand in its sheath and then...

Llyr, the sea god, swallowed them. Man was the first to bob to the surface of the churning sea, pulling Lucius up as he swam to a shore in the distance. Lucius coughed, fought the pull of the freezing water, and strove to keep up with Man. It seemed that Llyr had other ideas as he pulled at Lucius' heavy wool jumper, ripped Severus' cloak from his body, and pounded him under time and again.

Lucius just barely caught the cloak as it was ripped away from him. The ocean heaved again, pushing Lucius under. He cried out as he surfaced, noticing that Man had doubled back to him, dragging at his arm with his teeth. Blood sullied the water around them before the red dissipated. The undertow caught at the cloak and ripped it out of Lucius' hands. He gave a cry, the pain of the loss so deep that he shed four tears before he could get control of himself. It felt as if a booming gong shook the air, and the water and the world shifted. Once again, the water rose and enveloped him in its cold, wet depths, and this time, Lucius gave into it. He closed his eyes and took the darkness into him. He would fight no more.

&*&*&

He remembered small hands on his face. He remembered the smell of bitter herbs, fire, and smoke under the odour of wet dog and ocean water. He remembered flashes of light and dark, of being carried. He remembered a scornful, husky voice saying, "Feckless idiot," the words cloaked in frustrated wonder.

He slept to the music of a small household; the clatter of pots, whispered childish confidences, lovingly issued commands. He tasted broth as it burned his lips, smelled milk on a child's breath as it leaned in close to give him a potion, saw the red-black of his eyelids closed to the light.

When he woke again, he could not open his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice was lost. He finally moved his finger. It was then that he heard a rustling of wool, smelled the damp of the room.

Warm, long-fingered hands pulled him to a seated position, and a bottle was thrust against his lips. Lucius drank the bitter mixture down. The magic of the creation blasted through his body, leaving him hot and irritable. He raised feeble hands and pushed the vial away. A deep, rasping voice grumbled, and the potion bottle returned to his lips. "Drink. Don't be a fool."

Lucius did as the voice commanded, and fell back to slumber before the hands lowered him. If he could have opened his eyes, he would have felt the weight of a darkly smouldering gaze upon him.

&*&*&

He dreamt of Severus. Not as he was in his youth, all angles and hunched shoulders, not the nightmare he had become as an adult. He dreamt of an ideal Severus, one who had lost the lines of strain around his mouth, and did not have his brow drawn down in a permanent scowl. A Severus who had put on healthy weight and seemed content in his skin, rather than twitching and fidgety.

He dreamt of a Severus who smiled at a little girl with black eyes and a silver sheen to her sleek, black hair. Severus glanced lovingly at a figure in the corner. It was one Lucius did not want to see, so he ignored it. As he turned his attention fully on Severus, he realised that this was an idealised Severus, one that might have been had things been different. It was Severus if there had been no Dark Lord, no Lily Evans, and no Lucius Malfoy.

In his dream, he hovered above a domestic scene out of one of the Muggle novels he had read to fill the inclement days in Whitehall. Severus became at once Mr. Rochester, Heathcliff, and the dashing Mr. Darcy. Lucius saw Man there before the fire, his leg bandaged and the little girl smoothing fingers through his rough coat. In his dream, he watched as Severus read aloud in the flickering candlelight, a silver band on his left ring finger flashing. His deep voice was at once familiar in its tone, but strange in its timbre. Lucius watched from his corner of the ceiling as Severus paused, his eyes darting to a curtain shrouded opening. Lucius hovered over Severus as he saw the naked longing that crossed the dark man's features. The girl interrupted, and Severus cleared his throat before resuming his recitation.

In a far corner of the tiny room a silver-haired woman watched, her limpid eyes dark and sad. She clutched a dark, water-stained cloak against her. Severus smiled sadly at her as she rose. He broke in his reading, his expression at once bleak and tender. "Be careful, darling. You are unused to the weather now."

The woman nodded and cast a longing look at the girl by the fire before saying, "I love you. I always will."

Severus closed the book with a snap, and then withdrew the ring from his finger. He placed it on the table as the girl climbed into his lap. Lucius swirled away, not wanting to see the scene, not wanting to see their completeness when he was so bereft.

Lucius hovered a bit longer, and then chose to fly outside. It was neither warm nor cold to him as he swooped over the land of the small island. He turned and hovered, spying the whitewashed hut he had exited, bone-pale in the moonlight that washed it. Above, Lucius saw the Northern Lights and he danced with them, the colours suffusing his soul in a joyous pattern. Lucius had never felt so free, and yet so constrained, as he looked far down at the house, now a white dot. He heard a distant barking, Man calling him to return, telling Lucius in his own way that he was both needed and wanted, and suddenly...

He was awake, his soul tied once more to his aching body. Lucius stretched experimentally, feeling weakened beyond what he had ever felt under the Dark Lord's worst punishment. He hummed experimentally, clearing his throat.

"Da!" A girl's voice sounded. "He's awake."

She poked her head through the curtain, a cloth strangely reminiscent of the one in his dream. He saw the silver sheen of her hair, an unusual colour, the blackness of her eyes, mirrors of her father's, and Lucius sobbed. His dream had been real.

He had found Severus Snape, and it was too late.

He had not waited for Lucius.

A.N. Information on Orkney was gleaned from both Google Earth (my absolute favorite), Wikipedia, and a site called orkneyjar dot com. That site has links to not only selkie legends but also archaeological, travel, and dialect information.

Ba games are actually played in Kirkwall on New Years and Christmas, but I liked the idea of Lucius avoiding that particular Muggle pleasantry.

Stronsay is pronounced Strawn-see.

Man is no particular breed of dog, but I picture him a pit bull and chow mix, with a little lab thrown in for sweetness. I can see a dog like that adopting Lucius.