De Profundis

An orginal work by -Christopher Green-

You couldn’t expect much from British summers in fact it had been raining for the whole week, inconsequential little drops that could have you drenched in minutes and face itching all over.
Humidity was bad for business, it could spoil everything.
“It’s here.” Ellington called, his figure only a few shadows away. He was a short funny man, always smoking an intoxicating pipe of Gnomish root, which turned his tongue orange and his breath filthy like a sewer duct.
“How many containers are there?”
Damned it. He sounded like he had a frog on his throat.
“Well look at you, chocked chicken and no water hot!” Ellington snorted sarcastically.
“Spare me. I’ll take some Ore Burn when I get back.”
“Glad to see someone worrying. Okay… there’s six ready to go.” he said patting the lid of one of the wooden boxes right in front of them.
Six… six was a good number. They could make some profit.
“We’re going to make some real cash with this, Green. Who would have thought those Asians would pay so much for diced and minced mermaid flesh?” Ellington laughed opening one of the lids ever so careful. “Argh, just the smell of it!”
“You know what they say… if you eat the flesh of a mermaid, you will become an immortal…”
Ellington smiled, a painful kind of smile. He fell to the wet ground, pipe drooling out of his orange mouth, and more spit and yellowish liquids followed.
“But you can also die from it… it’s both dream and poison.”
No response, just the rain, and quick footsteps. Four, five persons. If they were human or not, he didn’t know, he didn’t care. He had been paid, he was happy.
“I’m going now.” he announced, hands high in the air so they could see he wasn’t holding his wand and like so, he Dissaparated.
His eyes snapped open. Something called to him, scratching at the windowpane, a shrilling sound like a baby moaning.
He almost felt his heart ready to pump right out of his mouth and so, he secured it between his warm hands, breathing in and out, letting dreams dissipate and reality sink in.
The baby’s moan came again, a demanding plea.
“Honestly Christopher…” he groaned “It’s only your cat.”
So it was, Leviathan, the beautiful bluish grey tabby, a faithful companion, a comforting shadow. Still, when dwelling in a house where clocks appeared out of nowhere to check on you and walls more than having ears had eyes; a small friend like Levi would always frighten him this much.
“How was the hunt?” Christopher smiled, patting the cat’s head.
Leviathan only leaned closer to the fingers caressing his fur and purred his content away.

Almost two months had passed since he had arrived home. Time was flying fast, but not fast enough.
He had managed to keep a steady routine. Mornings and afternoons were spent in the company of Marian which involved visiting her lady friend’s houses, other times helping taking care of her rose gardens and at supper time, when Thomas arrived, he would simply eat and retire to bed.
School had given him a really bad time and he needed to recover for all the late night study he had. That’s what he would say, pretending to yawn or simply going up the stairs.
It didn’t matter if they believed him or not, as long as he didn’t have to stand in the same room with Thomas alone.

This evening however, matters had been slightly different as he had yet again to attend to another party given by Madam Mimi. Since Lady Chantey’s recreation of a golden era spectacle, all of those who were eccentric and flamboyant as she was were trying to surpass the phenomenal event with better dinners, better dancing halls, better surprises. It was just silly.
Now, his feet still hurt from all that dancing and Marian killed his ears when they were on their way home. She had involved herself in an argument with Mrs. Welwitschia, the wife of Thomas’s superior and when in need to complain, she made him her crying pillow.

Suddenly, Leviathan mewled and before Christopher could prevent it, he was moving down the bed sheets to curl near the boy’s feet.
“Wait! Levi, you’re wet!” Christopher called out but the only reply was a contented purr. “Fine, have it your way.”
He kept rubbing his hands, squeezing them, feeling their strength. His fingers were very long, like stems of a flower or spider feet. That’s what Ellington called him before wasn’t it? “Old spider hands”.
Thomas breathed in deeply, the scent of his home, his private quarters, acid, smoke and perhaps a small hint of death.
He took off his jacket, hung it close to all his other “practise” attires and looked at them with an uninterested look. There were all types of clothes in that cabinet, clothes no one in the Manor except the Manor itself, knew to exist.
A priest’s suit, a gentleman’s tuxedo, a long red robe, a shapeless woman’s dress, and much, much more.
He looked at them all, his brown eyes resting on the black leather coat he had wore during the evening, at the humidity still clinging in its texture.

There could have been a million different ways of dispatching Ellington from life. If he had wore the red wizard robe and applied some make up and putted on a wig, he could have been another dealer, awaiting to make business and then, with one swish of a wand, everything would be over.
Or he could have been a not so simple bystander, coming in for the rush… there was even one opportunity of saving Ellington instead of snuffing him out.
It wasn’t his style though.
The orders he received were clear and plain. Ellington was out of the deal.

His long fingers moved away, feeling their way into a crystal oval bottle. It was smooth, cold, like all things proper should be. The liquid inside was even better. It bit his tongue, and burned the throat. It was like tasting sin.
“Cheers to you, my poor, poor Ellington.” Thomas murmured in that criminal room, where plots were made, people undone and where he kept all of his true self separated from society.
“At least you know the face of your killer. Your death was not a shameless one.”
Aconitum Napellus and Atropa Belladona. Just a small quantity of mermaid flesh added to the mixture and there wouldn’t be time to call for salvation.
He knew this much as he was an expert in poisons.

The best thing about using poison instead of a wand for a kill was that there would be no traces, no Prior Incantaten an auror or any other authority figure could cast that would trace a curse spell to him. Hell, the best thing was that he, Thomas, was an authority figure too.
Chief Secretary of England’s Department of Law Enforcement. What a joke.
“And perhaps the only good thing you left me, old man.” he smiled raising a glass to an empty dirty frame. It was his father’s painting.
“Mad at me again? Am I not following your steps as you wished me to do? Am I still not good enough for you?”
Something shattered.
Brown reflected red, red wine, red blood. He had pulverized the glass in his hand.

It was the best of things that colour, it reminded him of something, or someone with a characteristic so alluring as that redness. But it also reminded him that he was still not free from suspicions. He needed an alibi, a place where he would have been doing something nice, something pleasant. Something like a family evening listening to W.W.N. and talking trivialities. Wasn’t his idiotic spouse queen of the futile and two miles long dialogues?
He licked the blood sucking it out, satisfied to see that it was only a small cut and moved to a small black armoire which opened as soon as he came closer.
Out of it Thomas produced a silver Time Turner, and calculated how many turns he would have to give to go back to nine o’clock.
“It’s not the first and it certainly won’t be the last time your father acts this way.” Marian grumbled. “And right after telling me he would be coming for dinner. I made his favourite.”
Christopher doubted two things at that moment. The first being of course Marian ever picking up a pan to cook a meal and the second, if that was really Thomas’s favourite food. Gourmet meals or a simple steak and potatoes, he would always find something to complain about and shout at the maids.
The ones currently serving at the Manor were particularly jumpy and often let things fall as if afraid of their own shadows.
This was in part due to all the bad news swaying around Thomas’s head about him being the son of a “refined assassin”.
Poor girls, living in a mad haunted house, with a unusual mistress, a supposed dark Wizard and not having one ounce of magic in their bloods should be scaring them to unconsciousness.
But wouldn’t they be even more scared if they found out that their fears were all true?

Christopher shifted his legs, sitting properly in the small divan, book in his hand. It was almost nine o’clock now. They had been waiting for Thomas to start dinner but he had just Apparated a few minutes ago telling that he needed to work overtime at the office.
Marian couldn’t care less, in fact most of the time she was happy about not having her dear husband around but, as she was raised into perfection, she liked to suppose to have a perfect relationship thus; she would fool herself into believing that she was indeed upset with Thomas’s absence.
As for him, it was always great news and when Thomas Dissaparated his lilac irises gave a small glint of satisfaction.
The evening unfortunately, wouldn’t be a calm one, as they had been invited to a late party by Marian’s close friend, Madame Mimi. It seemed to be some sort of “Masquerade Ball” party where everybody would come dressed as a muggle.
How nice…

“Let’s eat then, Chrissie. I promise we would arrive at eleven sharp.” Marian sighed while ringing a small bell.
In came the maids with casseroles and saucers and in came, Thomas slightly flustered.
“Forgot something dear?” Marian blinked, her hands moving towards her chair, a tired look on her face.
Turn by turn, Thomas made the small hourglass move in five perfect circles. One… two… three… four… five… here! Stop!
Slowly, he opened his eyes and glanced around. Somewhere upstairs, very faintly he could hear his wife detestable voice, the footsteps of the maids, their quick nervous whimpers and between that mass of noise, a low emotionless tone was also heard. His own chilling voice.
Cold sweat formed on his forehead. It wasn’t a pleasant experience to know you were in two places at the same time. What if he was to come down to this secret room and find himself there? He knew too well what could happen. He had read a good deal of reports about such accidents.

Five more minutes.
That all he needed really, to compose his dark blue suit, to look neutral, uncaring. The voices up there were hushing into silence now, except of course, Marian’s annoying cacophony of words accompanied by a shrilling bell.
Well, might just as well be a sign for him to make his entrance, Thomas mused.

The room was hidden, behind a fake wall. More than hidden, it changed location quite often, when the Manor thought it was needed. Old wizard houses are weird things and Thomas’s acted like a bodyguard, a secret keeper.
He edged away, behind a column, watching the maids rushing by with plates of food and followed them when suddenly his throat gave in and he started to cough hard.
Needless to say one of those senseless maids shrieked and almost let the plate in her hand fall.
“Don’t be foolish, girl!” he shouted reaching to grab the plate in time.
“I-I’m so sorry Mr. Green… f-forgive me.”
“Enough with the excuses and get going.”
She was still looking at him nervously but on she went and soon enough he was in the dinner’s room, his wife already pulling a chair to sit down, Christopher still sitting on the divan.

“Forgot something dear?”
He adjusted his tie.
“My plans were cancelled. I’m staying.” he replied shortly. “Let’s eat.”
Marian however kept looking at him with a puzzled expression. It was almost has if she was his mother. She was not. She was perhaps, a landlady, a really niggling one.
“You sound terrible darling. Are you constipated by any chances?”
He didn’t even need to think for a good excuse. It was utterly ordinary for him to lie.
“Caught a little breeze outside. Thank you for asking.”
She snorted.
“You’re in a good mood today.”
“Am I?”
For some reason, he saw her blush, and turn away to pick her knife and fork. Women. All crazier than a barn owl. Christopher on the other hand, looked just like he always looked, composed, stoic. Annoying.
When those damned Hikari had been around he was all laughter and smile but now, he was dead, nothing. It made him sad, and it made him loathe him so much.
“Well, if you’re here now, maybe you can accompany us to Mimi’s party.” Marian spoke suddenly.

He looked straight at her.
“You’re going out?”
“Oh forget that I mentioned it. You detest my little parties anyway… *sigh* and it would be so wonderful to have you around. Christopher and I always look so out of place without.”
That was too much. He couldn’t permit it. He needed his alibi.
“You won’t go. We haven’t spent a night together, a real night together since ever.”
“Honestly Thomas.” her lip was trembling. “I dislike talking such matters in the presence of our son but our agreement was that I wouldn’t meddle in your affairs and you wouldn’t meddle in mine. We’ve been happy that way, haven’t we?”
They haven’t.
“Fine.” he growled. “You go, but Christopher stays.”
Almost as if enchanted, Christopher’s fork fell with a loud clang.
Marian’s eyebrows arched.
“You’re saying for me to go alone to the party? Impossible! A lady should always be accompanied…”
“He’s always either going to your parties or getting so tired that by ten thirty he’s in bed. I haven’t had a chance to sit down with my son and chat.
He smiled.
He smiled because he was nervous.
Because Marian could ruin everything, the stupid buor, because Christopher was looking so frightened, like something small, something precious you could squeeze between your fingers and free, free from worries, free from flesh…
He winced. His hand was hurting, becoming rosy. A threadbare sign of dear sin.