Perelandra

To think that the spectre you see is an illusion does not rob him of his terrors: it simply adds the further terror of madness itself -- and then on top of that the horrible surmise that those whom the rest call mad have, all along, been the only people who see the world as it really is--CS Lewis

It had been a week.  Hell had crept forth from its gates and had entered her house.  There had been three or four days where the hell had crept into her workplace, and then, without choice, she had brought it home to her own house.  There was no sanctuary anymore. That was gone.  And in its place was violence, much bruising and bleeding, and hellish screaming at all hours.  

She couldn't eat.  She couldn't sleep. She was smoking now.  Incessantly.  And drinking. Incessantly.  When she wasn't trying to help him, she was sitting on the floor outside his room. She usually had her hands wrapped around her knees, sobbing.  It was the end of all things as she knew it.  She didn't understand him now.  He had been her anchor through all things after Remus had been so brutally taken, and now someone had taken him too.

He still breathed, but the man she knew was apparently gone.  She had brought him home against the advice of everyone in her inner circle. Michael had moved into the house now out of necessity.  Michael was the only person he would allow close enough to touch him. Michael was able to follow her directions for medical care for the bleeding wounds that the assailant had caused.  Michael was able to bathe him and care for him.  But the others? They were not safe with him. He would not let her mother touch him. Edward could not touch him, and, he went completely insane if she even entered the room.  But with her, it was different.  With her, he became horrendously violent.  

He threw anything he could get his hands on when she attempted to get close to him. He screamed at her like an animal, incapable of words.  He had bruised her and had been unrepentant.  He had caused her to bleed, and if it drove her off momentarily, it appeared to calm him.  She was starting to believe that he enjoyed hurting her.  He struck out at her hardest.

She was still trying. She had the healer's skills, she believed, to help him. She didn't know what else to do but keep trying. So she was still attempting, time after time, and after each time she did, Brian would have to render first aid for bleeding or bruising. His office had been transfigured into an infirmary for the wounds that her father had and for all the countless ones she was getting. Today, Michael was urgently pleading for her to keep some distance from her father, but it tore at her heart to not be able to help him somehow.  

She was sure, now, after this last incident, moments ago, that he had broken her left cheekbone by throwing a small cauldron at her and hitting her in the face with it.  She was sitting in the hallway on the floor, sobbing, partly because she didn't understand this new madness, and partly because it hurt.  This time, it really hurt.  She lit a cigarette with her shaking, battered hands, and inhaled deeply.  She picked up the bottle of firewhiskey she'd left there from the last time and drank a large gulp straight from the bottle.  

Brian hadn't wanted her to try anymore. He hated how battered she was looking.  She wasn't able to leave the estate now herself because she looked like she had had the shit beaten out of her. And the truth was that she had--by her own father.  Or rather, by whatever had happened to him.  

She heard the rattle of chains now in his rooms.  She hadn't been able to strip him of his magic, so Brian had at least managed to contain him to the estate.  Brian had kept the kids from him so far, but now Khaat was growing afraid for their safety with him in the house.  He had gone to the barn and had brought back a length of chain from the barn.  She wasn't sure why he had needed that.  She could hear the chain rattling against the hardwood floor.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could do this.  And she didn't know where she could take him and hide him if he wasn't safe here.  The need to take him from here, elsewhere, alone-just the two of them was growing strongly inside of her. She would walk this out with him--whatever it took. Michael had vehemently forbid it. He had reminded her that there was no place she could take Robert where he would not find them and would deliberately interfere with her. Michael thought Robert to be very dangerous and, while he had not fought her bringing him home, had every intention of fighting her being alone with him at any time. And, amongst her fears, worst yet, what if the wizarding world found out?  The panic rose up in her throat and took the form of sheer terror.  Oh, God, why had they come back to England at all after Grindlewald had taken power? Why hadn't they given up then? Why did Gryffindors have to be so damned stupid?  Her own inner torment was growing to be more than she could bear alone.

Eli? Eli was here? She didn't know whether to be relieved or panicked.  She couldn't hide the bruises on her face now. There hadn't been time.  And her cheekbone was malformed and bruised and swelling.  She smiled at the sight of the little rainbow puff. They were cute at that age. Or was that one a runt? It was hard to tell. She watched it getting sticky with jam.  Clearly this one was going to have an insatiable sweet tooth.

"I'm just protecting him," she said very softly, clinging to him, glad now that he was here.  "He...doesn't deserve this.  None of it. And he doesn't deserve to have anyone see him like this..." She was cut off by more of the animalistic screaming that, ironically, she was becoming accustomed to.  It no longer jarred her spinal cord like it first had.  It only ripped at her heart to hear his utter anguish and suffering that she didn't know how to stop.

"I...need to help him.  I need to try," she said, looking down into the floor. "I just need to get close enough to do it.  But he hates me now, and I don't know why."  She saw she was out of cigarettes. "Might I have a cigarette please? I...I'll get more from Michael. Michael is the only person who can even begin to touch him. He...he's so violent now."  

Her voice was hesitant.  "He's been bewitched. I've seen a lot of bewitchings.  But this is inhumane. The man I know as my father...he's just...gone."

She heard a sudden eruption, as if a whole zoo of beasts had been unleashed in his room. She sprang to her feet.

"Stay here," she said. "He'll hurt you too. I need to do this alone."  She went to the door. She knocked rather timidly. "Daddy? Its just me. Can I come in?"

The screaming became violent, maniacal.  She shut her eyes, and brushed away her fresh tears. She heard the chains on the floor. She had no idea what was on the other side of it, but surely between her father's savage noises and the other savage animal sounds, the danger was about to intensify sharply.

Khaat did trust Eli. That had never been a question. She had wanted to protect him, but she was seeing, in front of her, a grown man, who, at the moment, was more capable of protecting her than she felt able to do for herself.

"Eli," she said softly, taking the cigarette inhaling, and letting the smoke float into a rather disorganized fog into the hallway--much like her brain felt,  "You won't like what you see.  This isn't Daddy. Not the one I know.  And if he won't let us help him, he's never going to be the same again. Please--try not to let them malign him too badly in the papers? This...this isn't his fault. He doesn't know what he's doing."

He didn't know what he was doing? Hell, she didn't know what she was doing anymore. The more the fatigue set in, she'd been thinking of looking for some abandoned rocky bit out in the middle of the North Sea--something otherwise uninhabitable and undesirable where she could go with him until either he was well or until one of them had died trying to carry out whatever this new agenda was. However, the fact that Eli was here made her feel less isolated and made the North Sea seem farther away. Had that merely been the product of a strained, exhausted mind? She wasn't sure anymore.

The sound of something being thrown in his room wasn't that unfamiliar, but it was more familiar for him to throw them at her. She probably needed to check on him. She inhaled once more deeply off the cigarette as if it would give her a bit of courage before resting the cigarette in the ashtray beside the firewhiskey bottle.  She had to will herself to be beaten on again by her father, and as much as she already hurt, it was starting to take more nerve to allow it yet again.

Then she cautiously opened the door and looked in.  He had been sitting in the wing chair that faced the door.  He looked as if he had somehow wrapped himself in the chain.  It was entwined all about him.  She was confused.  Why did he feel a need to chain himself to the chair?  He looked a bit more unkempt than he had moments before.  He had been sitting still until he saw her.  When he saw her, he straightened up sharply.  He snapped his fingers.  

The chain loosened around him and slid to the floor slowly.  She had a bad feeling about this. Her father's eyes were glued to her, not looking at the chains at all, glaring at her forebodingly.  He was looking hypervigilant.  The chain separated into two equal halves.  Then they became animated. They circled her father's chair obediently and took their places, one on each side of him.  They had become serpentine.  

"Daddy?" she asked quietly, tentatively. She took a step into the room and the chains reared up and took a poised position like enormous cobras ready to strike, opening their mouths which looked to her like steel bear traps, and hissed with a hideously vicious sound.  She was horrified.  Why would he need this?  He never even blinked at her. He merely stared at her with a hard gaze.  "Daddy," she said timidly. "Could you...please...put the snakes away for a moment?"  She took a step closer, and the snakes rose higher into a more sharply defined striking pose.  She became aware of another sound coming from behind his chair. It was odd. Very odd indeed. She knew she was hearing the sound of pages, like pages in a great book or in a busy library. Pages being turned.  And then growling. What the hell was that?

Eli was determined. He was going to go in to try to deal with Robert. She had noticed that her father had no issue whatsoever with Michael. None at all with Jim, or Jack, or Marcus. He did have issues with her mother, with Brian, with Edward, with Jess, but most of all, with her. She didn't see any reason to it.  But if Eli was determined to try, she would let him--so long as her father didn't try to hurt him. She would protect Eli. No matter what. She let him step in front of her, and decided, for the moment to stay behind him. Perhaps--just perhaps--he was onto something. At this point, she wasn't out much. Not yet, anyway.

Her father didn't move a muscle. Rather, the snakes seemed to be hissing in a bit of a different tone. Whatever that meant. She didn't speak snake. They slithered, hissing, across the floor.  That did frighten her. She was tempted to try to fire at the snakes, but her father's fierce glare was on her.  Not on the snakes, not on Eli.

"Where is she?" the snakes addressed him in Parseltongue.  "We smells her.  Where is she?" They slithered around him and started to wind their way up his torso, heading for his upper arm, looking for the snake they smelled when he had entered.  "We wants to see her..." When they reached his upper arm, they used the tops of their heads to nudge his arm rather gently for the size they both were. "We smells you. Come ouuuuut. Let us seeez you...." they beckoned.

"Get them off, Daddy!" Khaat was upset with her father. "You do one thing to hurt Eli, and, I swear, I'll..."

"We protects...." they said to Eli, still winding around him, their heads focused on his upper arm while they spoke to him.  "We guards....We protects. The egg...we guards....The Egglayer, we protects...."

Robert's eyes narrowed as he watched the snakes focused entirely on Eli. He tapped his index finger twice, softly on the arm of his chair. From behind his chair came four oversized Monster Book of Monsters textbooks, all growling, all flapping their pages and snapping their teeth, rushing towards Khaat. She gave a small shriek of alarm, pressing now tight to his back, not as ready as she had thought she was to battle monsters. Her father was one thing. Monsters, however, were quite another.

"They bites..." one of the snakes whispered to Elijah, warning him.