((Rated M for some language))
Her scar itched.
Not that irritating itch you got from a bug bite, but an unbearable torturous itch that radiated tingling heat from the center of the growing scar outwards through her arms and chest, escalating until she laid paralyzed in her bed in agony. There were nights, as she would lay there wide awake in the sweltering heat, where she wanted to simply amputate that entire half of her body to escape the pain. It had never hurt like this back in Scotland, or London for that matter. Which meant only one thing: She was getting closer.
This trip was a farce. She had tagged along under the guise of a chaperon, though it was obvious to anyone she 'chaperoned' that she was just there as a figurehead. Which was fine, that is what she wanted them to think. The less time she had to spend babysitting the better. She had more important things to do in Egypt then wipe snotty noses and kiss bruised knees, or whatever it was that you did as a chaperon. Tonight, as they were all off enjoying dinner and the various sights, she was sneaking off on her own.
If it weren't a life and death situation and she wasn't in so much pain, Analiza would have felt like a secret agent. There she was, sneaking incognito through the city, dodging students and teachers alike. It wasn't too hard considering she had went and purchased the cheapest clothes she could find, wore no makeup and covered her trademark hair with a rather ugly scarf. Anyone who knew Analiza Snark would not have imagined her without high end clothes and make up, and definitely not with such a hideous rag around her head. The only thing she did wear that could give her away was her shoes. She refused to wear cheap shoes when infiltrating a forbidden tomb. It was simply disrespectful.
Unbeknown to her, she was being tailed. Her attempt to look like a normal muggle tourist, snapping pictures with a cheap camera and haggling with vendors in her best American accent, didn't fool everyone. The man watching her knew exactly who she was and why she was there, and her attempts to hide it brought a rare smile to his lips. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.
As she ducked into a dark alleyway at the edge of the city, he waited until he heard a light pop and then followed suit. Folding his newspaper carefully so the picture of Headmistress Snark waving from the Hogwarts Podium was visible, the man carefully pressed the smoldering stub of a cigarette against her smug face until it burned away, leaving an expressionless, and slightly smoking, black hole in its wake. This was going to be easy.
Analiza reapperated at the entrance to the tomb. She was surprised to see it abandoned, overgrown even, considering what was inside. Perhaps this was not the pl—“Fuuuuck…” She cursed as a shooting pain shot through the scar, this time it didn't stop at her chest but coursed all the way to her toes. She nearly crumpled to the ground when the pain caused her knees to buckle but managed to grasp the nearby ruins of a wall to let herself down slowly. She laid there for a moment, gasping for breath.
With a trembling hand, she fished a small bottle out of her pocket and downed the contents. It burned as it flowed down her throat but the pain abated. Part of her just wanted to turn back and flee to her home in England where she would spend the rest of her days as a hermit waiting to die. But she couldn't. She knew ever since she was a small child that she was destined to do something great and dying alone was not on the agenda. Neither was laying there like a invalid, moaning to herself. “You are Analiza Snark” She growled loudly, believing she was alone and could talk freely to herself “And you are not going to die because of some stupid fucking ‘curse of the mummy’. You are stronger then that, dammit, so get up and get moving!”
Her conversation did not go unheard, however. Her tail bit back a snicker in the shadows, finding her declaration deliciously amusing. The woman thought awfully high of herself. He nearly giggled gleefully at that fact that it would be a pleasure to break that spirit.
Best. Assignment. Ever.
He watched as she struggled to her feet and stumbled to the entrance, following as close behind as he could without being detected. Like himself, she obviously knew the various traps and pitfalls from her previous trip, dodging them expertly despite the pain she must have been suffering with each step. When she neared the door, behind which lurked the infamous cursebeast, she paused in apprehension and he slunk back into the shadows to watch with wide eyes.
Analiza stared at the door as she attempted to ignore the memory of that night, but was hard to remember how to break into the tomb without remembering the result. She stood there for several minutes, her golden eyes trailing over the hieroglyphics lining the doors, deciphering them. Aside from wandwork, cryptology and ancient languages were a hobby of hers. She would have made an excellent cursebreaker had it not been for the fact that she much preferred to create magic then break it.
Finally, after the pain abated, she made her move. Crouching down, she pulled out her wand and begin to write runes in a circle around her, murmuring the name of each once in a dull monotone as she did so. When the circle was completed, the runes begin to glow a soft, throbbing blue. Analiza murmured a string of spells under her breath and the intensity of the light grew until it pushed upwards into a wall of silvery blue light around her.
A shielding ward? One of watchers eyebrows twitched in amusement. From what the dossier had said about the woman, she wasn't known for her patience. Yet there she was using a complex and ultimately slow moving spell. Perhaps the attack those many years ago had weakened her ego and she was now scared of being harmed. Not that she shouldn't be, it just made the job a bit more... eventful then expected.
He really wanted to see her in action, out of professional curiosity, but he knew that he couldn't allow her to actually break the curse. There was too much invested in keeping the tomb sealed and properly hidden. Besides, his goal was much more sinister then simple spying. With an inward sigh, he slipped out of the shadows and approached the circle in complete silence, not even his footfalls alerting her to his presence. The circle did little to deter him, aside from a slight wince of pain as he crossed its threshold, and in seconds he was behind her. The wind pulled a thick tendril of her red curls out from under her black scarf and blew it back in his face. Catching it between his fingers, he ran it under his nose, breathing in softly, before letting it fall back against her neck. He leaned forward.
Analiza was far too caught up in her work to have noticed anything other then the puzzle in front of her, a jumble of hieroglyphics scrawled on the wall waiting to be deciphered. The presence of the man behind her didn't announce itself, even when his fingers twined into her hair, so when he leaned into her Analiza froze. There was no scream, not even a whisper of one. Instead she stared at the door in front of her, the puzzle half solved, as the warm desert wind was replaced by a wash of ice that left goosebumps in its wake. He didn't say anything, but then he didn't have to. Something inside of her told her who he was and what he wanted and she had no choice but to acquiesce. She suddenly felt very empty inside and as her eyes slowly rolled back, the world melted around her and went dark.
The job was done, he just had to deliver the package. Letting her slump slowly to the ground, the man wrapped a dark shawl around her figure and pulled her over his shoulder. Grunting as he stood, since she was heavier then she looked, he glanced over the scene with a discerning eye. A few kicks to her circle left it decimated, soon to be carried away by nature, and considering the locale, no one would be any the wiser. The thought made him smile and he disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the echo of a cheery whistle behind.
[June 25] Without a Trace... (Oneshot, M for Language)