An Ill-Fated Translocation

Summary: The last act Seregil did before Nysander declared that the apprenticeship was over was sending himself to another plane of existence. This is where I think he might have gone during that time.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Nightrunner Series or Harry Potter. Further, the characters' views of religion are not my own.

"…Then he really did it, sending himself into another plane."

"Plane?" Alec hiccuped, wiping his eyes.

"It is like another country or world, except that it does not exist in our reality. No one really understands why they exist at all, only that they do and that there are ways to cross into them. But they are dangerous, for the most part, and difficult to return from. Had I not been with him when he did it, he would have been lost. It was then that I was forced to say 'No more'."

(from Luck in the Shadows, pp. 198-199)

Seregil landed heavily, dropping to his hands and knees. He closed his eyes as he waited for his head to stop spinning. "Bilairy's balls! What the hell was that?" Not yet knowing where he was, he was determined not to disgrace himself by losing his lunch.

He heard footsteps approaching. "I say, there, fellow. Are you alright?"

Seregil opened his eyes warily. "Not exactly." The redheaded man and the dark-haired man had different dispositions. The redhead looked concerned, and the dark man practically sneered.

Shaking his head to clear it, Seregil noticed he landed in the middle of a busy street. He was a far cry away from the garden outside the Orëska House, where he intended to go. From the language the stranger spoke, Seregil figured out he wasn't in Aurënen, Plenimar, or, thank Illior, hated Zengat. But the writing on the shingles of the shops around him didn't look like any he'd seen anywhere in Skala. The air was full of magic, and it made his skin tingle.

"Where am I?" Even if he had to come up with a cover story for who he was and why he was there, it was best to figure out what kind of tale he would need, once he knew his location.

Professor Severus Snape concluded his business at the apothecary on Diagon Alley when he met Arthur Weasley. "Good day to you, Professor!"

There was no way to avoid the ebullient father of the Weasley clan. "Mr. Weasley," he returned with a curt nod.

"Fancy meeting you here. I'm sure you've got all sorts of things to do, with school out for the summer."

The professor inwardly sighed. "Indeed. Besides restocking the school's supply, I have my own projects to work on."

Arthur smiled. "Of course you do. I'm just here for some Pepper-Up. My youngest boy, Ronald, has a summer flu, and Pepper-Up Potion's just the thing." Severus grunted non-committally.

Arthur frowned as he just thought of something. "Hmm… My Ron is about the same age as Harry Potter."

Severus refused to groan. "How about that?"

Missing the professor's pained tone, Arthur said, "It should be only a few more years before you have them."

"Please don't remind me."

Both men heard a loud thud and an unusual curse. They hurried over to investigate and help. The man they found had a slight build and an interesting accent. He seemed very disoriented, pale, and he clutched his stomach as if he were nauseous.

The clothes he wore resembled wizard robes, but of a very unusual style. He seemed out of place, and was just as confused about his location as the two wizards were confused about his origin.

The man asked, "Where am I?"

Severus sneered, "You're in Diagon Alley, London. How does a wizard not recognize the magical commercial center of the British Isles?"

The disdain in this stranger's bearing was not warranted. "I didn't know there was a magical center for wizards outside the Orëska House. My Master, Nysander… well, I remember not all wizards… not all human wizards are of the Orëska Order. But I thought wizards like Niryn went out of style six hundred years ago."

Mr. Weasley and Professor Snape shared a glance. This man was not local, and his situation bore looking into. Arthur took Seregil's hand, helping him to his feet. "Come, friend. You appear to be far from home, and you look like you could use a drink. Professor, do you have a Stomach Soother on you?"

The professor eyed both men warily. "Excuse us a moment, sir." Seregil raised an eyebrow as the two strangers stepped apart to confer. Severus said, "I thought you were getting medicine for your son."

"The apothecary isn't going anywhere. Most wizards I know don't speak of having masters, except followers of You-Know-Who." Severus rolled his eyes. "This fellow speaks of an Order that isn't connected to the Phoenix, and… sorry, Professor, but he doesn't seem to trust us because you were rude. It would help to get to know this fellow on our terms, and to see if we could help get him to his destination."

Severus huffed. "Fine." He reached into a pocket and held out a vial to the stranger. "Take this. It should calm your stomach until we get some food into you, and we help you get your bearings."

Seregil looked between these strangers. He wasn't sure if he trusted them, but then again, he couldn't read the street signs, and these people offered to help. And if they were going to kill him, they would have done it already. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Take what the Lightbearer brings, and be grateful." Opening his eyes, he said, "Thank you, friend. I'd appreciate that." He drank the contents of the vial, and it worked. "Thanks again."

Arthur suggested, "Why don't we head to the Leaky Cauldron? We can have a private room, something to eat, and some time to sort things out."

Once in the private room Tom gave them, they all ordered a meal, and Severus raised an eyebrow when Seregil ordered a pint of ale. The food came shortly, and Arthur said, "Let's start on the right foot. I am Arthur Weasley, and this gentleman is Professor Severus Snape, a teacher in Hogwarts, the premier school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What is your name, friend?"

Seregil decided that, until he knew the rules of the game, honesty was the best policy. "I am Seregil í Korit. I'm apprenticed to become a wizard, but honestly – I can only do a couple of spells reliably. Nysander says he sees the potential in me for it, but I think he's being overly generous. I'm just not cut out to be a wizard."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Either you're a wizard or you aren't. You can't 'apprentice' yourself to see what happens."

"Of course you can. That's exactly what I did. Not every Aurënfaie is magically blessed, and some are more talented than others."

Arthur asked, "What is an Aurënfaie?"

Seregil blinked. "Am I correct in assuming you are both wizards?"

Severus answered, "You are."

Seregil nodded slowly. "Then how do you not know of Aurënfaie? All human wizards have Aurënfaie in their ancestry."

Severus frowned. "Many pureblood wizards would object to that assertion."

Seregil narrowed his eyes. "Pureblood wizards are Aurënfaie."

Arthur covered his eyes. "I believe we are speaking at cross-purposes to each other." The fact was that Seregil had a different idea of the origin of… well, it was hard to say what Seregil's point of reference was. "Seregil, it is clear that you didn't mean to come to Diagon Alley. How did you come to be here?"

Seregil sighed. "I attempted to translocate myself from one end of the garden of the Orëska House to another. And I ended up… here."

Arthur nodded. "Translocation of people… I think we call that Apparation. It can be dangerous if done incorrectly. That's why we grant Apparation Licenses to people who have mastered the skill. My oldest son got his license on his seventeenth birthday."

Seregil peaked his eyebrows. "But… Human wizards can't have children."

It was Arthur's turn to blink. "My good man, I assure you we most certainly can. My wife and I have seven of our own, and both of us have come from long lines of wizard ancestry." He looked at Snape. "Not that there's anything wrong with having a shorter…"

"Never mind, Arthur," Severus growled peevishly.

Seregil was frustrated. "Look – I'm sure that over his soon to be 250 years, Nysander's wanted children. But he explained that the closest he could come to having children of his own was taking on an apprentice. I'm sure it wasn't for lack of trying, either."

Severus was taken aback. "Two hundred fifty years? The Flamels are 600 years old, and that's because of a trick of alchemy – the creation of the Philosopher's Stone. But besides them, wizards might live a bit longer than Muggles, but…"

"What is a Muggle?"

Severus heaved an exasperated sigh. "A non-magical person."

Seregil sighed. "Apparently, the rules of magic are different here than they are at home." The three of them paused to absorb this fact.

Curiosity got the better of Arthur. "What is Orëska?"

Seregil thought for a moment. "It's… an Order devoted to the training of young wizards, and serving Illior."

Severus asked, "What is Illior?"

Seregil blinked. "By the Four! You don't even know who the Four are!"

"Any time you're willing to tell us…" Severus drawled.

Seregil froze. "But… If you don't know the Four…" He gulped. "The necromancers of Plenimar serve a Dark god. Eaters of Death…" The man shivered. Severus narrowed his eyes, but Arthur noticed that the sheer terror induced by the mention of 'Eaters of Death' did not match that of the simple mention of Death Eaters, not even during Voldemort's height of power.

Arthur cleared his throat. "No, Seregil. We aren't familiar with this Dark god. And granted, Death Eaters are evil wizards, but I haven't heard of necromancy as part of their repertoire. Severus?"

Severus resented being reminded of his short stint as a Death Eater, but if anyone knew what they did, he would know. "While the Dark Lord had projects he never told anyone about (other than that they existed), the Death Eaters did use Dark spells, but most of the Dark Lord's followers weren't that creative. Besides the Unforgivables, most Death Eater spells are simple spells a Seventh Year NEWT student or lower could do. The few who are sadistic enough to get that creative are few and far in between." Snape thought it impolitic to mention Inferi. They were part of a personal project of the Dark Lord, anyway.

Seregil tried to absorb all of this. "What are the Unforgivables?"

Arthur sighed. "They are three curses that have no defensive shield spells to counter them, and they are such a violation of a sentient being, a person caught doing them earns a life sentence in… prison. They are the Imperius Curse, which enslaves the person under the curse; Cruciatus Curse, which puts the victim under the most excruciating pain imaginable; and Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. There are other curses which can cause death, but those three are indefensible, unless you duck out of the way."

Seregil sighed in relief. He wasn't sure about many things, but… "If the purpose of this land's Eaters of Death isn't to serve…" He whispered, "Seriamaius…" He gulped and continued in a full voice. "Then what do they do? What is their purpose?"

Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Here, the Death Eaters are faithful followers of an evil wizard called… Lord Voldemort. Their main aim is superiority of power through bigotry against, primarily, Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards. And then there is the rest of the opposition to the Dark Lord's designs…"

Seregil perked up. "Witches? The Hill People of Skala have witches. Their magic isn't like that of wizards, although Nysander's master, Arkoniel, learned many things from the witch Lhel."

Severus looked askance. "Do you mean to say that the women can't perform the same spells as men?"

Seregil shook his head. "Of course not. There are both men and women witches and men and women wizards. The witches have different magic than wizards."

Arthur murmured, "Facinating."

Professor Snape cleared his throat. "While I'm sure our guest could entertain us indefinitely, you have a son in need of a Potion."

"Yes, of course." He handed a handful of Galleons to Seregil. "When Tom comes to take our dishes, take a room. This should cover a three nights' stay."

Seregil said, "Thank you, Arthur. But why?"

The redhead smiled. "It's the least I can do to help a person in need. I might otherwise have invited you to come to my home, but my youngest son is ill. It was a pleasure to meet you, Seregil, and to see you again, Professor."

"Good evening, Arthur," bade Severus.

After Mr. Weasley took his leave, Severus and Seregil studied each other. Seregil observed, "If wizards here are prejudiced against wizards born from non-magical people, they would be against every human wizard I know, as they are all born from non-magical people."

Severus cocked his head. "What is this insistence of yours to refer to human wizards? What else would they be?"

"Aurënfaie," Seregil answered simply. "For all that I'm a man, I'm not human. I am Aurënfaie."

This was an intriguing fact. "What is the difference between humans and Aurënfaie?"

Seregil frowned. "The natural length of our lives, mostly. The average life span of an Aurënfaie is upwards of four hundred years. I'm currently 28 years old. I expect I'll look the same for the next hundred and fifty years, or so. The word we use to describe average humans is Tírfaie, or 'short-lived folk.' I understand that most Tír don't live beyond thirty or forty years."

"Interesting. Here, the average Muggle life span can be up to seventy years, and they're working on extending that." Seregil's eyes widened. "While wizards here can live longer than 120 years, they would still be rather old. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is something close to 150 years, and his hair is white and his beard is long."

Seregil smiled. "Aurënfaie don't grow beards. But where I'm from, human wizards have similar life spans to the 'faie, but unlike the 'faie, between the privileges of having a long life and the ability to perform magic, their creative energies are depleted, making them barren." He grinned impishly. "I've been made to understand that the standard equipment is present and functional, but will not bear fruit beyond the pleasure of the moment."

Severus had to chuckle. "That is an interesting way to put it. Is the lack of beard a cultural thing?"

Seregil shook his head. "No – it's a biological thing. I don't know why."

The wizard tilted his head as he spoke to the Aurënfaie. "What happened to make you so ill when you first got here?"

Seregil blushed. "No one is sure why, but my magic is defective. There are only a few spells I can do reliably. But I seem to be resistant and/or allergic to most forms of magic. Translocation always makes me ill. Considering that I tried to perform it myself, my symptoms were worse than normal." He sighed and rested his head in his hands. "I guess Nysander will realize that as a wizard's apprentice, I'm useless." He murmured, "Just another thing to disappoint my father."

Severus decided a change of topic was due. "You mentioned a type of wizard that 'went out of style' 600 years ago."

"Yes."

"Could you elaborate?"

Seregil concentrated. "Well, in Skalan history, after the Plenimarans destroyed the Second Orëska (the first being in Aurënen), wizards of Skala were mostly unorganized and unrecognized. However, wizards always seem to be around to support the Skalan Crown. Once Queen Tamír the Great came to power, and established the capital in Rhíminee, she established, or allowed to be established, the Third Orëska. The wizards would have a place to study and train young ones and apprentices, and they would serve the royalty as needed. It's a system that works."

"I see," said Severus.

"Orëska is known to have a certain value system, with loyalty to be counted on. Wizards acting independently of Orëska were considered renegade. Niryn was particularly evil, and manipulated anyone in connection with the royal family. I'm not sure if he cast your Unforgivable spells, but many of the things he did were unforgivable. Murder, enslavement spells, torture, violating individuals' free will… The Third Orëska was established, and eradicating that type of lawlessness among wizards was only one of their goals.

"Different practitioners of magic can recognize and sense the Orëska magic. I feel it as generally more congenial. Plenimaran magic – that's vicious."

The professor nodded. "And what of you? Considering that it's not likely that you'll go on to be a wizard," Severus ignored the cognitive dissonance he had over the idea of people 'becoming' wizards rather than simply 'being' wizards. "What will you do?"

Seregil gave a half-smile. "Actually, I'm the Queen's kin. It's very distant, so distant to make it practically negligible, so I'm only a very minor noble. But I'm related to Corruth í Glamien, who became the Consort to a queen many generations of Tír ago, but only the legitimate heirs to the Skalan throne are from that line."

Seregil thought back to an earlier comment. "Why would wizards have a serious prejudice against non-magical people?"

Severus studied him for a bit before answering. "Before, you mentioned a sensitivity to religion, did you not?"

"Well, yes. All decent people of Skala have some leaning towards the Four, at least in lip service if no other kind. Illior, symbolized by the moon, is the Lightbearer, patron goddess of Aurënfaie, wizards, prophets, scholars, thieves, and the insane. Sakor, symbolized by the sun, is the patron god of warriors, as the flame represents power and military might. Also, it is considered to die and be reborn every year."

"Not unlike a phoenix," murmured Severus.

"A combination of the crescent moon and a stylized flame is the emblem of Skala. Dalna is the patron goddess of birth, healing, of harvest, and is considered the Maker. Astellus is the patron god of sailors, fishermen, women in labor, and other travelers, and is the comforter of souls on their final journey in death. Astellus is also the bringer of the New Year. (Astellus accompanies the dying Sakor out to sea, and brings the infant Sakor back to start the year with power and good health.) A proper religious event in Skala will do homage to each of the Four. But as I said before, in Aurënen, only Illior, or Aura, is recognized."

Severus nodded. "And Bilairy?"

"Bilairy guards the gate of death. We have ceremonies and customs to help the… souls of the dead find their way to Bilairy's Gate in peace."

Severus nodded again. "And this Dark god?"

Seregil said quickly, "Decent people don't mention the Empty God in polite company, or at all, if we can manage it. Except… well, sometimes it's necessary in instruction to understand the mind of the enemy, but even then, such talk is severely limited."

"Considering the great evil that seems to be connected to it, that makes sense.

"Well, here, the concept of religion is not nearly as unified. But the supposedly more moral religions locally have a tendency to be monotheistic. A quirk of this theology is that they forbid witchcraft and wizardry. For many centuries, in a show of religious zeal, non-magical people sought out and slaughtered witches and wizards (here, the difference is merely cosmetic – a witch is female, a wizard is male). While we who use magic have the ability to defend ourselves, the non-magical populace greatly outnumbers the magical community. Roughly 300 years ago, the Wizarding Community put forth the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, whereby the witches and wizards of our world hide our magic (indeed, ALL magic) from society at large." Seregil was horrified and looked scandalized.

"I understand that in recent decades, the Muggle World has calmed down about such things, but generations of wizards have built a serious anti-Muggle prejudice. A pureblood wizard has generations of wizarding ancestry. A half-blood, like me, has one parent who is magical and one that is Muggle. And then there are Muggle-borns, who are witches and wizards born from non-magical people. But far less common are Squibs – non-magical people born to a magical family."

Seregil gave his half-smile again. "Where I'm from, pureblood and half-blood refer to how much Aurënfaie blood a person has. Despite my malfunctioning magic, I am a pureblooded Aurënfaie. A half-blood, or a ya'shel, has one 'faie parent and one Tír parent. And then there are the Tír. Some clans are prejudiced against the Tírfaie, but that's never made sense to me." He averted his gaze.

"Seregil?" Severus asked, concerned.

"Don't worry about it. I'd rather not talk about it."

Severus wasn't sure what to make of his companion's sudden reticence. Before he had the chance to formulate a thought about it, Seregil asked, "What are your thoughts on dragons and owls?"

Severus blinked. "Owls are the chosen expedient wizards use to carry our mail. I'm told they make faithful familiars. Dragons are dangerous by all reckonings, and special reservations have been preserved for them to live. Their wizard handlers have quite a time keeping them hidden from Muggles. But when subdued, they can be quite useful. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has identified twelve uses for dragon blood. Dragon leather makes great protective gloves and boots, and one of the favorites for wand cores are dragon heart-strings." Seregil blanched. "Are you ill?"

Seregil closed his eyes and shuddered. "I may be." He took a breath, opened his eyes, and tried to explain. "Dragons and owls are considered messengers of Aura, but the Aurënfaie in particular have close connections with dragons. Where I am from, dragons bring luck. They grow to be sentient, if they live long enough. Fingerling dragons – about the size of your hand – can be found all over Aurënen, and only certain places in Skala. It is illegal to kill a dragon, except in pure self-defense. It is considered lucky to be bitten by a dragon. True, their bites are poisonous, but they can be treated. Lissik, the most common balm, carries a blue dye to tattoo the bite. It is considered an honor to bear a dragon bite, as it shows that the person is favored by Aura."

Seregil shuddered again. "Where I'm from, only Dark magic involves killing dragons. Then again, only necromancers use… the blood of dragons and Aurënfaie to create… magical abominations. The magic inherent in Aurënfaie blood…" He closed his eyes in severe emotional pain.

Severus laid a hand over Seregil's in a gesture of comfort. "Remember – the rules of magic are different here than from your home. I can promise you that Albus Dumbledore is one of the biggest proponents for the Light. He is responsible for the defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald, and he led the charge against… Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore has gone out of his way to learn (and speak fluently) the languages of the merfolk, and goblins, and other sentient humanoid creatures. I can assure you that if the local dragons were at all sentient, he would find a way to make them allies against evil. However, as it stands, here they are only non-cogent beasts."

Seregil decided that it was a good thing that he was just going to treat their cultural differences as major differences in reality. Otherwise the last revelation might make him crack. Dragon-hide boots? The professor might have easily have said 'human skin' for the effect it had on Seregil. But Severus was very soothing. His voice had a special quality to it that made it sound like feeling silk. Seregil allowed himself to be comforted for the moment.

The Potions Master stared in thought, smirking, gazing off to the side. "I imagine the idea of a talking dragon would tickle Hagrid pink."

Seregil noted his companion's whimsical mood. "Who is Hagrid?"

"Rubeus Hagrid is the Keeper of the Grounds and Keys at Hogwarts. He is a half-giant, and he has a somewhat perverse fondness for animals of monster proportions. I understand he's wanted to raise a dragon of his own for decades. He has a way of befriending man-eating beasts, although Hagrid himself is as gentle as people come." Seregil smiled. Severus decided that it was pleasant to have company who didn't judge him.

Severus cleared his throat. "Now, how do we get you back home?"

Seregil looked searchingly at him. "Is it too much to hope for that you know a translocation spell?"

Severus sat back and considered. "We have Summoning Spells, Banishing Spells, Vanishing Spells, Apparation, as Arthur mentioned before. A Portkey could take you wherever it was spelled to take you. However, you don't seem to be of this world. I've done some traveling, and these lands you've mentioned, Skala, Aurënen, and Plenimar… I've only heard of them because you've mentioned them."

Seregil's shoulders slumped. "I imagine I can wait for Nysander to retrieve me, or I can start learning the writing that you use. I may be useless as a wizard, but I'm a quick study with languages."

Before Severus could reply, a translocating vortex opened, and a man with a long silver beard stepped out. "Nysander!"

"Seregil, my boy! Come – it's time to go home."

Seregil took one last look at the local wizard. "Thank you for your help and comfort, Severus. Please thank Arthur for me. May Aura's light shine on you, always."

Severus stared after them as they stepped through the vortex and it disappeared. "That… wizard who came to retrieve our guest reminds me of Albus." He closed his eyes. "He would appreciate learning of this meeting."

Nysander brought Seregil back to the casting room in the Orëska House. Magyana closed the vortex and brought out a bucket, in case Seregil was ill. Nysander ushered the young man to a comfortable couch. He said, "Only you, my dear boy… Most wizard apprentices end up a few feet, or even a few blocks away from their intended goal. You have exceeded expectations and found an entire different plane of existence."

Seregil closed his eyes in shame. "I'm an absolute failure."

Nysander hugged the despondent young apprentice close. "Nonsense, my son. You have made me proud. You almost always make me proud, my son."

"I can't be an apprentice anymore. I can't…"

"Shh…" The wizard hugged the young man, rubbing circles on his back. "You are right. You won't be a wizard. But you will always have me as a mentor, Seregil. If you let me, I promise I will never leave you." Nysander let Seregil sob until he'd worn himself out.

Nysander completely empathized. He had such dreams to pass on all kinds of traditions to Seregil as an apprentice! However, he meant what he said. He would never abandon Seregil. Even if he did find a new apprentice… But such things were thoughts for another day. Seregil was here, and needed him now.

Seregil caught his breath. "But…"

"Not to worry. We will find useful outlets for your considerable talents."

Seregil shrugged. It was kind of his mentor to say, of course. "If you say so, Nysander."

"I do say so. Are you up to eating?"

Surprisingly, the stomach-soothing potion Severus gave him still worked. "Oddly enough, I think I am."

Nysander smiled gently. "Good. Come – Magyana and I have had quite a time trying to find you. Let us go back to my rooms, where I look forward to hearing all about your experiences over a well-deserved dinner."