Disclaimer: I do not own any part of J.K. Rowling's world nor am I making any money from it. The Salama are my creation however.
Unbearable heat choked the earthen corridor as the wizard made his way through the dim light. His footsteps fell silently on the soft black soil as the tunnel spiraled down into the bosom of the earth. In the distance he could hear the sharp echoes of metal slamming on metal cradled far below him as he drew closer to his destination. Sweat dripped down his face, trickling down the back of his neck and absorbing into his high collar. The elegant dress shirt and slacks clung to the contours of his youthful frame, accenting his well-formed figure.
Desperately wiping at the tiny streams of moisture dribbling down his face, he smeared fresh dirt across his dirty face. His body itched, craved for a nice soothing bath to wash away the taint of uncleanliness from his body. Dirt infested his hair, under his nails and places that he was refusing to contemplate as his destination finally revealed itself around a bend.
Wearily he lowered himself on a moss blanketed boulder and bowed his head. Lank and greasy blonde locks fell to cover his dirt smudged face as he surrendered to aches accumulated from his long trek from the world that he knew. The hypnotic pounding from his feet subsided gradually as they were tucked carelessly under him, the wizard settled himself in for a long needed rest as he waited with barely concealed impatience. The wizard sneered as he lazily flicked a beetle off his ankle. Manicured nails drummed restlessly as he watched the creatures across the earthen chamber labor across the scorching infernos rising from the floor. He ignored the hostile glances that were sent his way, after all he was the intruder here and could afford to be generous - to a point.
His hand slipped into an inside pocket and retrieved a small wooden box, plain in appearance. His thumb caressed the invisible depression and slid the cover off gently. Rolling one of the fluffy white balls out, he slipped it into his mouth before replacing the small box. Silver eyes slid slowly closed as a burst of fruity flavor exploded on his tongue and the wizard sighed. "Finished?"
"Yes, they are as requested. Made with the finest metals that the Earth has to offer, adorned with the desired stones and crafted in the ways of old."
A single eyelid lazily opened to reveal a glint of skepticism twinkling in the silver eye. "There was no difficulty?"
"Nothing that we have not been able to overcome."
"Anything less than perfection and my Master will be displeased."
The creature shivered, "perfection was ordered and perfection has been created in every rivet and every gem."
"Let me judge the quality, it would be...unwise should they not measure to my Master's standards, for all of us."
"As the wizard says," the creature bowed. Snapping it's fingers, a large wooden cart was half pulled and half pushed in front. Gently lifting off the grim coated cloth from the top, the wizard gasped as the treasure was exposed to his sight.
His fingers hovered over the glittering pile, brushing the air above it as though stroking a lover. "If they are as you say, beyond their stunning beauty, than my Master will be most pleased with your work."
"We should be humbled, should we receive such praise from the lips of one who is destined to be placed in the stars."
"My Master requested another set of three - I am to inspect their progress." The wizard said as he watched the cloth once more conceal the glittering puddle of precious metals and stones.
The creature bowed and gestured for the blonde wizard to follow as it snaked it's way through the labyrinth of fiery pits. It's clawed feet dug through the soft layer of loose soil, spraying grains of dirt to the side as the wizard calmly followed in it's wake. He drew the edges of his stained cloak to his body, he was looking forward to leaving this particular nightmare behind him as quickly as he could manage. The wizard ignored the creatures bent over the infernos, laboring at their tasks as he approached the ornately carved doors.
"You need to be asking Daidalos, for he is tending to that order himself." The creature squeaked as it gestured at the great doors, "for he is the master of the dark forge itself."
Ignoring the spineless mess at his feet, the wizard pushed open the heavy doors and was assaulted by the ravaging heat from within the spacious chamber. Twice the size of the chamber he had just departed, the wizard staggered under the weight of the oppressive heat. Gasping molten air into his burning lungs, he forced himself to enter the room. Spots danced before his eyes, creating a weightless sensation in his head as he collapsed against the wall.
"Slowly drink this wizard-man, you're not crafted for the warmth of Ifestos' fires" Blindly, his burning hand sought the relief that the voice promised would be his. With both hands he guided the lip of the glass to his seared lips and tipped his head back. "Slowly! Too much, too fast will melt the flesh of your throat and cook your insides. I have no use for burnt wizard here!"
Sipping at the contents of the glass, "what is it?"
"Spring water from the Elysian Fields."
"From where?"
"Never mind. Why are you here wizard? I only associate with your people by appointment and clearly you are not in possession of one."
"I am Draco, heir to the land, title and all entitlements of the ancient and noble House of Malfloy. My Master has sent me to retrieve the items which he engaged the services of the Salama to craft. I was also instructed to inquire about in regards to his special order." The younger Malfloy ducked his head, "whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
"Daidalos himself, master of the MAHV-rohs flames of the Infestos' Forge and child of Hephaestus himself."
Draco bowed, "I am indeed honored to stand before such a great artist such as yourself. I beg indulgence, that I might fulfill my Master's wish." His silver eyes shifted from the ground at his feet and quickly up at the dark red skinned creature towering above him. In all of his short life, the blonde wizard had never seen anyone close to the likes of Daidalos. Growing up in his father's house, the young Slytherin had been exposed to more frightening creatures at a tender age than the blacksmith. Living in a Slytherin household his entire life and later the Serpent's Den during his Hogwarts' years, he was well aware of that appearances meant next to nothing when dealing with those who claim no human ancestry.
Though Daidalos' general appearance spoke of being, having had a some human ancestry somewhere within his familial tree, Draco was all to aware that there were some-things that inhabited the wizarding world that create the illusion of appearing close to human. The young wizard shivered, hoping that he was not currently in the presence of something far worse. His master had not fit seen to include exactly what was crafting the objects that he had been sent to retrieve. A search through the Malfloy Manor's vast library had yielded sparse information in regards to the sub-servant Salama that labored and created the glistening pile of treasure in the previous chamber. But he had been woefully prepared to encounter anything else. He could feel the subtle pulsing of magic wafting off Daidalos, making him weary of antgonizing him.
"A silver tongue to match the eyes! Do not fret, child, I have just finished with your master's special order." Daidalos snapped his hairy fingers, "let us take a look at my masterpieces." As the blacksmith spoke, a dozen elf like creatures scurried to the far side of the chamber and began to pull on black chain dangling from earthen wall. Grunting and snipping at each other, the elf creatures panted as the ground at Daidalos' feet began to shift. The ground beneath Draco's feet rumbled, bucking him airborne. The blonde wizard crumpled to the ground in a ball as the earth around him grumbled. He brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and watched as the earth crackled and boiled, tearing itself apart as a sharp crystal punctured the ground.
He sat stunned, mesmerized as the shard of crystal rose through the ground and hovered at Daidalos' hand. Swallowing, Draco tried to recall when he had ever seen that particular shade of blue before. Surrendering, he gazed helplessly at the blacksmith. "Contain herein is what your master desires." As he spoke, Daidalos' gently wrapped the crystal in linen. "Pay heed to my words: Do not touch the crystal, do not allow it to come into contact with anything sentient. It is solely for your master's hands, as it is tailored to him alone. The crystal cannot be allowed contact with the sun nor the moon. Deliver this into his hands as I have wrapped it, or death will never deliver you from the consequences."
Looking at the young wizard, "heed my words of caution. Above all else that you leave with today, this is the most important to deliver safely and intact." The burly blacksmith gently laid the wrapped crystal into a leather carrying pouch. Motioning to the Salama standing near the door, "take your master's creations."
Draco bowed slightly and gently hefted the leather bag to his shoulder. Turning he shrunk and pocketed the black cloth bag containing the small fortune of items from the Salama. With a sweep of his cloak, he quickly fled the oppressive chamber and hurried through the maze of fires. Reaching the corridor that would led him back into the light of day, he paused to catch his breath, The leather bag on his shoulder weighed heavily as he leaned against the earthen wall.
Summoning away the last quakes of his fear, he pushed up the winding corridor anxious to feel fresh air on his blistered skin. He reverently prayed to whatever benevolent deities might be listening, that he would never again have to venture down into the abyss where the Salama and their ilk dwelled. Draco felt fortunate that he journeyed into their lair whilst they were in one of their rare good moods. Goblin forged items where a mark of status amongst the pureblood, a single piece was worth more than just it's weight in gold these days. But items crafted by the gods of fire and forge themselves, Draco shudderd at the price tag that would have been attached to just one of the small beauties nestled in the black cloth bag. Goblin made items such as the famous Sword of Gryffindor were made to withstand anything and everything it encountered - except the magical flames sustained by the Salama themselves.
Where as Goblins had honed the skills and were grudgingly willing to craft objects for wizards from their hordes of gold and sold at abominable rates. Salama crafted objects were virtually unbuyable. Very few of the elite pureblood families could boost of having a single small, unadorned ring forged in the Salama fires. Once forged, the object was embued to hold enchantments caste by the owner and could only be destroyed by being returned to the fires from which it had been created.
Stumbling, Draco collapsed onto his knees as he sucked in the fresh evening air. Closing his eyes, he sighed in relief. Crawling across the rocky ground, the blonde wizard made his way past the magical wards and apparated back to Malfloy Manor. His gut clenched as he landed outside the fences bordering his ancestral home. Clunging to the wrought iron, he dragged his way along the fencing and used his body weight to swing the gate open. The blonde Slytherin struggled to stay on his feet as the cool air seared his lungs, forcing the heat out with each breath. The heavy oak door swung open and he stumbled into the entrance hall. Bracing himself against the wall, he summoned a house elf.
"How is Buggy serving Master Draco?"
The blonde wizard sighed, "fresh robes and a cool towel." The house elf bobbed it's head before blinking out quickly to carry out the wizard's orders. In a blink of an eye, the elf returned with the requested items. "Inform Mother and Father that I am leaving again. I have no idea when I will be able to return to the Manor."
"Yes Master Draco." The house elf bowed it's head before winking out again.
Sighing, the Malfloy heir wiped his sweat soaked face and neck before peeling off his dirty robes. Leaving the towel and robes in a heap at his feet on the floor, he tredged into the sitting room. Carelessly lighting the fire, he grabbed a pinch of green powder from the ornate bowl hanging nearby and tossed it into the flames. "London Portkey Hub, International Departures," the flames flickered green as he spoke. Squaring his shoulders, Draco Malfloy stepped into the floo.
His unsettled stomach threatened to heave it's contents forcifably all over the mosiac floor of the London Portkey center as he stumbled out of the floo. He grunted as he pulled himself up off the floor and glared at the few people walking past. The Blonde Slytherin's lips thinned as he pushed past groups of wizards and witches congrgated in the middle of the walk. Patience was not one of his vurtues, much to his master displeasure, but he refrained from hexing anyone as he fought his way to the portkey counter.
Five years since the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort, had been vanquished and Draco still found himself on pins and needles waiting for his master to make his next move. To be honest, his master was constantly moving pieces around - just not striking. He had spent the last five years waiting for the axe to fall and wizarding Britain as everyone knew it under go the much needed changes that were planned. It wasn't his place though to hurry things on, after all the subtle shift of players had so far gone unnoticed by the general populace - more importantly, none at Hogwarts had noticed. Draco slipped to the side of the counter and patiently waited, his head leaned back against the wall.
Everything that he did now was simply a step in the right direction as he waited for his ship to come in. Voldemort had been sloppy and greedy, a recipe for disaster. Moving to fast and trying to grab too much without the means to keep it once he did have it, eventually stretched himself too thin. Instead of controlling the key areas of wizarding life, he had attempted to use brute force to enforce his dominace over everything. In addition, the paranoid psychopath neglected to ensure loyalty from those that had pledged themselves to him. Trusting in Legilimency to detect disloyalty and unimagined torture sessions to keep an iron grip on those who followed him. Branding them with the infamous Dark Mark was pure stupidity, letting all the world see who was following whom was simply a death sentence for all those involved as well as the movement's leader.
"Mister Malfloy, your portkey is ready."
Startled, Draco jumped slightly as his eyes snapped open. Nodding to the middle-aged witch, "which room?"
"B78, have a wonderful day." The attendent smiled as she handed over the felt hat, "be sure to pass on my greetings to any mutual friends you happen to see."
Draco nodded as he accepted the hat and made his way down the blue hall, watching the door numbers as he went. It was times like this he wished that the need for absolute secrecy was past, that they could walk out in the open and be reconized as the driving force behind returning their world to a better time for everyone involved. Voldemort's reign of terror had intially set his master's plans back, but in the end it also gave them a much needed edge that the half-blood upstart could never have accomplished. Locating the correct room, the younger Malfloy tapped his wand on the door knob. Firmly shutting the door behind him, he activated the portkey with a whispered "true" and was whisked away from London, Britain.
His insides twisted, knotting themselves as his body was pulled from the Isle of Britania, across the foamy Atlantic Ocean and finally to his destination. Silently screeching to an abrupt stop, he stumbled to the ground and emptied his stomach. Groaning, Draco struggled to his feet and lurched across the white sands towards the nearest apparation point.
Author's Note: This will be updated as I have time and my muse is available.