Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Elrin Danse is my own creation.
Somewhere over the RainbowChapter one
She looked around her in disbelief, not moving her head, only her eyes. Who had moved her here? There she was, lying on the floor, looking up at the most beautiful black traced cabinets, circling round in front of her gaze, obscure objects glittering inside. They looked archaic, like something out of an old museum, but also cared for. She lifted herself up onto her aching arms and groaned aloud and realized that she had been holding her breath. Had she been drugged, or had she fainted? Well, at least it wasn't cold in here, wherever it was. There was an enormous stone fireplace by the side of her, and she could feel the blast of the burning logs hitting her face. She would have been happy to sit there for some time but for an uneasy feeling. The last thing she remembered was that she had been in a shop, an old bookshop, reading instead of buying in a dusty, dim corner.
She knew that this place reminded her of something, but couldn't think what it was until she turned around to look at the whole room. Then it hit her as she took in the whole of the curved room: the painted portraits on the walls: steps snaking up towards countless shelves crammed with chunky books, stacked high above her. Although she had noticed portraits of men and women hanging on the walls, staring in her direction, her brain would not allow her to see them properly, as it was too busily scanning the rest of the spacious room. It had a further division at a higher level with an enormous heavy desk dominating the room with huge curtains and more books and gadgets and even more obscure objects. The place had a deep smell of books and wood polish and a odd sweetness she couldn't put her finger on.
……of course. But who had done this? Who could have brought her here?
This must be the movie set.
It's very well done, even close up it had that solid, authentic look. Even to the faded carpet on the floor: which was circular rather than angular and wide enough to fit the room perfectly. Beneath her it spread itself out in soft, delicate colours, as if it had seen many hundreds of years, washed by the years from its original glory but still bearing the trace of a breathtaking civilization. A little dusty it was, to be sure when she raked her hand over it, but silky and in beautiful condition.
She must be in Elstree. In one of the many barn-like studios dotted around in Boreham Wood – or 'Boring Wood' as Harrison Ford had quipped many years ago.
Could be handy, because she had a friend who lived here.
Perhaps they did this? For a joke she supposed. She hadn't seen them for years though. Well, it is a pretty good one. Perhaps it's one of those hidden camera shows. They'd set her up. Perhaps she could go there and stay the night if she couldn't get back home.
She decided to get up and have a further look. How long must she have lain there, because she was a bit stiff. Looking at her watch, she discovered it not there and groaned again. Where the hell had that gone? As she straightened up, she heard a movement behind her and stood absolutely still. It was a sort of shuffling, odd noise, not loud, not frightening, just casual, a sort of scratching.
Turning round quickly she came face to face with a puppet. Well, a moving puppet – on a perch.
"Ah," she cried, delighted. "Let's have a look at you then" and rushed to examine this stuffed bird. The stuffed bird looked at her askance.
"Very real, excellent." she said grinning.
"Thank you very much" it replied, blinking quietly.
Naturally she jumped. And then laughed, looking for the mechanism, stroking the feathers. Warm feathers. This was a warm body. Uh oh. She gradually and slowly removed her hands, keeping her eyes on the bird.
Perhaps she could make it out of the door.
She was about to head for it, when the puppet spoke again.
"Perhaps you might find it worthwhile to stay a little." Fawkes said, coyly.
"Er, I'm not sure what is going on here." She said, speaking more to herself and the room, half-eyeing the gentle movement in the pictures above her, and the soft sounds of the now sleeping portraits.
That's digitally done and in a computer, not on set. Unless it's projected.
"We realize that you don't."
"We?" She turned to the bird, whose ancient eye surveyed her sideways, it's tail feathers, incredibly long and gold, twitching slightly.
Should she be afraid?
"No need for fear I believe."
Now she was afraid. It could hear her. Unless she had spoken aloud without realizing it, noticing for the first time the gleam of many colours within the feathers, comfortable and graceful on its neck and back, like a quiet stream of some kind. It's voice was soothing, flowing, a unique slow rhythm like a song.
What had she drunk?. Remember, remember. Before, in that café. Nothing but water that she could remember. Who had access to it? Who the devil is behind this? She'd murder them when she got hold of them.
She'd like to think it was a dream, but she had studied dreams too long to believe that this was one. She thumped the cracked heavy leather chair arm beside her.
"Feel better my dear?" came the bird.
"Who has done this? "She frowned, trying to look tough, her eyes close to his beak.
Very well made, really. And she is asking this dummy for information?
She paced over to the fire.
"You have." Came the reply quietly.
Suddenly feeling angry, she quickly ran over to the heavy curtain at the other end of the room and jerked it aside. Well, she tried, it was so heavy –and soft, and was a very beautiful green. It cascaded down from the ceiling and hung there silent, with nothing behind it. It was like a very old memory. Like childhood. It tugged at her memory but brushed it aside, impatient.
There must be a microphone somewhere.
"What do you mean – I have? Don't be ridiculous. I was brought here – unconscious."
Perhaps it's underneath this table.
The dummy continued. "Your desire brought you here."
"Unless…"
"Go on"
Fawkes swayed on his perch, as if considering deeply.
"Unless you count – your destiny bringing you."
"This isn't Star Wars, Fawkes" she said, realizing that she had called him by name and felt completely stupid and more frustrated by the minute. She pulled her fingers through her hair, and then wiped them down the sides of her slim leather skirt and prepared for further searches.
"Star Wars?" he said puzzled.
"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, and when I get my hands on you…."
"You may lay your hands on me at any time Elrin".
"Don't call me by that." Her hands didn't know where to search for the microphone, in fact, they had begun to shake a little. Silly. Must be a drugged effect. "no-one knows that name."
"Well," the bird replied, "I obviously do"….and pitched its head annoyingly to the side.
"Did I talk while I was out cold?"
"You were cold? We thought you would be fine by the fire."
There's that We again.
"Is there no proper light in this place?" she said, her heart beginning to like this less and less. Yet she was in an extraordinary place, well, fake maybe, but haunting. They must have spent an absolute fortune on the set.
Of course speaking to a stuffed phoenix might be affecting her judgement.
There were one or two medieval-style torches on the walls illuminating the place and they were real enough and she was beginning to notice deep dark shadows at the edge of the room. It was getting darker. This was not funny anymore. She headed for the door, hoping against hope that it was not locked.
"It isn't locked" came the gentle bird voice from behind her.
"Thanks"
"But going out of it will not solve your problems."
"Being here is my problem."
"I think not, my friend."
"What do you know of my problems, anyway?" she turned back to face Fawkes, irritated but forcing calm.
Maybe he will give her a clue if she let him gibber away.
"You may find yourself."
Despite the warmth in the room, she felt a quiver of a chill – cool but not frightening. Stimulating perhaps: like the call from a minaret over a wide desert, a sun setting in the dusk, and a rash of stars in a darkening sky.
"Philosopher are you?" Greek studies perhaps?
"Yes, yes, Greek, Sanskrit, some Arabic and Hebrew to boot. Sanskrit is my speciality though, since it is distinguished by being the most ancient."
"Very funny."
The bird just looked down at his broad eagle feet and studied his claws as if they were toenails.
"I - wouldn't look round at this very minute, " the bird spoke quieter still, "but there is someone standing behind you," The warning in Fawkes' voice made her freeze and not turn around. She could hear the swish of some heavy smooth textile, a jerky impatient sound. What was she going to see? Some stupid kidnapper with a clumsy balaclava over his head holding out some kind of - sheet? Was she going to have to fight off an attacker? She stared at Fawkes, and kept herself deadly still, ready to defend herself. Fawkes however, continued as if whoever it was, was not there and listening.
"who you may find changes your life and with whom you may live your destiny."
Oh yes, and this person is her soul mate? Yea, right. So this is where this abduction was heading, leading up to it, very original she'd give them that.
Her mouth was dry and her hands suddenly sweaty, and she spun around fast. And nearly collapsed right back to her place on the floor. Standing half in and half out from the shadows of the wall behind was a tall black haired man in black school robes. She recognised who it was, though she had never met him. She recognized him all too well. Her stomach descended fast, like on the adventure playground ride last summer with her friends. They had paused, high up in the jolting carriage, then gaped as they looked down at a black hole of death not able to stop what was going to happen and where time stopped, before plunging, screaming into the pit, their hands up, hair shooting behind. All her dreams and her nightmares, all thought, all inspiration, all wonder and failure and secrecy and wisdom and despair: all that she have ever known or felt or spoken or did seemed to coalesce into this one point of existence – staring at this figure before her. And he was staring back at her, his arms folded, as if Judgement Day had arrived.
"Er..hello, Mr.." but got no further as this tall, enveloping figure moved a little towards her, stopping only sufficient distance away from the shadows from which he seemed to have emerged. She noticed the flop of his black hair and the white of his collar just peaking through the ……through the…..she couldn't think what the clothing was called.
Oh great, brain evacuation, thanks a lot.
"Professor, if you don't mind" a deep voice growled. It must have vibrated through the dark furniture, through the door, through her bones and through her DNA. It sounded more like a threat than a polite correction.
Ah. Still in his part obviously. Of course he was likely to be here. Bit late in the day though she would have thought. She had already noticed dusk settling outside the latticed window. .
"I, er, I " She couldn't get a word out. Closer to, his black eyes as a counterpoint to the white of his face, looked as if they were sharpening their knives as they prepared to stab her – to the floor no doubt, she thought, back to that carpet and the stones beneath.
Panic. Ok. This, is a good guy. Seems bad, but is a good guy. What are you talking about?, this is an actor for heaven's sake. A brilliant actor. A bit OTT though. It is amazing what can rush through your brain when faced with extremis. She suddenly felt excruciatingly aware of the state of her body. Her hair must be a mess after today's events, but was suddenly glad she had washed it this morning, and was painfully aware of it's wild softness round her face. The fine cottony blouse she wore loose and untidily seemed a vulnerable skin and her feet shifted in soft leather boots. For a flash, she thought of her underwear and desperately threw it into the corner of her mind. Get a grip. Oh heavens, he is getting nearer again, his arms now at his side. Not pleasant. Well, scary. Right, ok. Time to get your dignity back.
"Oh, what a surprise to see you at this time of the day." she said, too loud, but calm as if she were at a dinner party, and he was across the table. She cringed at her voice, wanting to flee, but was corroded to the spot by his eyes. It was more like meeting across an ocean. They were unstoppable, those eyes: black, deep apertures of time and space…And as if to see more clearly in the light, he stepped forward again, near enough to keep her from breathing heavily with any comfort in his presence. Before she knew what she had done, she had flung her hands up in front of her and could have sworn that she said something like:
"Icendium" as a sort of gut reaction of defence and the dark figure froze, and so did she. Only he continued to be still. Seconds went by and he still remained oddly still. She could feel a line of sweat tracing its way down the middle of her back. Nothing happened. And still nothing. She turned to Fawkes who was idly picking at some nuts in his bowl.
"Don't look at me Elrin". he said, without looking up.
She ignored his use of her secret childhood name, because of more pressing matters.
"What is going on Fawkes? He appears to be – sort of – frozen."
"That is correct"
"How come?"
"Simple, my dear, you froze him. A little unwise I believe, but hardly surprising in the circumstances."
"Froze him. Right.
"How come you weren't frozen then?"
"Ah. I think I'm a little too old to be magicked like that. Sorry."
She wasn't going to ask how old he was. Magicked indeed. Likely.
She had seen statue-like guys in Covent Garden touting for money. Only - this one wasn't even breathing; he wasn't even blinking. She wondered for a second if she dared take his pulse. But there was no way she could touch him, although it was an ideal opportunity to peer at him closely, like observing a shark in a tank, or a huge carnivore behind bars. A sense of power crept through her mind, together with an uneasy sense of betrayal, which she shook off. She didn't have time for conscience.
"And how could I possibly have done this?"
Had she killed him? He was certainly not a projection, no way. Before this happened, he was quietly breathing, his voice close and there was a faint smell of leather and, a musky, male, hot ginger smell coming from him. She inhaled his scent like a vixen would her cubs, as if it could explain his mortality, his existence, his meaning, his power….
"Well, you flung your hands up and wanted him to stop – which you did, and no, you have not harmed him."
"I couldn't possibly have done this" she said, circling the Professor slowly, very slowly, cautiously.
"Sorry to disagree." The sound of nuts cracking behind her, she I found annoying for some reason, but continued her inspection.
Where did that word come from? I- something. Never heard of it. Awesome he is, even iced-up, as if he could reach out at any moment and grab you and make you sorry.
Of that she had no doubt. It was evident in his face, in his body, in his aura.
She noted the beautiful black robes, made of some extraordinary material and his fine linen shirt revealed themselves at the end of the long sleeves of his frock coat studded many buttons. Buttons the length of the jacket right up to his chin. She put a hand out to touch his chest, but decided not to. His look was very Byronic. Coming round to the front of him she noted the strong single crease on his forehead and where a lock of thin hair had fallen over his large, patrician nose and the curve of his mouth. It looks like….him, but it isn't. How odd. This person is different. A stand in? Possibly. She had a sudden thought.
"Fawkes, how long will he stay like this?"
The bird made a stab for his water bowl. "any minute now. You don't have very long…"
A wild idea came to her, born of stress perhaps, and disorientation.
Of course, she could take his wig off. THAT would prove her point.. That would stop him acting like this, being in part with an innocent member of the public, and a fan no less.
Quickly, before he came round, and aware of being significantly close to his body, she leaned up to reach his head, having difficulty with his superior height, but managed to grasp his fine, silky black hair with her fingers, and was just beginning to pull it, when a deliberate cough in the room her made her nearly topple the hapless Professor over.
A tall figure, dressed in more colourful, textured robes was standing in the higher part of the room, framed by a wall light. She recognized him immediately too.
Where the hell had he come from?
Before she could explain he spoke calmly and reasonably. "I think it would be advisable if you did not tamper with our Professor's attire - he can be a little touchy about his hair you know. " and soberly descended the few steps down to her level, his rich robes sweeping out behind him. She fastened her gaze on his wiry white beard cascading down to below his belt, and then followed it up to the deep smile in his eyes behind his half-moon glasses, making her feel stronger, more buoyed, more content than she had felt in a long time.
How long must he have been in make-up, having that beard attached – and at his age too.
Well, it was an honour, anyway, meeting with these two famous artists, one of whom she suddenly remembered, was unfortunately, still frozen. Suddenly without warning, without understanding how, she knew that the Professor would be moving any second now, and needed to get back in the same place where she immobilized him from, or he would know. And she really didn't want him to know. She dashed back, smoothing her hair, stilled her unsteady heartbeat and faced him.
She was sure others would fare better, be calmer, not have the flush that she felt she had on her face but they were not standing here in front of this dark brooding presence looking for all the world as if he would take her heart out.
And the Presence graced us with it again. Silence in the room. They could hear the click, click of Fawkes' beak and she thought her breathing, shallow though it was, sounded as if it was echoing round the walls. Her legs were still functioning though.
Lucky me.
The Professor slammed open his dark eyes and shifted them, side to side, checking. He did not move at first, then lifted up to his full height, and she didn't think he could get any higher.
He couldn't loom further surely?
"You did that." The simple statement fell into the silence and shivered there.
"Did er….?" More monosyllables, she cringed. What would he think of her? Couldn't she summon up an intelligent statement?
"I felt time shift," he snapped, "do not deny it." His breath swept by her hair and his face looked like a hungry wolf with pups to feed, leaning in, dangerous. Very close.
"I think, " said a voice interrupting, moving aside the vibes that felt like cement in the room, to place his own dignity and lightness between them, his hand gently upon the younger man's arm. " that it is time to meet our new teacher."
And then he did a weird thing, because he looked at her.
The gaunt Professor didn't laugh, but he might as well have done, his lip taking a slow trip up north.
A jackal would have more manners.
"Who speaks Phoenix, I believe."
Both turned to look at the tall old man at the same time.
"Impossible." The younger man moved away to the fire, as if in retreat.
"No, I don't think so." the old man replied, snapping his fingers.
"And yes," he continued," you did feel the shift. Our young friend was – ah experimenting."
It was at that moment that her mind caved in, because a house elf, and she knew what a house elf was, appeared. In three dimensions. A waft of cooking, of buttered toast and cinnamon accompanied his presence.
"Would you like some tea Elrin?" asked the dignified old man, now in entertaining mode.
Someone else to correct about my name. Mind you, I'm all in, and yes I would like something.
"Yes please, I would." And the house elf disappeared as quickly with an order for three.
"Well," she said, thinking that it was ridiculous not to play along to this charade, even a very real charade, "I'm sure that there are many people here who speak Phoenix." The tea had arrived within seconds, with plates of cucumber sandwiches – her favourite – and Battenburg Cake and good hot reassuring British tea.
There was a snort from the corner where the Professor had flung himself elegantly into a deep armchair, and poked the fire unnecessarily.
"No, actually." said the old man, pouring the tea, while she sat perched on a comfortable chair that she hadn't noticed before. She felt as if she were in someone's drawing room, but the old man made her feel more at ease as he handed her a steaming cup, and a plate. "Help yourself" and pushed the food towards her on a small gracefully carved table. Again, she wasn't sure where that came from, as she hadn't been looking in his direction.
"No-one speaks Phoenix. Anywhere."
Again an uncomfortable silence. Fawkes had finished nibbling, and had his head tucked under his wing. The wood cracked as the fire spat up the chimney.
"I think you are mistaken about me, " she replied, "because he was speaking English. You must have heard what he said. She looked at them both, one whose head was turned to the fire, his black hair shining in the light, his white hands gripping the leather of the chair. He said nothing.
The elder man, glasses on his long nose, looked at her in silence, his head tilted to the side a little. Silent. This was getting more and more difficult.
"I repeat, you must have heard what Fawkes said." As she said his name, she felt foolish, but continued. It didn't seem to matter anymore.
"No". spat the abrupt reply from the fireside. " we did not." He did not turn his head, but seemed to inspect the inside of the fireplace. He had some tea perched on the edge of his chair untouched, but no food.
Well, she was starving, and polished off what was no doubt his share of the sandwiches without guilt.
Then she suddenly remembered some of what the bird had talked about. No wonder he was pissed off if he had heard.
"I have to ask once again: are you are sure that you did not understand anything he said?" a different note in her voice, which she hoped did not sound like panic.
"Nothing" he growled, more sunken in his posture, more angry, as if the question were an offence to his existence.
She looked again at the old man, hoping for help, trying to read his expression. He raised his white and bushy brows and smiled and shook his head very slightly, a cup raised to his lips.
"Neither Severus nor I can understand what our beloved bird says. I do believe, however, that he can communicate sufficiently in other ways" and he nodded with a smile at the sleeping bird.
At the word Severus, she nearly spilt her second cup of tea. She thought that she was beginning to panic. And she suddenly felt deadly, deadly tired. Was there something in the tea? It was hot in the room. For an elderly man, he could move with great speed. She felt his whiskers brush her face and his gentle hands on her shoulders.
"I believe that some rest is needed" he spoke firmly both to her and to the figure at the fireside.
"Rest, where?
She looked bewildered, too tired to protest, or worry or examine what was going on.
"Severus, would you be good enough to show Elrin her rooms?"
My rooms? As if I belonged here. As if I was expected….