The Golden Elixir, Book II, Chapter One
Please note the usual disclaimers-nothing belongs to me except the plot line and OCs. The master, JK Rowling, owns Dumbledore and Snape and the whole wonderful idea of Hogwarts. Also, for anyone who has not read book one, this will make very little sense to you. The three books have to be read in order to be understandable.
Albus sat on the edge of the yawning abyss and pondered his options. There did not seem to be many of them. The chasm was too far across for him to even make out the other side, and was so deep that the bottom disappeared into murky mists far below. He had kicked a small stone over the edge several minutes before, when his progress had been halted by the gulf he suddenly found stretching out before him, and had yet to hear it hit bottom. He had then done what seemed the intelligent thing and carefully traced his way along the narrow path skirting the gulf to the left, only to find, after a harrowing few minutes, that it ended in a blank wall that disappeared into darkness above him. He had checked briefly for any signs of a hidden passage in the wall, but soon became convinced that it was just as it appeared-solid and unyielding stone.
He almost lost his footing just then when a large, blue grey creature came screeching at him out of the gloom, looking disturbingly like a prehistoric pterodactyl. Its large, leathery wings beat the air hard enough to create a clammy breeze, its clawed feet reached for him while its open beak showed several rows of jagged teeth. Albus was not inclined to take a closer look, however intriguing he usually found magical creatures, but sent an impediment curse its way and hurried, as much as the path's crumbling condition would allow, back to the cave entrance. He eventually discovered another, much narrower path, if one could even dignify it with such a name, snaking off to the right, but it had also dead-ended. The result was his current position, seated at the edge of the chasm, staring at it reflectively and contemplating dwindling options.
The Triwizard challenge was turning out more impressive than he had imagined. He had not really known what to expect, and indeed, had not even given the tests much thought, with everything else he currently had on his mind. Snape and Delaia were at this very moment attempting to break into Augusta Zaglerin's potion vault and he fervently wished he were with them. Instead, he was forced to participate in this, the first of several trial exercises, to weed the multiple competitors down to three. He had supposed the early trials would be fairly simple, but had quickly discovered that making assumptions about Durmstrang was never a good idea.
He had thought Durmstrang rather unimpressive on first arrival, as the castle itself was less than a third the size of Hogwarts and very plain. Composed mostly of dark grey stone, it was unembellished by crenellations, gargoyles, or, in most cases, windows. There were no gardens surrounding it, just an extensive forest composed primarily of conifers, and a range of craggy, uninviting mountains. His impression of the place had altered considerably on the journey to their assigned rooms, however. The eight Hogwart's students-four champions and their chosen assistants--had been led to a stone tunnel that sloped downward at an alarming angle. They descended what felt to be about a mile into the earth before emerging into a huge underground warren of caverns, connected by what seemed literally hundreds of tunnels. Albus had noticed that all of their party looked as stunned at the sight as he felt, except for one. Snape wore an expression that, if it contained emotion at all, reflected only boredom. He had obviously been here before, or rather, would be here at sometime in the future. Albus made a mental note to have a talk with the mysterious Mr. Snape at the first opportunity to find out what he could, or would, tell them about the place. He still had difficulty believing that the two of them would be allies in the future; he did not trust the man and wondered, not for the first time, why Delaia seemed so sure of him. True, she was always complaining about something he had said or done, but there was an ease to their relationship that Albus secretly envied, and for which he could find no understandable cause.
Once they emerged into Durmstrang proper, they were led through a dizzying array of rooms, all furnished in the same depressing style-heavy, ornately carved furniture in dark wood or stone, tapestries depicting gruesome battle scenes covering the walls in rich colours, and ironwork chandeliers laden with candles that dripped thick, yellowish wax onto the stone floors. Finally, the parade ended at the substantial oak and iron doors that let into the wing reserved for them. Just how far they were underground Albus didn't know, but the very air felt heavy, as if a massive weight was bearing down from above. All in all, he thought Durmstrang lived up to its reputation.
Their rooms were surprisingly comfortable, with plush furniture looking much more comfortable than that in the common rooms, and large fireplaces. The paintings that, for lack of a better word, decorated the walls were truly grotesque, with the most innocuous depicting an animated Saturn devouring his children, but they had been quickly gathered up and deposited in a closet that was securely locked after them. Other than that, the rooms were more than adequate, being considerably larger than the ones they had occupied at Hogwarts. Each of the four sets of students had their own bedroom, and they all shared a large, circular main chamber with attached bath.
Albus and Valentin retired to their room to unpack, which had proved a bit trickier than he had expected. Delaia had been unable to understand why he felt it necessary to bring so much luggage, and had gone on about it at length while they were still at Hogwarts. Albus had ignored her, simply remarking that you could never tell what might be needed later. Once in their room at Durmstrang, however, he began to see her point, especially when his engorgio charm left them trapped under a teetering mound of parcels, bags and heavy trunks. A falling satchel released an enraged Fawkes from his cage by springing open the lock, at which point he began zooming about the room shrieking in a way that only an angry phoenix can. Delaia watched with a resigned expression on her face as one of his heavier trunks teetering on top of the pile fell, squashing her one piece of luggage beneath it. Sosi slithered out of her basket and disappeared under the luggage, planning who knew what revenge. Albus knew his pet well enough to decide to keep out of her way for a day or two. He helped Delaia out from under the table she had used to shield her from falling luggage, and surveyed the ruined room.
"Perhaps we should reshrink some of this, until we decide it's needed . . . "
Delaia shot him a look worthy of Snape, but did not reply. Eventually, the room was made habitable, and she was trying to floo the kitchens for tea when they received the summons to dinner. The main dining hall of Durmstrang was, like most of its frequently used spaces, underground, in a cavern the size of several quidditch fields. The food covering the seven rows of enormous tables was somewhat rich for Albus' taste, coated in heavy sauces or stewed in wine, and half the offerings seemed to be pickled, which he disliked. He was pushing a herring desultorily around his plate, wondering if the dessert course was likely to be any better, when Professor Zaglerin rose to begin the first of what turned out to be a long-winded series of speeches concerning the rules of the upcoming tournament. The gist of it all was that, as the contest was supposed to showcase the skills of the best students at the participating institutions, four champions had been selected from each school. These would all take part in a round of "heats" to dwindle their number to three, at which time the real contest would begin. If all of a school's champions were eliminated in the heats, then that school would not participate in the actual Triwizard event.
Albus felt a small, warm hand on his thigh. "And what do you want to bet all four of Durmstrang's lot make it in?," Delaia whispered, her expression hostile as she glared at the teacher's podium. Albus would have answered her, but the unthinking intimacy of her touch temporarily removed his power of speech.
Snape broke the moment by a caustic comment from across the table. "Of course they'll cheat, so will we if we get the chance. It's tradition."
"Hear , hear!" Zosimus readily agreed, his face shining with anticipation from his seat beside Snape. Albus had not realized until that moment how much the other boy wanted to compete, and presumably to win, the contest. He himself felt no such rush of excitement; he had assumed for so long that he would not have the chance to attend the trials that he had never let himself think much about them. With so much intruding into his thoughts at the moment-what his brother and the elves were planning to do, the prospects of breaking into the private stores of one of the most feared sorceresses in Europe, and the need to insure that none of the Hogwart's champions ended up dead-gave him little time for imagining fame and glory. Zosimus did not seem to find his responsibilities as weighty as Albus did, however, and was almost bouncing in his seat with anticipation to get started.
Delaia leaned over him again as a new speaker took Zaglerin's place on the podium. Her dark curls brushed the side of his face and Albus had to consciously force himself not to react. "We're going to have to do something about them," she commented, and he followed her eyes down the table to where his fellow Hogwarts students sat, their expressions ranging from a fair approximation of Zosimus' excitement--on the face of Lucas Dorien, Ravenclaw's champion-to a frown of worry on that of Hufflepuff's Sophicles Hamlin. The latter boy, with his small frame, cherubic face and thick glasses that constantly threatened to slide off his snub nose, worried Albus the most. He was an exceptional student--indeed, Albus had always wondered why he had not been in Ravenclaw, considering the amount of time he spent in study--but a glance at the Durmstrang champions two tables over made it evident that little Sophicles was in a great deal of trouble. All four of them reminded Albus uncomfortably of Snape at his worst, and they each looked perfectly capable of eating the Hufflepuff for breakfast. He hated the thought of sabotaging his own school, but Delaia was right. Something had to be done, or Hufflepuff might well lose a student permanently.
Albus' train of thought was interrupted by Delaia squeezing his leg and nodding in the direction of the head table, "Look, that must be her!" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wished simultaneously that she would refrain from doing that sort of thing in public, and that she would never stop. Yet another situation he was soon going to have to deal with. What had started out as a flirtation was rapidly progressing to the point that her very presence made conscious thought difficult. He caught Snape's eye across the table and saw with annoyance that the man was smirking at him. Albus resisted the impulse to hex him under the table, and shifted his attention to the front of the room, where he saw what Delaia meant. Augusta Zaglerin had arrived and seated herself by her husband. As some ancient professor from Beauxbatons droned on about sportsmanship, proper conduct and gentlemanly ethics, Albus had plenty of time to size up the extent of their problem. It was, he reflected, hard to imagine the pretty, surprisingly young looking woman clad in a breathtakingly expensive velvet robe, as a dangerous sorceress. The pleasant smile, soft black eyes and shy demeanor did not seem to fit the picture of a raging demoness that Snape had been painting them for the last four days. But then, Albus had had plenty of demonstrations recently that appearances could be deceptive, the dark haired "boy" beside him, whose attention had shifted to the dessert cart, being the most obvious.
Albus helped Delaia consume a huge slice of chocolate cake that was the first truly edible thing he'd found so far. Snape had no desert; he ate very slowly and was still finishing the dish of live baby eels that had been delivered to him earlier. Albus tried not to watch as he sliced another one open and deftly wound it around his fork despite its agonized squirming. Another of the tiny things had fallen from the bowl and was wiggling its way desperately across the table towards Albus when Delaia speared it with her knife and calmly returned it to Severus' plate. Snape shot her a look of thanks as he munched his mouthful of eel, and she gave him a smile in return. Albus felt slightly sick for more than one reason as he glanced between the two of them.
He remembered that look now, as his legs swung over open air at the edge of the abyss. His frustration mounted at being forced to wander around beneath Durmstrang, trying to find the chalice placed somewhere in this confusion of tunnels that would accept only the first eight names put within it, while the real drama took place elsewhere. Snape and Delaia, off together, probably bonding even closer because of their shared danger . . .
Just as his thoughts were turning truly grim, Zosimus interrupted by barreling through the entrance behind him and almost falling headlong to his doom. Albus's tug on the edge of his cloak pulled him back at the last minute.
"Damn!" The blond boy looked down at the gulf a few inches from his highly polished boots. He glanced at Albus, gulped audibly, and muttered a terse "Thanks."
Albus nodded absently. One of the grey creatures, this time with a greenish tinge, made a swooping pass at Zosimus, but he merely gave it an annoyed glance and shot some sparks at it out of his wand. It careened off over the chasm, screeching in pain, and Zosimus seated himself alongside Albus.
"So, what do we have here?"
"That is precisely what I have been trying to determine," Albus commented drily. "What took you so long?"
Zosimus sighed. "Trying to take care of that damned Hufflepuff, as we'd agreed. Did you get the Ravenclaw?"
"Dorien is currently being cared for in the infirmary with a badly twisted ankle. And you?"
Zosimus looked uncomfortable. "I tried, Albus, I truly did, but the boy is damned tricky. You wouldn't think it to look at him, would you?"
Albus turned in disbelief to regard his fellow conspirator. "So where is he?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. He got away from me before I could hex him and ran down the corridor. I lost track of him and hoped he'd run into you."
Albus felt a headache coming on. "I haven't seen him." He looked out over the deep gulf at his feet. He had wanted a few more minutes to work up his courage, but could not afford to take them under the circumstances. Sophicles might be being tipped into a gorge at this very moment by Durmstrang's lot; he simply had to be found and eliminated, in a mild sort of way, from competition before their fellow competitors could eliminate him from life. There had been a death in every Triwizard tournament save one for the last hundred years, but this one was going to be another exception if Albus had anything to say about it.
Before Zosimus could do anything to stop him, Albus allowed himself to simply slide off the ledge and into the abyss. He was dimly aware of his companion's horrified screech as he fell through the air, only to land a few seconds later on a bed of feather mattresses on the floor twelve feet or so below his previous position. In front of him, across a floor covered with ancient stalagmites, Albus could see a small door leading out of the room, while above his head the black eddies of the illusion still swirled. He summoned a ladder leaning against the wall a few yards from his position and climbed up, his head breaking through the mist almost at Zosimus' feet. The startled boy squeaked and backed into the cavern wall behind him, his eyes perfect circles of astonishment in his pale face.
"Albus?", he managed to whisper, looking as if he thought he might be talking to a ghost.
"Come on, it's only an illusion," Albus informed him, before sliding back down the ladder himself. Zosimus carefully followed, his feet a bit unsteady on the rungs as he did so. Albus turned, to ask him to hurry, only to be surprised with a stinging slap across the face.
"You absolute bastard!" Zosimus yelled at him, his voice echoing eerily off the cavern walls. "I thought you'd DIED! I almost had heart failure! What the hell did you think you were doing?!"
Albus belatedly realized that he might have mentioned to Zosimus his observation that the bottomless cavern seemed to waver a bit at the edges, if one looked at it long enough. Having just arrived on the scene, Zosimus had not, of course, had the opportunity to detect the effect. Clutching his stinging face with one hand, Albus forced himself to apologise. The pain might have made his words slightly stiffer than they would have been otherwise; in any case, Zosimus did not look all that appeased as they made their way across the cavern to the exit. He was still complaining when, after leaving the illusion room behind them and navigating several connecting passageways, they found the object of their quest. In a small chamber off the main tunnel, Sophicles Hamlin was calmly writing his name on a scrap of parchment, which he then fed to the small chalice on the stone slab before him. He glanced up as the two boys entered the room.
"You'd better hurry and get your names in," he told them matter-of-factly. "If I've counted correctly, there's only two spots left."
Please note the usual disclaimers-nothing belongs to me except the plot line and OCs. The master, JK Rowling, owns Dumbledore and Snape and the whole wonderful idea of Hogwarts. Also, for anyone who has not read book one, this will make very little sense to you. The three books have to be read in order to be understandable.
Albus sat on the edge of the yawning abyss and pondered his options. There did not seem to be many of them. The chasm was too far across for him to even make out the other side, and was so deep that the bottom disappeared into murky mists far below. He had kicked a small stone over the edge several minutes before, when his progress had been halted by the gulf he suddenly found stretching out before him, and had yet to hear it hit bottom. He had then done what seemed the intelligent thing and carefully traced his way along the narrow path skirting the gulf to the left, only to find, after a harrowing few minutes, that it ended in a blank wall that disappeared into darkness above him. He had checked briefly for any signs of a hidden passage in the wall, but soon became convinced that it was just as it appeared-solid and unyielding stone.
He almost lost his footing just then when a large, blue grey creature came screeching at him out of the gloom, looking disturbingly like a prehistoric pterodactyl. Its large, leathery wings beat the air hard enough to create a clammy breeze, its clawed feet reached for him while its open beak showed several rows of jagged teeth. Albus was not inclined to take a closer look, however intriguing he usually found magical creatures, but sent an impediment curse its way and hurried, as much as the path's crumbling condition would allow, back to the cave entrance. He eventually discovered another, much narrower path, if one could even dignify it with such a name, snaking off to the right, but it had also dead-ended. The result was his current position, seated at the edge of the chasm, staring at it reflectively and contemplating dwindling options.
The Triwizard challenge was turning out more impressive than he had imagined. He had not really known what to expect, and indeed, had not even given the tests much thought, with everything else he currently had on his mind. Snape and Delaia were at this very moment attempting to break into Augusta Zaglerin's potion vault and he fervently wished he were with them. Instead, he was forced to participate in this, the first of several trial exercises, to weed the multiple competitors down to three. He had supposed the early trials would be fairly simple, but had quickly discovered that making assumptions about Durmstrang was never a good idea.
He had thought Durmstrang rather unimpressive on first arrival, as the castle itself was less than a third the size of Hogwarts and very plain. Composed mostly of dark grey stone, it was unembellished by crenellations, gargoyles, or, in most cases, windows. There were no gardens surrounding it, just an extensive forest composed primarily of conifers, and a range of craggy, uninviting mountains. His impression of the place had altered considerably on the journey to their assigned rooms, however. The eight Hogwart's students-four champions and their chosen assistants--had been led to a stone tunnel that sloped downward at an alarming angle. They descended what felt to be about a mile into the earth before emerging into a huge underground warren of caverns, connected by what seemed literally hundreds of tunnels. Albus had noticed that all of their party looked as stunned at the sight as he felt, except for one. Snape wore an expression that, if it contained emotion at all, reflected only boredom. He had obviously been here before, or rather, would be here at sometime in the future. Albus made a mental note to have a talk with the mysterious Mr. Snape at the first opportunity to find out what he could, or would, tell them about the place. He still had difficulty believing that the two of them would be allies in the future; he did not trust the man and wondered, not for the first time, why Delaia seemed so sure of him. True, she was always complaining about something he had said or done, but there was an ease to their relationship that Albus secretly envied, and for which he could find no understandable cause.
Once they emerged into Durmstrang proper, they were led through a dizzying array of rooms, all furnished in the same depressing style-heavy, ornately carved furniture in dark wood or stone, tapestries depicting gruesome battle scenes covering the walls in rich colours, and ironwork chandeliers laden with candles that dripped thick, yellowish wax onto the stone floors. Finally, the parade ended at the substantial oak and iron doors that let into the wing reserved for them. Just how far they were underground Albus didn't know, but the very air felt heavy, as if a massive weight was bearing down from above. All in all, he thought Durmstrang lived up to its reputation.
Their rooms were surprisingly comfortable, with plush furniture looking much more comfortable than that in the common rooms, and large fireplaces. The paintings that, for lack of a better word, decorated the walls were truly grotesque, with the most innocuous depicting an animated Saturn devouring his children, but they had been quickly gathered up and deposited in a closet that was securely locked after them. Other than that, the rooms were more than adequate, being considerably larger than the ones they had occupied at Hogwarts. Each of the four sets of students had their own bedroom, and they all shared a large, circular main chamber with attached bath.
Albus and Valentin retired to their room to unpack, which had proved a bit trickier than he had expected. Delaia had been unable to understand why he felt it necessary to bring so much luggage, and had gone on about it at length while they were still at Hogwarts. Albus had ignored her, simply remarking that you could never tell what might be needed later. Once in their room at Durmstrang, however, he began to see her point, especially when his engorgio charm left them trapped under a teetering mound of parcels, bags and heavy trunks. A falling satchel released an enraged Fawkes from his cage by springing open the lock, at which point he began zooming about the room shrieking in a way that only an angry phoenix can. Delaia watched with a resigned expression on her face as one of his heavier trunks teetering on top of the pile fell, squashing her one piece of luggage beneath it. Sosi slithered out of her basket and disappeared under the luggage, planning who knew what revenge. Albus knew his pet well enough to decide to keep out of her way for a day or two. He helped Delaia out from under the table she had used to shield her from falling luggage, and surveyed the ruined room.
"Perhaps we should reshrink some of this, until we decide it's needed . . . "
Delaia shot him a look worthy of Snape, but did not reply. Eventually, the room was made habitable, and she was trying to floo the kitchens for tea when they received the summons to dinner. The main dining hall of Durmstrang was, like most of its frequently used spaces, underground, in a cavern the size of several quidditch fields. The food covering the seven rows of enormous tables was somewhat rich for Albus' taste, coated in heavy sauces or stewed in wine, and half the offerings seemed to be pickled, which he disliked. He was pushing a herring desultorily around his plate, wondering if the dessert course was likely to be any better, when Professor Zaglerin rose to begin the first of what turned out to be a long-winded series of speeches concerning the rules of the upcoming tournament. The gist of it all was that, as the contest was supposed to showcase the skills of the best students at the participating institutions, four champions had been selected from each school. These would all take part in a round of "heats" to dwindle their number to three, at which time the real contest would begin. If all of a school's champions were eliminated in the heats, then that school would not participate in the actual Triwizard event.
Albus felt a small, warm hand on his thigh. "And what do you want to bet all four of Durmstrang's lot make it in?," Delaia whispered, her expression hostile as she glared at the teacher's podium. Albus would have answered her, but the unthinking intimacy of her touch temporarily removed his power of speech.
Snape broke the moment by a caustic comment from across the table. "Of course they'll cheat, so will we if we get the chance. It's tradition."
"Hear , hear!" Zosimus readily agreed, his face shining with anticipation from his seat beside Snape. Albus had not realized until that moment how much the other boy wanted to compete, and presumably to win, the contest. He himself felt no such rush of excitement; he had assumed for so long that he would not have the chance to attend the trials that he had never let himself think much about them. With so much intruding into his thoughts at the moment-what his brother and the elves were planning to do, the prospects of breaking into the private stores of one of the most feared sorceresses in Europe, and the need to insure that none of the Hogwart's champions ended up dead-gave him little time for imagining fame and glory. Zosimus did not seem to find his responsibilities as weighty as Albus did, however, and was almost bouncing in his seat with anticipation to get started.
Delaia leaned over him again as a new speaker took Zaglerin's place on the podium. Her dark curls brushed the side of his face and Albus had to consciously force himself not to react. "We're going to have to do something about them," she commented, and he followed her eyes down the table to where his fellow Hogwarts students sat, their expressions ranging from a fair approximation of Zosimus' excitement--on the face of Lucas Dorien, Ravenclaw's champion-to a frown of worry on that of Hufflepuff's Sophicles Hamlin. The latter boy, with his small frame, cherubic face and thick glasses that constantly threatened to slide off his snub nose, worried Albus the most. He was an exceptional student--indeed, Albus had always wondered why he had not been in Ravenclaw, considering the amount of time he spent in study--but a glance at the Durmstrang champions two tables over made it evident that little Sophicles was in a great deal of trouble. All four of them reminded Albus uncomfortably of Snape at his worst, and they each looked perfectly capable of eating the Hufflepuff for breakfast. He hated the thought of sabotaging his own school, but Delaia was right. Something had to be done, or Hufflepuff might well lose a student permanently.
Albus' train of thought was interrupted by Delaia squeezing his leg and nodding in the direction of the head table, "Look, that must be her!" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wished simultaneously that she would refrain from doing that sort of thing in public, and that she would never stop. Yet another situation he was soon going to have to deal with. What had started out as a flirtation was rapidly progressing to the point that her very presence made conscious thought difficult. He caught Snape's eye across the table and saw with annoyance that the man was smirking at him. Albus resisted the impulse to hex him under the table, and shifted his attention to the front of the room, where he saw what Delaia meant. Augusta Zaglerin had arrived and seated herself by her husband. As some ancient professor from Beauxbatons droned on about sportsmanship, proper conduct and gentlemanly ethics, Albus had plenty of time to size up the extent of their problem. It was, he reflected, hard to imagine the pretty, surprisingly young looking woman clad in a breathtakingly expensive velvet robe, as a dangerous sorceress. The pleasant smile, soft black eyes and shy demeanor did not seem to fit the picture of a raging demoness that Snape had been painting them for the last four days. But then, Albus had had plenty of demonstrations recently that appearances could be deceptive, the dark haired "boy" beside him, whose attention had shifted to the dessert cart, being the most obvious.
Albus helped Delaia consume a huge slice of chocolate cake that was the first truly edible thing he'd found so far. Snape had no desert; he ate very slowly and was still finishing the dish of live baby eels that had been delivered to him earlier. Albus tried not to watch as he sliced another one open and deftly wound it around his fork despite its agonized squirming. Another of the tiny things had fallen from the bowl and was wiggling its way desperately across the table towards Albus when Delaia speared it with her knife and calmly returned it to Severus' plate. Snape shot her a look of thanks as he munched his mouthful of eel, and she gave him a smile in return. Albus felt slightly sick for more than one reason as he glanced between the two of them.
He remembered that look now, as his legs swung over open air at the edge of the abyss. His frustration mounted at being forced to wander around beneath Durmstrang, trying to find the chalice placed somewhere in this confusion of tunnels that would accept only the first eight names put within it, while the real drama took place elsewhere. Snape and Delaia, off together, probably bonding even closer because of their shared danger . . .
Just as his thoughts were turning truly grim, Zosimus interrupted by barreling through the entrance behind him and almost falling headlong to his doom. Albus's tug on the edge of his cloak pulled him back at the last minute.
"Damn!" The blond boy looked down at the gulf a few inches from his highly polished boots. He glanced at Albus, gulped audibly, and muttered a terse "Thanks."
Albus nodded absently. One of the grey creatures, this time with a greenish tinge, made a swooping pass at Zosimus, but he merely gave it an annoyed glance and shot some sparks at it out of his wand. It careened off over the chasm, screeching in pain, and Zosimus seated himself alongside Albus.
"So, what do we have here?"
"That is precisely what I have been trying to determine," Albus commented drily. "What took you so long?"
Zosimus sighed. "Trying to take care of that damned Hufflepuff, as we'd agreed. Did you get the Ravenclaw?"
"Dorien is currently being cared for in the infirmary with a badly twisted ankle. And you?"
Zosimus looked uncomfortable. "I tried, Albus, I truly did, but the boy is damned tricky. You wouldn't think it to look at him, would you?"
Albus turned in disbelief to regard his fellow conspirator. "So where is he?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. He got away from me before I could hex him and ran down the corridor. I lost track of him and hoped he'd run into you."
Albus felt a headache coming on. "I haven't seen him." He looked out over the deep gulf at his feet. He had wanted a few more minutes to work up his courage, but could not afford to take them under the circumstances. Sophicles might be being tipped into a gorge at this very moment by Durmstrang's lot; he simply had to be found and eliminated, in a mild sort of way, from competition before their fellow competitors could eliminate him from life. There had been a death in every Triwizard tournament save one for the last hundred years, but this one was going to be another exception if Albus had anything to say about it.
Before Zosimus could do anything to stop him, Albus allowed himself to simply slide off the ledge and into the abyss. He was dimly aware of his companion's horrified screech as he fell through the air, only to land a few seconds later on a bed of feather mattresses on the floor twelve feet or so below his previous position. In front of him, across a floor covered with ancient stalagmites, Albus could see a small door leading out of the room, while above his head the black eddies of the illusion still swirled. He summoned a ladder leaning against the wall a few yards from his position and climbed up, his head breaking through the mist almost at Zosimus' feet. The startled boy squeaked and backed into the cavern wall behind him, his eyes perfect circles of astonishment in his pale face.
"Albus?", he managed to whisper, looking as if he thought he might be talking to a ghost.
"Come on, it's only an illusion," Albus informed him, before sliding back down the ladder himself. Zosimus carefully followed, his feet a bit unsteady on the rungs as he did so. Albus turned, to ask him to hurry, only to be surprised with a stinging slap across the face.
"You absolute bastard!" Zosimus yelled at him, his voice echoing eerily off the cavern walls. "I thought you'd DIED! I almost had heart failure! What the hell did you think you were doing?!"
Albus belatedly realized that he might have mentioned to Zosimus his observation that the bottomless cavern seemed to waver a bit at the edges, if one looked at it long enough. Having just arrived on the scene, Zosimus had not, of course, had the opportunity to detect the effect. Clutching his stinging face with one hand, Albus forced himself to apologise. The pain might have made his words slightly stiffer than they would have been otherwise; in any case, Zosimus did not look all that appeased as they made their way across the cavern to the exit. He was still complaining when, after leaving the illusion room behind them and navigating several connecting passageways, they found the object of their quest. In a small chamber off the main tunnel, Sophicles Hamlin was calmly writing his name on a scrap of parchment, which he then fed to the small chalice on the stone slab before him. He glanced up as the two boys entered the room.
"You'd better hurry and get your names in," he told them matter-of-factly. "If I've counted correctly, there's only two spots left."