By: Lore or mess.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the Sanderson sisters, or Phoenix Down. I just write fanfictions.
Chapter 14 – Bloody Idiot.
"Fordlen! Move up that ladder! Use those muscles!"
Drill instructor Benno continued to bark out orders, blowing shrill whistles whenever he saw something he didn't like. The cadets scampered about, trying to heed to his every word. Edward Fordlen climbed up the rough wood ladder unsteadily then proceeded to crawl downwards on the large rope net hanging diagonally fifteen feet in the air. Cadet after cadet moved like crazed soldier ants, returning to their lines once done with the obstacle course then going again when their turn came.
Artaxerxes watched with critical eyes from the bleachers. Too slow. They would be shot down faster than they could complete half of the course. Their reaction time was too long. Minds were not focused on the task. Still too weak as first year Greens. They would have to do better if they want even a sliver of chance at becoming a second year Green. Rising in the ranks was not as easy as doing your homework and a bit of training. It requires much, much more than that. But Tax knew that he shouldn't have expected so much from the spoilt, pampered princes and princesses. As the years passed, St. Bastian had been forced to accept the lesser students as military schooling became less popular. The result was cry-baby cadets and tantrum-throwing brats. How he loved making them moan and ache with pain after a session with the older years. They all agreed that the younger brats needed all the 'bullying' and harsh treatment they can get if they want what it takes to be a soldier. Even Tax got it during his time. Up till now, not one Bluey or lower Greenie had been spared. All except for one.
Tax sighed as the last cadet clambered down from the fall tower. He still remembered the day that pint sized toddler strode into the first year Blues' dormitory hall. Dressed in beige coloured pants and a black t-shirt, the girl had to be no older than seven! The Blueys had stared at her while she looked around as if it was the most normal thing to be standing there. A first year Black had entered with her and the cadets had scrambled to salute the student/instructor. Once everyone was back to what they were doing before, the Black had explained some things to the girl before she nodded and the two left. Two days later, on the first day of actual schooling, the girl had attended classes with the first year Blues, much to the shock of the students. The standard age for enrollment at St.Bastian was 12 and the girl looked nowhere near ten! It was a complete befuddlement to the cadets. Until they discovered her identity. Djemn Helesande, founder and board director General Helesande's daughter. It was no question after that how she got into the school. Tax was a second year Bluey then and had only learnt about all this later from his friend who was in the same class as the girl. Said friend was the reason he was there to see the little tot the first time.
It went without saying that the St.Bastianites didn't take to her very much. Who would? She was a spoilt child who only got in because of her father's influence over the school. She even stayed at home instead of the dorms, arriving at school every morning and leaving every evening in her own personal helicopter. It was ridiculous too, to have her attend so early when her size practically screamed 'bully me!'. Even the youngest and smallest cadets were a head taller and bigger than her. She would be the biggest bully victim since the school's founding. They had no idea how wrong they would find themselves to be.
Not only was she a star-student, Djemn Helesande was in no way an easy target. After the first month of school, the other Blues finally couldn't stand her beating them to dust in both academics and training and had started to harass her. At first, it was mean words and insults but Djemn had barely batted an eyelash. Then, it was sabotaging her during training but it never worked as she would only evade or block or repair and continue as if nothing had happened. They finally openly challenged her in hand-combat to humiliate her in front of the other students during one of the combat classes. Djemn had accepted their challenge then completely demolished her opponent in simple Karate moves. The worst realization had come when the Blues saw that she wasn't even breaking a sweat. That had been the end of the Blues' harassment.
A year passed and all the Blues rose in rank. Tax had been promoted to the rank of first year Green and was looking forward to another three years of grueling pain. What he wasn't prepared for though, was Djemn Helesande appearing as his classmate. The girl had been skipped a year and had gone from first year Blue to first year Green, bypassing her second year as a Blue. It was a nasty shock for the Greens. All of them had gone through two years of harsh training and preparation as Blues to reach their current rank while she just waltzed right into their midst. To say that a few hearts had been displeased would have been a major understatement. And thus, began the Greens' torment on Djemn Helesande.
Tax, for the most part, just disliked the girl. He himself had never met her and none of his friends had bothered to try. But rumours do a wonderful job of poisoning one's mind. With so many people against her and the teachers favouring her seldom-imperfect work, it was hard to ignore the little devil whispering in his ear. However, all that changed when he was partnered with her for the first weapons-combat duel of the year.
Tax had always had a strange gift of sorts. He could see things. Not ghosts or angels or the like. Just weird monochrome shadows which usually clung close to some particular people. They had no shape or pattern and it was always different for every person. Once, he thought that they were the souls of other people. But he hardly ever saw them anymore after turning nine. It was an ability unexplainable by logic and Tax had been forbidden to tell anyone about it, including his father, by his mother. Until he met Djemn, he had never understood a single thing about his ability.
She glowed. No, it was more like the shadow glowed but it was so near to her that it seemed as though she was glowing. A reflective purplish pink shadow hovered so close to her that Tax had a hard time trying to keep up with the movements of her sword as she slashed it continuously at him. Being near one for the first time, Tax was more concerned about keeping himself away from the shadow and as a result, had done quite badly in the duel. After being berated by the combats master for his lack of attention and effort, he had looked over at Djemn. She was still glowing, though it seemed to have dimmed somewhat. And she was looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Perhaps something had shown on Tax's face when he was struggling with the shadow but whatever it was, Djemn probably didn't deem it important as she carried on ignoring him and the rest of his rankmates. It was then that dislike turned into fascination.
Tax started to observe Djemn in everything that she did. He took notice of how she disliked company, especially if said company had an ever-yapping mouth. He found out that, despite how small she was, Djemn was already ten years old. He also found out that if she was angry, irritated or serious, the glow of her shadow would grow brighter and vice-versa. He started talking to her. Constant staring became occasional greetings. Occasional greetings became short (one-sided) conversations. The conversations became friendly jokes and after a full year, Djmen Helesande finally responded to him as a friend. Sort of. She was still cold and aloof but she would answer if he called. Well, it was usually because he's right behind her when he called and she didn't like being followed. His reason for doing so was because he discovered, shortly after her acceptance of him as a sort-of friend, that when he was near her shadow, he would experience a soothing sensation. It wasn't a romantic emotion, just calming. Like how one would feel when standing at the beach in the cool sea breeze.
Then, out of nowhere, he had slowly begun to understand that the shadows he saw were the essence of their masters. People with relatively strong spirits would have a shadow of their souls floating near them. Some people could have strong spirits but have little control over them, thus displaying a shadow which seems to float slightly away from their body. The closer the shadow to one's person, the stronger control one had over one's mind, body and soul. Djemn's shadow was intense and nearly overlapping with her own physique. Tax could only guess what she had to go through to have so much power over herself. Or maybe she had been born that way? He would never know. It's not as if he could just up and tell Djemn that she has a pinkish phantom of herself floating behind her then ask if it's always been that way.
When the end of Djemn's second year at St.Bastian came, Tax had found himself feeling anxious. If Djemn skipped a year again, all his previous efforts to secure a friendship would be wasted. He knew that the girl was as much a workaholic as her father and that she wouldn't think twice about him if doing so meant putting aside her training and schoolwork. However, Fortune had smiled on him and Djemn hadn't managed to skip another year, meaning she will still be his classmate in second year Green come next school term. Tax had asked himself then, if he was such a horrid person as to feel happy at the small girl's discontent and use her shadow for his own contentment. Thoughts like this nearly made him break his promise to his mother and reveal his secret to his friend. Somewhere in his conscience, it only felt right if Djemn knew about his true ulterior motive when he became her comrade.
Second year as a Green, Djemn worked harder than before. It seemed she was more determined to become a Black than Tax thought. Her shadow was constantly alive with brilliance. And Tax had understood something. She was happy working hard. It was what she did best. In the end, Tax never did tell her about her shadow. Instead, he became a true friend. Without thinking about the shadow, he treated her as a person. Because of that, their second year together was much more productive, both in terms of friendship and training. With Tax copying many of Djemn's practice habits and skills, they were constantly at the top. This of course, attracted jealousy from other cadets. More sabotage came in the form of false news and damaging rumours. Though, neither Tax nor Djemn had been too bothered by them. But this had only made the green-eyed cadets, no pun intended, try harder.
Tax didn't know the finer details as Djemn refused to tell him but from what he had heard, he gathered that one of the Greenies in Djemn's elective classes had struck a nerve. It seemed the idiot had impaired Djemn's bow before one of their archery practice sessions. When she tried to arch an arrow, she had felt the difference and immediately flung the bow away from her. Not a moment too soon too. The cable had snapped and whipped the polished wood floor of the archery room, leaving two long scars. It was shuddering to think what might've happened if Djemn hadn't been as observant as she was. The cable would've caused quite a bad injury. Tax had heard, from one of Djemn's classmates, that her expression was so dark then, he thought she had burst a blood vessel. And Tax had almost felt sorry for the person behind the sabotage.
Three days later, said person had mysteriously withdrawn from the school. Something about St.Bastian being not right for him. Hah, as if. If he had wanted to pull out, he would've done so sooner, instead of waiting till second year of Green. The charge for the facilities at the academy was not so cheap that one would enroll just for the heck of it. No, it had something to do with Djemn but damn if she would say anything about it. The students didn't know about the actual happening, but the rumours did their job and pretty soon, Djemn and Tax were left alone again.
Alas, Fortune strikes only but once. At the end of their second year as Green, both had been promoted; Tax to third year Green and Djemn to first year Black. He had been genuinely happy for her. He knew more than anyone that she had deserved it. And did she know it too. Black was the highest ranking colour in St.Bastian Private Academy. Students who were seriously considering profession in the military would be given the choice to follow their programme. While studying the finer points of being a commanding officer, Blackies are required to train their junior ranks as practice. And Djemn was all about practice.
Not many, and if Tax was honest, none of the cadets were happy with the fact that they were going to be trained by a girl the size of a primary school child and the age of a first year Bluey. Though Djemn had only taken on the first and second year Blues, they were still discontented and would, more often than not, play hooky or disobey her orders. It didn't last though. Djemn had, literally, beat some sense into them. For Blacks, they had the authority to do whatever they wished to their cadets, as long as it remains within the ethical code, to ensure the desired results. True enough, no one dared to be AWOL after that and Tax had watched with growing amusement and awe as Djemn's cadets started to gain some semblance of caliber.
Three months into the year came the annual May tournament. It was a yearly competition between cadets in order to accumulate points. These points were recorded and referred to during practical exams to judge the expertise of a cadet in a particular field. So, the more points the cadets scored during the tournament, the easier it is for them to pass during the actual assessment. The tournament consisted of many different crucibles designed to test various aspects of a cadet. So, both Blues and Greens had an equal chance in scoring. The Blacks were the moderators and it was their role to make sure that no one cheated in the tournament.
It came as a surprise to many when Djemn's second year Blueys managed to accumulate the third highest points in the tournament. The whining, slacking group had somehow been transformed into an actual troop of cadets. Said cadets had been overjoyed at their success. They began to pay more attention to their miniature instructor and had even followed her orders no matter how unreasonable it sounded. The results had turned out to be very gratifying. It was long overdue but Djemn finally received the respect she deserved.
Then, August came and Djemn had announced that she would be leaving for another institute in Scotland the month after. Her declaration was met with varying degrees of shock. Many of her cadets, who had gotten used to her cold and harsh ways, didn't want her to leave. The academy instructors were at a loss as they had believed she would stay until her graduation as a second year Black. The Greens, on the other hand, had been put out that they wouldn't have a chance at experiencing the 'Hell Blackie'. But Tax had been the most speechless. Djemn hadn't said a word about her plans to him. Of course, she had no obligation to do so but it would have been the sort of thing one friend told another. Especially since Tax seemed to be her only friend at the academy. Even a warning would have sufficed. But no. He knew nothing about her leaving the country. It left a sort of bitterness in him as the day of her departure grew nearer.
The week before her going, Tax had asked for a talk with her. In the end, they didn't do much talking at all, being who Djemn was. Instead, Tax had taken the opportunity to think back about the last two and a half years they have been friends. He had learned so much just from watching her and thinking like her. Her shadow had been a constant source of comfort. And as they sat quietly under a tree that afternoon, Tax had suddenly realized that she hadn't changed at all. Djemn was still the same person he had first approached when he was nothing but curious about her shadow. The thought gave him a feeling of peace. Knowing that his friend wouldn't change and that she would always remain the cold, calculating, deceptive girl she was. He hadn't really cared after that, what her reason for leaving was. If she hadn't told him, then she won't even if he asked.
Tax stood from the bleachers with a deep sigh. The trip down memory lane was over and the sun had long since become a crimson yolk in the sky. In a few days, Dejmn would have left the school for a total duration of three months. It was not her to write, so Tax could only phantom how much agony she was inflicting upon the students at her new school. Probably very much. He snickered as he hoped down onto the sandy ground and began walking towards one of the Greenie cafeterias.
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
She never thought Salazar to be a trophy kind of person. There were none displayed in the common room and she hadn't seen one in the study earlier. In fact, if she thought more about it, there wasn't even one mention about him receiving something akin to an award in all his accomplishments. So, it was more than a little surprise for her to find the crucified body of a man fastened to the dungeon wall.
Djemn eyed the dry corpse warily. The skin, tightly drawn along long, narrow bones, had long since become a dark shade of brown. It looked more like a layer of desiccated animal pelt, dried numerous times under a scorching sun. The bones, though still in positions and not crooked, seemed as brittle as twigs. The eyes were sunken but not empty socket holes. Long, withered, wavy red hair was still attached to the skull. All in all, it looked as though the man had died not too long ago, but Djemn knew better; she was pretty sure some sort of preservative was keeping the corpse in that condition. Nothing else could explain the lack of stench resulting from human decomposition, as the body was clearly not done decaying; there was still too much biological tissue left. Plus, everything led to Djemn believing that these rooms have not been opened for a thousand years. Therefore, the only possible explanation was that Salazar had preserved then crucified the corpse onto the dungeon wall as his personal trophy, ten centuries ago.
Djemn stood there for a moment, thinking. Then, just to be on the safe side, even though it was clearly very obvious where it concerned the man's status of being, she performed a health check on the body. The result came back to state that the man was, indeed, dead. It was a little more comfort to her, knowing that it was undeniably her own imagination that led to her seeing the bloodshot eyes. In the dungeon where there was little light and the atmosphere screamed 'horror movie!', it wasn't unreasonable for her to imagine things that weren't there. The human mind was unpredictable and playful, among other things. Djemn was not that proud that she wouldn't admit to her own flaws and tendencies.
She studied the crucified man a moment longer before moving closer. He was nude but wrapped in a long, narrow piece of white cloth. The wrappings were not tight and consistent like a mummy's, but rather lose and haphazardly enfolded enough times around each limb to prevent major movement. Closer inspection revealed that the edges of the fabric were dyed in dark blue. There were writings on the cloth: ancient runes and words in a language unfamiliar to Djemn. She turned to look at the wall beside the corpse. On the space to the man's left, under his left arm, was a gold plaque fastened to the stone wall.
HERE BE MILESIUS
SEALED IN YEAR 863
BY SALAZAR SLYTHERIN
Milesius? The name was vaguely familiar to Djemn. She must have read it once somewhere, a long, long time ago. It was only once, but it was enough for her to have a faint recollection of the word. With that thought, she deducted that this man must have had connections with the non-magical world. Hopefully, Salazar had left explanations in his study or Djemn would have to painstakingly search through her manor's entire library, which wasn't very easy considering its size.
Djemn examined the plaque again and saw that it was made of solid, genuine gold, the writings craved by hand. Wizard, muggle or magical creature, whoever this person was, he must have been important to warrant such posh treatment. Salazar had either treasured him so much that he would preserve and make a gold plaque in memory of him, or Salazar had hated him so much that even in death, he wanted the man to forever be a trophy in his dungeons. Djemn was more inclined to believe the latter. Salazar Slytherin didn't strike her as the 'Friendship Lasts Forever' kind of man. Besides, the crucified position and deshabille state of the man made it a very poor last resting place. Or perhaps Salazar was just that kinky. She wouldn't know.
Djemn stood there a moment longer, just staring and thinking. Finally, deciding that gawking at a dried up, half-dressed corpse for an entire afternoon wasn't something she'd fancy doing, Djemn left the dungeon and returned to the study. From there, she moved to open the last door. Not knowing what to expect, she blinked once when she found what appeared to be a potions workroom behind the door to the right of the black desk. An extremely normal potions workroom. In fact, even Professor Snape's classroom looked more dramatic. There was nothing on the shelves, all the cauldrons were tucked neatly away, and there were only six clean stoves available for brewing. Everything was in shades of grey and black. Nothing in the room indicated that it was once owned by one of the most powerful wizards of all time.
Djemn stood back and closed the door, slightly let down. Of course, she understood that the founder had probably needed the workroom to brew some of his more illicit concoctions and the purpose of the room was little more than that, but still. Djmen moved over to the tall, dark green, executive's chair look-alike and carefully sat down. Let it not be said that Salazar Slytherin had bad taste. The chair was amazingly comfortable. She suspected magic was involved. The cushions were soft but not soft enough to make one sink in, neither was it hard enough to cause a flat bottom after long periods of sitting. Djemn was definitely looking forward to longer visits.
She looked down to the top of the desk and was perplexed to see the scroll lying there. She hadn't realized it earlier but the scroll was no longer floating in mid-air and was now resting, not-glowingly on the desk. Djemn unrolled it and examined the blank parchment carefully. There was magic in it yet. Every inch of paper was still clean and crisp, as though new. No doubt the work of another preserving charm.
As soon as that thought passed through Djemn's mind, dark green words began forming on the parchment.
Preserving Charms
Page 114 – 325
Book 016
Shelf I
Djmen stared at the words for a few moments. Could it be? She immediately tried thinking of something else: human anatomy.
Human Structure Catalog
Book 153
Shelf IX
Glancing up and around, she noticed that there were indentations in the wooden ceiling above each shelf. There were three shelves on her left, three on her right, four in front of her and one behind her. The shelf nearest to her left was labeled I, followed by II, and so on, moving clockwise until it ended with X, the Roman number for ten above the shelf nearest to her right. Shelf IV, V and VI, VII were respectively on the left and right of the entrance door. According to the silver numbers on the spines of the books, there were two hundred books per shelf, starting from 001 to 200 then returning to 001 on the next shelf.
Djemn wandlessly used a low-level summoning spell and Book 153 floated over to her from its place on shelf IX. The book was entirely about the human body. However, besides the usual notes dictating the functions and construct of tissues, there were also annotations on how to heal said tissue and how to utterly destroy it. Even the tiniest details were included. How very pleasing.
Djemn looked back down to the scroll on the desk. She knew its function now. It was a sort of index. An Index Scroll, showing her exactly where to find whichever book she needed. It was brilliant of Salazar to think of something so convenient. Placing the book on the desk, she turned her chair around to look at the last shelf, the one behind her. It was the only one without a number. But that was not where the difference ended. This shelf was twice wider than the others. Not unlike the rest, it was also partitioned into eight racks but the fourth and fifth rack was partitioned again into even more compartments. These small, box-like spaces were used to store various kinds of ornaments.
Djemn got up and went closer to the shelf for a better look. On the fourth rack, in the compartment furthest to the left, there was a small, woven strap with a bluish green orb attached at the end. To the right, she saw a petite, portable mirror encased in what seemed to be blue metal. Then, there was a Viking-like horn. Her eyes came to rest on a ring placed directly in the middle of all the devices. It was a simple silver ring shaped as a band with two serpent heads biting into an emerald. Djemn gingerly picked it up and inspected it. When she could find nothing strange about it, she reached over for the Index Scroll.
Chamber Ring
Page 30
Artifacts
There was no shelf number. Indeed, as Djemn's eyes searched the last shelf, each book had a proper name and not just digits on their spines. Finding 'Artifacts', she summoned it down to her and began reading. By the end of the page, what was commonly known as a wicked smile grew on her face as one thought went through her mind. This makes things so much easier.
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
They were up to something. Harry was much too unfocused on his potion and Ronald just seemed fidgety. Djemn was expertly brewing her own Swelling Solution while keeping an eye on the activities going on in the potions classroom. Draco Malfoy was being an arse, as usual, by flicking puffer-fish eyes at the trio. They wisely ignored him. Professor Snape, on the other hand, was being his customary snappish self to the Gryffindors. Everything seemed fine… Normal…… But experience had taught Djemn that situations like these were never normal.
It had been nearly two weeks since her visit to the hidden chamber. Over the course of that time, she had returned numerous times. It was easy with the help of the Chamber Ring. She smiled fondly as her thumb discreetly caressed the smooth silver band around her left middle finger. During her visits, Djemn had taken to reading Salazar's logs and journals. It seemed that the founder had an obsession with 'experimenting', his favourite fields being potions, spells and transfiguration. It was clear now what the cages in the dungeons were for: his experiment guinea-humans. Djemn was also mildly surprised to find that the artifacts in the study were in fact, weapons, though some, like the ring, were made for convenience. She had made a mental note then, never to open the mirror when it was facing herself and never to blow the horn. She did take the orb and ring, however. Using a glamour charm, she constantly had both on her person at all times. It was too dangerous to do otherwise.
As soon as the professor turned to harass Neville, Djemn saw Hermione give Harry the tiniest nod. Careful to seem as though she was paying attention to her stirring, Djemn watched as Harry ducked behind his cauldron and took out a firework from his robes. He gave it a tap with his wand then straightened up, eyes searching. Djemn understood his intention immediately. Stealthily, she slid her wand out from her sleeve and cast a silent corporeal shield spell. True enough, Harry lobbed the whizzing firework high into the air before it fell into Goyle's cauldron with a soft 'plop!'.
The cauldron exploded and students ran wildly for cover. Swelling Solution splashed everywhere, enlarging everything it came into contact with. Djemn tried not to quirk a smile at the sight of an unfortunate boy who had acquired a fairly healthy bosom thanks to the potion. She herself wasn't affected due to the shield, though she did step out of the way to seem as though she was avoiding the splashes. Wouldn't do to stand like a statue when everyone else was running amok.
"Silence! SILENCE! Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft. When I find out who did this……"
Half the class went to the professor's desk as he issued out vials of the antidote. Djemn's eyes flicked over to the trio and one dark eyebrow rose in surprise when she couldn't find Hermione with Harry and Ronald. Moments later, she saw the bushy-haired girl re-enter the classroom with something in her robes, the door she just exited being one which led to the professor's private stores. Ah. So it wasn't merely a futile suicide mission to get back at the potions master. At first, Djemn had thought that the trio had hit their heads in the last class, attempting to do something so stupid and ridiculously risky. But, it seems the ends outweighed the means. They obviously had something they needed from the potions master's stores. Well, applause to them if they manage to pull it off.
Once everyone no longer had any bloated body parts, Professor Snape went to Goyle's cauldron and inspected it for a moment before producing what seemed to be the bent, burnt remains of a firework. The class fell into a hush as they stared at the twisted fire-rocket hanging from Goyle's ladle in the professor's hand.
"If I ever find out who threw this, I shall make sure that person is expelled."
Faces paled at the professor's words and Djemn had to bite her tongue to not smile. Potions class is just so precious.
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
Severus knew it was Potter. He just knew it! No one else dared to pull such a stunt in his classroom, save the accursed Weasley doppelgangers. He swears, the two families were put on earth to torment him for life. First it was James Strut-Like-He-Owns-The-World Potter, then it was Fred and George We-Are-Your-Worst-Nightmare Weasley and now, it was Harry I'm-The-Freaking-Boy-Who-Won't-Die Potter! Fate had never been kind to Severus but all he asked was that it be less of a bitch when it came to him. So his fucked-up childhood wasn't enough, let's throw in a Dark Lord and a pain-in-the-ass Boy-Savior as well. How simply spiffing!
Severus hadn't forgotten about the Helesande girl as well. In fact, if it wasn't for her, he might have caught insufferable Potter before he threw that blasted firecracker into Goyle's cauldron. As it was, he was too caught up thinking and observing the mudblood Slytherin to have noticed Potter attempting to destroy his classroom. If only his back was not turned at that time……
Djemn Helesande was still the enigma to him. After the little scene in the headmaster's office, Severus had followed the old wizard's advice and had given his curiosity a time-out. He had heard from Madam Pomfrey that "whatever the poor dear went through" had left a very nasty bruise on her cheek by the time she reached the Hospital Wing. Then, it was not sympathy he had felt for the small girl, perhaps more of kin. He had known what it felt like to be hit and bruised. One never got used to the feeling even after so many times. And he understood the need for solitude whenever that happened so he had been considerate enough to give her the few days in the infirmary. After her recovery though, it was a different story.
Abuse victim or not, Severus had an obligation to find out what had happened to one of his charges. He found it very hard to believe that Helesande was totally clueless about what had happened during her disappearance. It was true that she had been surprised, confused and disoriented when they first found her but even after her recovery, things were still too odd, strange. He knew there were things she hadn't told them. In fact, the whole disappearance continued to seem more like an elaborate play of sorts, the scriptwriter being Helesande. On one hand, Severus had called himself silly for thinking of such a thing. Djemn Helesande was a twelve year old girl, not a scheming hundred-something year old evil witch. Then, on the other hand, Djemn Helesande was a Slytherin raised by a general who seemed like he would be rather good friends with the Dark Lord. Severus wouldn't put it past her to be capable of running the world in circles.
To answer his queries, he had given her detention under the lie that she had caused uproar in the school. The girl had accepted as though she had been expecting the act. Then, during each detention where he instructed her to perform mundane tasks in the potions classroom while he graded essays, he had gently tried legilimency on her. The results were unexpected as he found himself with a natural occlumens. He had hoped that the first few times had been flukes and that he would be able to penetrate her mind if he seriously attempted to but alas, it was not to be. The few times he had managed to get a glimpse of her mind, all he saw was a round stone room with nothing in it. It was most peculiar but tried as he might, he didn't manage to get even a slip of information from her. So, every evening for five nights, he always ended up watching her work on ingredients, washing cauldrons and labeling vials instead. It was through these observations that he noticed how expertly her hands moved with equipment, as though she was all but used to cleaning and practical work. And for a moment, he had seen a memory of himself, cleaning the kitchen supplies when he was eight.
After that week of detention, he gave the girl a wider berth, hoping to catch her when she made a slip instead of hovering above her like a vulture. It was hard though, because all Helesande ever seemed to do was attend classes and study in her room. The most anyone saw her was during meals and lessons before she shut herself away. It was many a times Severus had wanted to invade her room again, just to see what she was doing inside, but he knew better. The security would be thrice as strong after the last break-in and he was not stupid enough to try again.
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
In the year 849, in order to investigate the alarming increase of witch hunts, I traveled to Salem. There, I met three of the most intriguing witches. Notorious for their twisted ways, the Sanderson sisters, Winifred, Sarah and Mary used some of the oddest methods in their magic. They used only the purest and roughest of potion ingredients while relying solely on their raw power without using a wand or object of channeling. Their most prized possession was the Eotonweard Book which, true to its name, has a functioning eye embedded into the hard cover. I spent some time with the sisters and learnt much about how they survive against the town muggles who constantly scream for their death. But I was most interested in the way they maintained their youth. By taking others'. The information gave me many theories about how to tackle my problem of attaining immortality. At this point, my experimental concoction produced too many varying results to be of any use……
Djemn looked down at the recipe resting on the desk, before returning her eyes to the journal in her hands. Too many varying results? Putting the journal aside, she picked up the recipe and scanned through the recorded data for the potion's experimental stages. After a few moments, her forehead scrunched up in confusion. Perhaps the theory hadn't been discovered yet during the first millennia. However, thanks to modern muggle expertise, Djemn could now see Salazar's problem. By applying simple chemistry, she found the hitch to be the absence of a stabilizer in the concoction, therefore causing the varying results. All Salazar had needed to do was add a stabilizing chemical addition to counter the overwhelming effects of the other three ingredients while maintaining the actual purpose of the potion……
With a jolt, Djemn stared back at the book in her hands, eyes intense, as thoughts ran wildly through her mind. If she could complete this potion……
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
The Great Hall was packed with students. The four house tables had been removed and one golden stage was placed against a wall. Students gathered around it, nearly bursting with excitement and energy as they waiting for the Duelling Club to commence.
A Duelling Club. Djemn would honestly admit that it was an intriguing idea. A chance to see everyone at their worst and their best. A game she was brought up playing. It would be fun to experience it the wizard's way. And that was how she found herself among the many students of Hogwarts, waiting. Truth be told, she hadn't wanted to come very much, what with the near completion of the theory for 'Phoenix Down' as she'd named the potion. The Christmas holidays couldn't have come at a more appropriate time. It was the perfect opportunity for her to buy the essential ingredients for the actual brewing. But, research and experiment aside, Djemn owed herself a break from it all. The Dueling Club would provide a much appreciated distraction…
"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"
…. Or not. Djemn stared incredulously at the man in deep plum robes on the stage. Next to him, Professor Snape stood with a murderous expression on his face.
"—Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – You'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
Djemn wanted to snort. Instead, she just wrinkled her nose slightly in disgust at the lying, pathetic excuse of a man on the stage. She wondered just how long it would take before someone realized that he was a complete and utter fraud. All the female sycophants after him… did they even read any of his books? The dates and times were too inconsistent. He couldn't have possibly been in Haiti battling a ghoul, then trying to converse with a mountain troll in the Andes Peaks three minutes later. Even children could come up with better lies.
Djemn watched as both professors faced each other and bowed. Then, they raised their wands into offensive positions and got ready to strike. Or at least, Professor Snape did. Professor Lockhart was too busy explaining rather obvious details to his female audience and failed to notice the highly displeased state of his opponent. After a count of three, the two men raised their wands behind the shoulders and cried "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of bright scarlet light later, Professor Lockhart was thrown back into a wall where he slid down to slump ungracefully on the stone floor. Djemn raised an appreciative eyebrow. Perhaps coming here wasn't a complete waste of time after all. Cheers came from a few Slytherin students and Djemn thought she saw her head of house calm down just the tiniest bit. Once he managed to stand again, the DADA professor tottered back onto the platform.
"—if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see……"
And Djemn thought Professor Snape had seemed murderous before. Now, he looked as though he wanted to incinerate the other man on the spot. Said man had noticed the look this time and wisely decided to steer the focus elsewhere. At least his sense of self-preservation was not non-existent.
"Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me……"
Djemn automatically went to the side, finding herself a place by the wall. She had considered participating when she first heard about the club but after seeing who the organizer was, the choice was rather obvious. She didn't need to get involved in children mock-fights. Let the others have their fun. She's quite content staying away from infections of the immature-kind. Djemn watched as Professor Snape sorted through the crowd. The potions master purposefully separated the trio and partnered them with incompatible Slytherin students. How very him. But it was also good practice for all of them. One needed to face all sorts of opponents in practice to prepare for what one might face in the real world. Indirectly, Professor Snape was doing them a favour. She wondered if he realized that fact. Slowly, he came closer and closer to her position until he was standing right in front of her, regarding her with a scrutinizing expression.
"Miss Helesande, you will partner with—"
"I am merely a spectator, professor."
The professor gave her a hard look before abruptly walking away. This suited her just fine. Now, she had all her attention to observe the other students and see if they're worth anything.
"One… Two… Three…"
Djemn wondered if the word pandemonium would appropriately explain the situation in front of her. Every other student was shooting off spells like a malfunctioning machine gun. Those less efficient with wands opted to use physical means instead. Slytherins mostly targeted Gryffindors and vice-versa. Hufflepuffs ran and cowered behind some of the older years while the Ravenclaws disorderly used as many spells as they can, which was a lot.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Professor Snape's canceling spell put an end to the chaos in the Great Hall. By then, a grayish, greenish mist was hanging above the crowd, the result of randomly discharged magic. There were students bleeding, sprawled on the floor, sorting odd limbs in strange places. Djemn didn't know whether to walk straight out of the hall in disgust or bang her head against a wall in frustration. These… brats couldn't even hold one duel properly. She felt the irritation crawl under her skin like tiny ants. None of her cadets, not one, had caused her so much displeasure. Being so incompetent, the Hogwarts students were nothing short of amazing.
"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells. Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart. Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the Hospital Wing in a matchbox."
Professor Snape was already searching the hall even before he finished his sentence. His eyes glided over shuddering students until they stopped on Djemn. Face neutral, she stared back, daring him to pick her. She was in a rather foul mood now and a match would provide good excuse to vent off some of her frustrations. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it, her head of house seemed to think that it would be best if she didn't get an excuse to curse somebody. Damn his perceptiveness.
"How about Malfoy and Potter?"
"Excellent idea!"
In just a few seconds, Harry and Malfoy were left standing in the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them more room. Then, the DADA professor attempted – note the word 'attempted' – to teach Harry how to block an offensive spell. Instead, the man just dropped his own wand when he tried to execute a complicated hand movement. Opposite them, Djemn saw Professor Snape say something in Malfoy's ear. Well, this could get interesting.
"Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?"
"Three – two – one – go!"
"Serpensortia!"
A long black snake shot out from Malfoy's wand and landed heavily on the floor between the two boys. It raised its head, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings around it before moving into an offensive position. The crowd screamed in fear as they moved further away from the snake. Djemn didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It was just a black milk snake. Non-venomous, constrictor type, perfectly harmless. There was more danger of the students impaling themselves with their wands in their haste to skitter away than there was of the snake causing them any real injury. And it was such a beautiful snake too. But pretty scales aside, Djemn's mind was working fast. Did Professor Snape purposefully tell Malfoy to use this spell? What was he trying to prove? Did he know something?
"Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it…"
"Allow me!"
Professor Lockhart pointed his wand at the snake and a loud bang was heard. Djemn watched in slight horror as the poor snake was hurled ten feet into the air before falling down with a 'smack' onto the floor. Furious now, the snake went for the nearest victim: Justin Finch-Fletchley. Djemn could understand its fury. Hell, she would be livid too if someone just transported her from one place to an unfamiliar one then threw her ten feet into the air. Plus, the unfortunate reptile was probably hibernating before this. From what she could remember, this species was only active from mid-spring to early-autumn. It's no surprise that it's angry.
The snake raised itself in front of Finch-Fletchley, fangs exposed as though about to attack; an intimidating act done by all serpents. Then, Djemn watched with one raised eyebrow, in slight bewilderment, as Harry started running towards the snake. But, she was wholly unprepared for what he did next.
"Leave him!"
The snake immediately slumped to the floor, turning its docile eyes to Harry. The boy looked surprised for a moment before he grinned and looked up at Finch-Fletchley. Djemn's fingernails dug into her palm as she restrained herself from shouting, "IDIOT!". If she was one for verbal cursing, she would have at that point. The boy was a bleeding imbecile! Who in their right mind would speak in parseltongue in front of a crowd? Did he want to be an out-cast? Labeled a dark wizard? BLOODY IDIOT!
"What do you think you're playing at?"
Finch-Fletchley turned and stormed out of the hall. The crowd started muttering amongst themselves and giving Harry suspicious looks. Professor Snape came forward and banished the snake, all the while staring at Harry in a calculating way. Harry, on the other hand, just stood there looking confused until Ronald tugged on his robes and steered him out of the hall, Hermione joining them. As they passed, the crowd parted away from them, as though the trio was contagious with a highly lethal disease.
Djemn watched them leave with a neutral expression. They brought it upon themselves.
DH DH DH DH DH DH DH
The next morning dawned with a blizzard raging outside the castle walls. Djemn had long since stopped her morning laps and practiced indoors in her room, no matter how limited the space was. She just couldn't risk it going outside. This meant that some tuning exercise was in order when she returned home for the holidays.
The first lesson that day was charms with Ravenclaw. Most of the class were still half asleep when tiny Professor Flitwick called the register. Last night, Djemn had taken the time to think about everything that happened yesterday and had come to a decision to go about as though nothing had happened. She wasn't going to reveal her parseltongue abilities nor was she about to act differently around Harry. There was no reason to do either. And she concluded that she had been overly paranoid about Professor Snape; obviously the man had just wanted to make Harry sweat a little. It had nothing to do with her.
Professor Flitwick was just about to show them how to cancel an engorgement charm when the voice of Peeves, Hogwarts' resident poltergeist and trouble-maker, filled the air.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
Djemn heard doors crash open at the shout. Voices filled the hallway as students flooded out to see what the screaming was about. Djemn pushed her way to the front of the crowd and saw Harry standing in the middle of the corridor, looking stunned and slightly scared. Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor next to what seemed to be Sir Nicholas. Both were petrified with identical expressions of shock on their faces. Djemn moved her attention back to Harry and narrowed her eyes at him. How is it that he can get into trouble so many times within the span of 24 hours?
Professor McGonagall arrived and ordered everyone to return to their classes. As Djemn moved to leave, she heard a yell of "Caught in the act!" before Professor McGonagall said something sharply in return. Whatever it was, Djemn had bigger things on her mind.
That night, she lay on her bed, thinking of a way to solve her new dilemma. Well, it wasn't really a new dilemma, just one she didn't think she would need to deal with. Until now. The Heir of Slytherin was moving again and it was becoming too risky for Djemn to continue commuting to and fro from the chamber. They might just meet on an unlucky day. While Jormungand was friendly to her and had promised to not reveal her secrets to the Heir, he was still under the Heir's command. Proof was today's attack. Djmen knew that if given the order to eliminate, Jormungand would have to obey and kill her. It was not something she wanted to experience anytime soon. She would have to do something about the Heir, but it will have to wait until after the Christmas holidays.
Author's Notes: The ending's a bit abrupt but I'm running out of words! This chap is twice as long as a normal one to make up for a missing update. I need reviews! Opinions! Anything to keep me going! And on a sadder note, this will be my last update before my finals, meaning Lore or mess will be MIA until the first week of December. I mean it this time. Finals are important. So, bear with me, 'kay? Big thanks to Alice and taugeh!
Sanderson sisters – the witches from Hocus Pocus, one of the few Disney films which did not make me want to puke. I changed their time for the story. The Eotonweard Book is mine though.
Eotonweard – 'Watch Against Monsters' (Anglo-Saxon).
Phoenix Down – Anyone who plays the Final Fantasy game series would know. For those who don't, … well, you'll just have to wait and see.
Until then, have a nice day everyone!