A/N: 'Shuffles feet' Sorry about the long time it took to update. I had the worst writer's block. But after almost a month it was cured with a one-shot about Ginny and Limewire. So here you all are, the newest chapter!
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That night was a lot of firsts:
The first hours of winter, ushered in by the chiming clock of midnight rather than a fall of snow upon the dark cloudiness of the starless sky.
What would later be called the first night of the War of Revelations. It was the start of a long, vehement attack on all good and some bad in this world. The midnight blue blanket hung in respectful remorse as cries trilled into the air. Dementors are silent but their prey is never. Having your soul removed, your emotions fed upon, it will rise a moan in even the most stoic of men and the deadest of woman.
It was the first time he had ever heard her say the term death dealer. It was also the last time he ever desired to hear it again. But it wold be like a fissure under his feet. A dark shadow, lingering just at the corner of his mind and speaking of certain doom.
It was the first time Professor Kryeen had ever seemed unhostile... or the hostility at least, was not directed at anyone there. She was angry, but also clever and... worried. If it was plausible for the knit in her smooth brow and narrowing of her golden eyes to be dictated as concern, that was the moment for it.
Above all, it was the first time Harry realized the magnitude of this war. It meant mass killings, and simple assassinations. It meant torture and sadism would pollute the air. Everyone and everything was threatened. This was a war where the invisible boundaries of reality and comprehension had been broke. Death, the actual incarnate, was involved in this war. Or at least one of his vassals were.
After all, the only way Death would truly enter this war is if another death dealer joined into the strife... on the other side.
And Blair refuses to be a part of the War, for either side.
Harry Potter's captivating veridian eyes were closed, but sleep was an unknown. His mind reeled with different emotions on this little bit of information.
Did I really except her to help us battle Voldemort?
The sting of betrayal in his gut told him yes.
I thought she was going to help us... she is so bloody powerful!
It seemed natural for his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to help in the fight against the greatest dark wizard of the times. She was fearless, he had seen her fight. There was no hesitation, no afterthought. It made her reckless, untamed, captivating...immortal.
Green eyes snapped open under stray locks of ebony hair. They glassed over with memories of the past hours.
§
The events were a blur, but somehow the boy-who-lived was brought from his Headmaster's office the DADA room again. And in that point of time, Lupin, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, and Celia had been taken into the firelight room. Daemon was wheeling around, looking agitated in his burgundy feathers. The sixth year took a seat beside his two best friends, and the platinum-crimson haired woman began to pace, one hand grasping the other's wrist behind her back as though to restrain from lashing out. The cruel whip was still hilted on her belt, and the cloak danced about her heels.
"I know all your stupid questions to don't bother to ask them. Just shut up and listen." Her tasteful voice was dipped in irritation and uprising.
Whatever was happening, she didn't like it.
And no one in the room was stupid enough to not comply with her rude command.
Blair took a breath, and then launched herself head-first into a million facts about things that belonged in a fantasy story, not tangible like the chairs the small party sat upon.
"There are two forces in everything. They form the original opposition, old as time and too ancient to be called back in full. You have created petty words to describe these powers which spawn all things. But you will recognize the word if not the meaning it has. To put it simply, they are Life and Death.
Life is creation—emotion, fate, time. Life is. Death is emptiness—discard, unbound, forever. Death isn't. Death is the lack of existence and as such there is no time, no destiny to bind it. There is no remorse, no humanity or soul. Death is a continuous, unchanging end. Life is... well, you get it. These two forces follow opposition as everything does because everything learns of opposition from them. Life wards away Death on strings and Death tries to creep up to Life in silence. The power of their fight escalated into a war with their subjects as pawns. Death formed an incarnate, or is an incarnate, whichever your sheltered thoughts can grasp. Damn, your language is so inadequate to explain anything novel."
Blair was fidgeting as she paced, her fingers clenching and releasing the knouter at her waist. Her wand seemed like a simple strip of wood—weak and unimportant—compared to that item of torture and death she wielded. Come to think of it, when had she used her wand besides a few lessons? The professor preferred wandless magic, he realized.
"But you see Death had a problem. All the souls it ruled over had passed on to it, and could not go back into life. It received the trash, and had no way to get back into life. After all, no one can die and come back again. Spirits can return, but it was not strong enough for the destruction the power wants. But then he found a soul, one so tortured it could not find rest in emptiness but fought against everything for its sheer anguish. It used these spirits of the unbreakable and offered them a great temptation.
To live again, freed from what caused such intense harm in the past life. Power to dominate, to never be hurt again. A body to roam once again, molded in perfection. All the spirit had to do was serve Death in the other realm. You had to become his servant, a player against Life. If you accepted then you were given all as promised, and marked as a death dealer. There are few, and scattered, but deadly. Only Death or another death dealer can kill one of us."
It was when she used the word us that Harry realized it. Of course, he should had put two-and-two together; he had the knowledge. But the thought of Kryeen actually being a death dealer hadn't even crossed him until then. She had chosen to fight against even death. She had... died. Ron's small murmur told the chosen one that his best mate had just realized it too. But a glance over at Hermione's drawn, glinting face and he was sure she had already figured this out.
"Once sent back a death dealer has no conscience of killing. It is what we do, tear at life. However we keep out of mortal affairs for the most part. And that is why this is all so...Fuck."
Apparently the immortal hadn't been able to find an 'adequate' word to describe the situation at hand.
"Professor Kryeen I must ask you to refrain from such language in front of present company." Albus had a calm voice still, but it was dashed with exhaustion and anger.
Her golden eyes fixated on the wizard.
"Shut up." She didn't even bother with an insult.
"I will gladly comply as long as I do not hear any more... shall we say questionable, use of vocabulary."
She was using her 'fuck you' glare again, but a slow smirk worked its way onto her full lips. It was somehow alarming with the dangerous narrowing of her bird-like eyes.
"Bumblebee, do you know why I am letting you here all of this?" Her deadly whisper.
Harry blinked at the name. Was it an insult or was Blair capable of handing out pet names?
"I would be pleased to know." Dumbledore was one of the select people who emancipated no instant fear after being addressed like that.
"Tom has somehow found out about death-dealers. He has used an ancient spell to bind one of them. That immortal is under his complete control. The idiot is now controlling one of the most powerful creatures in this world. Death has entered this war."
"No force can enter into a war without having opposition my dear." Albus replied, surveying her over the top of his spectacles.
Her mouth opened, then shut again, then opened for the soft venom of her whisper.
"I am not a part of your war, mortal. I will not fight in something so meaningless." But her fury could not be contained, so she strode away from them, slamming a door in her wake.
That had been half an hour ago. The green-eyed Potter kept replaying those words in his head. She had left before he could interject, argue. Why wouldn't she help them? Why was she so reluctant to enter a war? Professor Blair loved to fight, he saw it burning in her soul. So then...
Why?
§
Celia Magnatine walked alone on the grounds well past curfew. She hoped that no trouble would come of it, but her need to be out in the cold stillness of a winter night was overwhelming. Her thoughts were too jumbled and the lake was her source of quiet comfort.
The beautiful witch sat down on the sandy bank beside the cool depths of the blackening waters. A shiver ran down her spine as the cool touch of winter's rising fingers slipped in to her skin. Her blue orbs looked into the water without seeing. The gentle ripples rose to wet the hems of her robe.
The brunette did not like opposition, and as such she did not favor wars. But she knew that the wild professor was her clear difference in opinion over struggle. Blair thrived in a battle, but she would not fight in a war.
There is something more to this battle then she is telling us. What is she hiding?
A crescent moon lingered in the sky, casting its weakened glow. No stars formed to dash the world in silver hue, but the faint lining of clouds was somehow just as soothing.
Whenever I think I know you, you always come out with another surprise, professor.
A soft smile barely teased at her smooth, coral lips.
But I should not be thinking just about Kryeen now. She can deal with herself, even if I cannot fathom her—ever. No, I should be asking another question.
There was an amount of hesitation in the former street rat to address the true nature of her thoughts. It was not refusal, that was not a part of her character. Rather it was the sad knowledge of asking yourself something you are sure will change everything in a moment.
Am I fighting?
Am I a player in this war?
That was the first issue to tackle in the peace of her surroundings. Celia was not a fighter, she knew this. She was one to watch from the sidelines, allow events to pass her by.
Overcome boundaries deemed impossible
It was Daemon's hauntingly beautiful voice echoed in her mind like a chime. Perhaps it was time to stand up for once. After all, somehow the seer knew that this fight was going to drag her into it somehow. Better to go walking then stumbling.
And then there was the second decision she had to make.
Which side of the fight to aid?
Draco was on Voldemort's side. Harry was on...should she call it Dumbledore's side? Might as well, no harm could come from her mental naming of things.
Pansy Parkinson was on Voldemort's side.
Ron and Hermione were on Dumbledore's.
Blair was out of the war.
Daemon was...
Where was the phoenix? Normally she would assume he would side with the woman but she had stayed shy of choosing.
That is how I will choose. Magnatine realized, standing up and smoothing off the crinkles in her robe.
Daemon was amazingly perceptive, wise, and gentle.
She would fight alongside him for whoever he choose.
The doll-like figure took three steps before her deep cerulean eyes spotted an approaching form.
Her small smile appeared again, and the shy witch bent down, delicate hand outstretched.
"Hello again, it's been a while since I have seen you around."
The sleek body of the chatdemer appeared. The blue-hued skin shining with water from the lake it had just been in. The large, haughty eyes surveyed the girl with interest and knowing as the creature approached, nudging her pale hand with its perfectly circular head.
But then it looked back up at the younger figure, and from its lip-less mouth a dreamy, rippling monotone.
"Do not scream."
And the chatdemer transformed, a strong, beautiful hand gripped the silent Slytherin's wrist.
Eyes pattered with all hues of turquoise and ever-moving captured her undivided attention.
"I want to talk."
§
"I understand."
"No you don't. Now shut up before I stuff something in that overgrown beak of yours."
"...You gave me this beak."
"Oh, stop being so vain Daemon! It's damn annoying!"
"That is the third time tonight you swore."
"So what? Damn, shit, fu—"
"You're upset."
"You're an idiot."
"I'm twice as sensible then you."
"Then your an idiot and I'm a sped."
"Voldemort will attack here."
"Well aren't we observant."
"He'll go for the boy."
"Your point?"
"You stopped pacing."
"So, what the hell are you saying Daemon?"
"Draeg will kill Harry. We both know that Blair. Nothing these people do will save him."
The Aduru was standing stock still on the cushioned floor of her bedchamber. A single bed sat against the window, bed sheets a soft ivory compared to the black of the floor. The wide walls were painted differently then the classroom but obviously done by the same hand. The base was refracting in its colors. Blotches of darkening azure, tempting lilac, burnt orange, flaxen yellow, magenta-brilliant pinks, and strews of white clouds pulled off a truly amazing sunset. A red line went all around the room where wall met floor, spreading out and diluting in fractions of light. It was the horizon, the dying sun.
Feathers, ebony in both hues, danced around the sky. The white ones fluttered easily in their soft, whimsical texture. The black ones fell harder, sharper and more defined in their form. A few were white tipped with black, or black topped with white. It was both abstract and beautiful.
A single nightstand, a wide, varnished table, and a lamp were the only other pieces of furniture. This room reflected its occupants soul while the classroom below it showed her spirit.
Daemon was sitting on his perch, made of pearly marble.
Crimson feathers gleamed under the firelight that resonated from the woman's spell in the room. The flames were on the ceiling in the classroom. Here they clung to the carpet, edging the bottom of the walls and fiery red paint of the horizon. The arctic blue eyes were fixated on the Eposis.
"I know that Daemon." Blair finally said. Her tone had softened a bit from the one she had just been using before. Perhaps it had just grown in less volume. But her golden eyes had darkened, aging her wild face.
The red-feathered teen also lost the usurping air about him in response.
"It is good to care about him."
Defenses shot up, even the presence of a person she had known for years.
"Fabulous, except for the fact that I don't."
"Why did you help him then?" The spirit was patient, and would wait for his companion to realize what he already knew.
"Harry is essential to my memories. If he is right then I have been dreaming of his mother's eyes." Of course, she had such a good way of denying it.
"Then why not go to Voldemort or Tom, whichever you prefer, and help him kill. If you don't care then fight against him."
The death-dealer seethed. "Draeg is working for Tom right now, may I remind you."
"But you want to kill the vampire. That much is obvious." The blue-eyed youth pointed out.
"Of course I do. I would have killed him already if he hadn't ran out of our last fight."
"But you are still here, at the castle."
There was a pause as Blair sought to justify her actions again. The kid knew how to pin her down. So she did what she usually did when caught.
"Shut up already. Don't you have to go chase your seer? Why don't you fly out and find the damn girl, or are your feathers not glossy enough!"
Most people would back down, enraged at having both buttons pushed. Daemon knew he was a tad bit vain, and being who she was the DADA teacher shoved that in his face while mocking the fact that he couldn't ever have a real relationship with Celia. But time teaches you to deal, even with people like her.
"Even if you won't admit it, Blair, there is a reason you have not left the castle. Your subconscious actions explain themselves. Deny, belittle, storm about it if you want. But the fact is, sister, that you remain at Hogwarts because you know that a death dealer is coming to kill Harry Potter. And rather than go and hunt the vampire down now you stay and wait. All this because you, in some fashion, are protecting the boy."
After the boy's speech, the fiery woman stayed silent for a moment. Insults were her way of distraction. Where most people simply changed the subject politely she would belittle, push, and snarl until the speaker was too enraged or afraid to continue in the conversation.
But the large bird knew her, and he would not give in. He would make her see what she didn't really want to acknowledge.
That was why she loathed him.
That was why she needed him.
That was why she fought him.
That was why she stayed with him.
That was why she was his sister, and he was her brother.
It was as simple as that.
In one last effort, Blair spoke again.
"How the hell would you know if I'm protecting him?"
A sad, amused smile lit in his icy orbs.
"Because sister,"
The familiar names were rarely used between the two. They were not really kin. It just brought up unnecessary remembrances of the past. A past where they had all been together, two brothers and a woman. A sister and a lover.
"You do the same thing for me."
Blair didn't have a comeback for this one.
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I breathe reviews. Please don't allow me to suffocate.