Sitra Ahra
Twenty-Second Movement: Beneath a December Twilight
December 21, 1992
His arm held in a vise-like grip by his two guardians, Harry arrived at the Flamel vacation home, nestled deep within the Chamonix Valley. The pleasant aroma of smoky wood tickled his nose, its aroma calming him, washing away the worries of his fall term. Abandoning any sense of pretext, he wrapped his arms around Perenelle's waist, hugging her.
"It's nice to be home," Harry said quietly, his face pressed up against her soft robes, which were permanently imbued with the scent of her exploits within the greenhouse.
Perenelle froze at his touch, seemingly startled. Confused, Harry began to pull back, but she wrapped an arm around him in reassurance.
"We are glad to see you too," she replied, her tone level, revealing no hints as to what caused her initial recoil.
Turning his head to the side, Harry saw Nicolas frown for a moment, his bushy eyebrows contracting. The alchemist opened his mouth to speak, but Perenelle's firm shake of the head caused him to reconsider.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, stepping away from Perenelle, who shook her head lightly.
"It's nothing that can't wait until you've had some time to settle," she stated, a small smile upon her lips.
While his first reaction was indignation, with every intention of pressing the issue, Harry relented. He had been angry for so much of the previous term, that now, more than anything else, he wanted quiet.
"Okay," he agreed, "but you have to tell me before I go back to Hogwarts."
Nicolas turned to his wife.
"This one certainly drives a hard bargain, does he not? Shall we indulge the young lad?"
Perenelle gazed upwards for a moment, as if looking for help.
"Perhaps instead you should indulge your aching mouth and give your tongue a rest."
Nicolas let out a hearty laugh.
"You know, it probably could use a brief respite. Would I be able to interest either of you two in a drink?"
"Sure," Harry answered.
"In that case, I have just the thing," the alchemist declared, "I shall return shortly."
"Shortly?" Harry whined.
"What treachery is this?" Nicolas declared, throwing up his hands. "A mere minute, and already you betray me?"
The corners of her mouth twitching, Perenelle shook her head a single time, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.
"Say no more," Nicolas replied with a smile and a regal bow, before making his way towards the kitchen.
"He's on a real roll today," Harry remarked.
Perenelle favored him with a fond smile.
"We are simply glad to have you back, especially after not hearing from you much over the course of the term."
"Well, uh – this term has been really bad," Harry began to explain awkwardly as his cheeks reddened, but Perenelle shushed him.
"It appears you have had quite the rough semester, so please, please understand that we are not displeased with you ," she urged. "All that matters it that you returned from Hogwarts in one piece, and that you have returned home."
Harry nodded, grateful to not be grilled any further. He had certainly felt guilty about not writing them much, but with all the bad things that had happened during the semester, it had been so hard to dredge up positive things to write, that he had simply given up.
"But Harry," she continued, her eyes slightly sad, "while you did make it through the term, just by looking at you I can see it took a heavy toll."
While Harry's first instinct was to argue her point, he quickly conceded the point with a slight nod. He didn't want a repeat of last year, where every bad thing he hid from his guardians. His guardians had proven themselves more than deserving of his trust.
"It was really bad," he admitted with a sigh.
"Just remember that we are always here if you need us."
"I won't forget," Harry assured. As he answered, the kitchen door swung open wide, admitting Nicolas into the living room. He held a tray aloft, upon which precariously perched three large mugs with steam wafting off them.
"What's that?"
"This, Harry," Nicolas said with a wide grin, "is a staple of British wizarding fare. Despite my great distaste for you cuisine, I have to say that this particular item is simply exquisite."
"It's butterbeer," Perenelle said with a chuckle, swiftly cutting through her husband's hyperbole.
Nicolas sighed loudly, gazing upwards.
"Yet again, my thunder has been stolen."
"Wow, butterbeer!" Harry exclaimed, eyeing the mug. "You're really going to let me drink this?"
"It is merely butterbeer," Perenelle replied with smile, "not the most toxic of substances."
"Besides," added Nicolas, "you are well on your way to becoming an adult, and this is a cause for celebration."
With a word of thanks, Harry took the steaming mug from Nicolas, and inhaled deeply of it. Even its aroma was pleasant, a subtle mix of butterscotch and something else he couldn't place.
"To our continued health," Nicolas toasted, holding his own mug aloft. Harry and Perenelle followed his example, before drinking deeply from their own mugs. Pleasant warmth seemed to radiate forth from his throat, quickly reaching every part of his body, soothing him in a way he thought impossible.
It was good to be home.
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Beneath a clear sky, on a Christmas day that was warmer than anyone had any right to expect, Harry stood with his arms crossed, staring at the recently planted oak tree.
"Doesn't look like we're going to get caught in a snowstorm this year," he said with a grin.
"I would certainly hope not," Perenelle replied, sending a single mistrustful glance towards the sky, "Once this decade was more than enough for me."
"It did bring us back though, did it not?" Nicolas asked.
"Bring you back where?" Harry asked, as his guardian turned and began walking back towards the center of the Flamel Grove.
"To where we used to risk out lives on a daily basis," answered Perenelle for her husband.
"You fought too?"
Perenelle let out a small chuckle at the mixture of awe and surprise in his voice.
"Indeed, this simple Herbologist used to be right at the frontlines with yonder fool, turning back the Dark tide."
"Uh, s-sorry," Harry apologized uncertainly, "I've just never heard you talk about it, and just didn't think…"
She waved him off with a small shake of her head.
"The image I present is purely intentional, Harry. The price we paid, the things we had to do…I would rather not think about it. Defending the Light often exacts a high toll."
"A very worthwhile one, however," Nicolas added.
Perenelle nodded in agreement, her clouded eyes clearing slightly.
"Unquestionably, and there is no better place than here to remind one of that fact."
Looking around, taking inventory of the immense trees grasping towards the heavens, Harry began to understand her point.
"This place wouldn't be here, would it?"
"It wouldn't," she agreed, pointing towards the tree in the center of the grove, the one which towered above all others.
"As servants of the Light, we have always been the target of the Dark. Had we faltered, they would have found this place, and burned it to the ground. As you can see, despite the dark times we have faced, these trees, our light, have never wavered. Through the centuries, they, much like ourselves, have endured, a monument that no matter how dark the night, the Light shall triumph."
Harry had heard the words before, but it never failed to send small shivers up his spine. Just being close to something that was far more ancient and far greater than himself…humbling was the closest he could come to describing it.
"Due to our close connection to the Light," Nicolas continued, "we can often sense when the Dark is near. It may be…well, slightly unfair to say so, but it affects us, offends our very senses."
At his guardian's words, Harry tensed. Where were they going with this?
Apparently sensing his unease, Perenelle placed a steadying hand upon his shoulder.
"Please, Harry," she assured, "we are not here to judge you."
"You know, though," he said quietly, eyes cast downward.
"We do," Perenelle confirmed, "but you need to know that we do not think any less of you."
Surprised, Harry raised his head, catching Nicolas' calm gaze.
"When we first met, did I not tell you that there have been numerous users of the Dark Arts throughout history?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "but, I mean…"
"You mean what?" Nicolas asked politely, raising his right eyebrow.
"Well…I mean – I didn't think you would be okay with it."
"It would have been easy to overreact in such a situation," Perenelle explained, "but we both respect you, and think that you would not have done so without reason."
"Or at least, we would hope," Nicolas added with a wink.
With a sigh, Harry concluded that they deserved the truth. How could they not, after being so accepting of his usage of Dark magic?
"This fall has been a lot worse than last year," he admitted, "and I've been in a lot of fights."
"You are more than capable of handling yourself," Nicolas said, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, against people my own age."
"Are older students attacking you?" Perenelle asked gravely.
Harry shook his head. Sure, the occasional third-year had tried, but no one was going to mistake McLaggen for the next Dumbledore.
"No, but it might happen if the younger ones try to get help, and I don't know enough offensive magic."
"Who said that?" Nicolas asked incredulously.
"Well, I dueled against an older Slytherin, who easily slapped away everything I threw at her. She said my style was too defensive."
"Harry," Perenelle said patiently, "defensive magic is the best way for a wizard to learn dueling."
Harry held out his hands.
"I know that. She said the same thing, just that I needed to learn some basic Dark spells to fight better."
At his words, Nicolas leaned down upon one knee, so that he was at Harry's eye level.
"Harry," he began, "I taught you in a specific fashion, so that you would be more than equal to your peers. Had I known that you were so concerned about your dueling prowess, I would have immediately offered to teach you more."
"You always wanted me to go slow," Harry countered, prompting a shrug from Nicolas.
"That is because you were just learning to duel, a skill which must be cultivated in a slow, careful fashion. Now, however, I freely admit that I was too slow to accelerate your training, an oversight I am more than willing to make up for."
"Really?"
"Really," Perenelle confirmed with a smile. "Besides, we still need to disavow you of that silly notion that Light magic contains no potent offensive weapons."
"Indeed," agreed Nicolas, chuckling slightly.
"Today?"
Perenelle shook her head.
"I am afraid not, as we have a busy day ahead of us. Surely you do not want to spend the holiday working?"
"Uh, I guess not," Harry conceded with a shrug. She was right.
After all, he did have the rest of the vacation.
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One foot in front of the other, as quietly as he could, Harry crept down the hall, his socks whispering softly against the hardwood floor. They didn't like him out at night, but he was thirsty, and wanted a glass of water.
Slowly making his way down the stairs, he heard angry words coming from the kitchen. What was it this time? Were they mad that he was out of bed? Creeping to the bottom of the stairs, he began to listen.
"He's far too young for this!" a voice that sounded like Richard said.
"As you are well aware, there is a reason that youth is required in these matters," the calm, cold voice of Crowley replied.
A hand slammed down upon the kitchen counter, causing young Harry to jump.
"Dammit, Crowley, I'm not going to let you destroy another child!"
"You took the same oath that I did, and you know what we're trying to do. Unless you've had a change of heart, perhaps?"
"You know that's not true."
"In that case, you must surely be aware of the burden that accompanies being one of the Fireborn, correct?"
"Oh, I'm certainly aware," Corwin replied darkly, "it's just not one a child should have to bear."
"What should or should not happen has no place here. All that matters is facts, most pertinent of which is that the mental strain associated with communion with the-"
"Silencio."
Harry went to spin around at the whisper from behind him, but a hand closed over his mouth. Unable to yell, he began to struggle, thrashing wildly from side to side.
"Be quiet!" a girl's voice hissed at him, beginning to drag him upstairs. He kicked hard against her, but couldn't slip away from her tight grip. At the top, she finally let him go, throwing him further down the hallway. Quickly picking himself off that hallway, he lowered his head, and began to charge at her.
"Why were you spying on them?" Jaime asked. The anger draining from him, Harry stopped his charge, guiltily staring at the ground. Jaime didn't want to hurt him, she only wanted to keep him out of trouble.
"I just wanted a drink of water, and heard Richard and Crowley arguing. Why were they mad?"
Jaime's expression drooped for a moment, before she shook her head lightly.
"Crowley thinks it's time to start teaching you."
"So they'd give me a wand?" Harry asked excitedly, perking up immediately.
At his words, Jaime held up her own, barely visible in the darkness. Ten inches of cherry she had once told him with pride in her voice, dragon heartstring. With a mumbled curse, Jaime shoved it furiously back into her pocket and stormed back towards her room, leaving behind a confused Harry.
It was supposed to be a great thing to get a wand.
Wasn't it?
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His right eye narrowed, his sight focused down the length of his holly and phoenix-feather wand, Harry let out a deep breath.
"Malleus lux."
A jet of vibrant silver light leapt forth, searing through the air with a low hiss, barely missing a moving stone shield.
"Bollocks," Harry sighed wistfully. How much longer was Nicolas going to have him practice this stupid spell?
"Again," Nicolas humorlessly ordered, continuing to levitate the stone shield. Unenthusiastically, Harry cast again, missing badly.
"That was pathetic," Nicolas said quietly, a look of vast displeasure upon his face.
While anger instinctively flared up within, Harry squashed it quickly. Lashing out at Nicolas wasn't going to help.
"It's hard to hit a moving target," he mumbled, causing Nicolas to shake his head lightly.
"Harry, I have seen you hit moving targets before, No, I believe that you consider the 'light smasher' useless."
Harry remained silent, his opinion having been spoken for him.
"As always, silence speaks your consent. Let me ask you, then: How much did the thief seem to enjoy the Hammer of the Light?"
"Well…yeah, I guess," Harry conceded, "but he was infected by Dark magic."
Nicolas let out a slight chuckle.
"You are attending a school where students are being petrified, correct?"
Begrudgingly, Harry nodded.
"Well, I would certainly consider that very Dark magic, and whomever is responsible should be very susceptible to the Hammer of the Light."
"How much?"
"If you have any schoolmates that are heavily into the Dark Arts, I would advise you to not use it against them. The effectiveness of the spell is proportional to the taint of Dark magic within the target."
"What would happen if it hit Voldemort?"
"He would not find the experience to his liking," Nicolas dryly replied, prompting a small laugh from Harry. "In any event, now that I have properly impressed upon you the potential usefulness of the spell, I trust that your effects shall improve?"
"Yeah, definitely."
"Good, good. Would you be interested in moving to another subject, then?"
Harry nodded enthusiastically, more than happy to leave the current subject. Crossing his hands behind his back, Nicolas began to pace back and forth across the room, in full-on lecture mode.
"I have always tried to impress upon you that a duel against a skilled opponent is rarely won by tossing spells back and forth."
"Right," Harry agreed, "you have to use other stuff, like summoning and banishing."
"Exactly. Conjuration, transfiguration and changing the environment are all essential keys to keeping an adversary upon their toes. For instance…"
Drawing his wand with a flourish, Nicolas sprayed an amber-colored liquid from it, drenching the floor to Harry's right. As the stifling stench of petrol invaded his nose, Nicolas followed up with a wide column of flames, igniting the fuel. Harry took an involuntary step backwards as the fire roared upwards, the heat driving him back.
"Uncomfortable, is it not?" Nicolas asked, before extinguishing the flames with a casual wave.
"Definitely, but wouldn't a simple flame-freezing charm have stopped it?"
"Ah-ha!" Nicolas declared, pointing his index finger at Harry. "That is correct, but it is something that needs to dealt with, is it not?"
"It fits in with changing the environment, doesn't it?" he asked, beginning to see his guardian's point.
"Indeed. Instead of just thinking about the spells being exchanged, you have to consider the burning environment around you, not to mention the time it takes to cast a flame-freezing charm."
"Also, the smoke," Harry added, "but I think a Bubble-Head charm might work against that."
"It would, but again, it gives your opponent more factors to consider, giving you a mental edge."
Harry nodded, fully understanding the point of the lesson. Maybe during his next practice with Regina, he'd throw in some banishers and summoners, try to work on those a bit. Maybe even play with some fire.
She'd never know what hit her.
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The Warden's boots reflected the scant light thrown off by the torches, polished to a perfect sheen that magical means could only aspire to achieve. His dark uniform was without flaw or wrinkle, the pants and shirt so crisp they looked freshly laundered.
Each purposeful stride, measured exactly to three feet in distance, clacked softly upon the stone floor, seemingly repelling all water from the puddle throughout the lower levels of Azkaban. His bald pate, freshly shaved every day upon awakening, gleamed in the torchlight.
A dedicated soldier took pride in their work, and took pains to assure that their presentation was as immaculate as their work.
Turning a dimly lit corner, the Warden approached a lone dementor, maintaining its silent vigil. He passed without a twitch of an eyebrow, or a fault in his rigid posture. And why would he?
He who was without sin had nothing to fear from these loathsome creatures.
Behind him, he clearly heard the heart rate of the Auror flanking his passage accelerate, and smelt the disgusting stink of their sweat pores opening. Good men, these Aurors, but far too quick to frighten. Perhaps next week's incoming recruits held more promise.
Despite the cells that surrounded him, housing the most dangerous and psychotic criminals in all of Britain, not a single whisper was heard from any of the prisoners. Like nocturnal creatures fleeing the sun, they backed away from the front of their cells as he passed, pressing themselves against the opposite wall.
Though it pleased him that his charged displayed proper respect for his absolute authority on Azkaban, it was still a source of minor frustration that this courtesy did not extend to his Aurors.
Perhaps some more punishments were in order.
Coming to a sudden stop, the Warden neatly pivoted on his heels, turning to the right. In front of him was a solid ironwood door, with a small, barred window two thirds of the way up, a foot in diameter.
"Sirius Black," the Warden began, his rough voice level, "you will approach the door to your cell."
From the shadows, an emancipated being shambled. Lank, ragged dark hair hung over his face, obscuring it.
"Yes, sir," Black rasped, shuffling to the door.
"You will put both of your hands through the window."
Once Black had pushed his pale, shriveled arms through the window, the Warden slipped a pair of handcuffs off his belt and slapped them roughly over the prisoner's wrists. Black hissed quietly as he tightened the handcuffs, prompting the Warden to raise a single eyebrow.
"Did I give you permission to speak, Black?"
The prisoner in question shook his head a single time.
"I don't believe so, sir."
"You are correct, I did not. I am about to open the door, and you will walk with it as it opens."
Before the prisoner could reply, the Warden unlocked the door, swinging open the handle as hard as he could. Unprepared for the sudden movement, Black was dragged forward to the ground, without only his legs touching the ground. He hissed painfully as his prone arms were wrenched against the bars.
"Let this be a lesson that prisoners should only speak when spoken to," the Warden declared emotionlessly, before swinging the door closed again.
The heavy ironwood door slammed into Black's unprotected face with a loud crack, smashing into his forehead and nose. Blood pouring from his face, Black fought for consciousness, but quickly failed, falling limp against his bonds.
Reaching out, key in hand, the Warden quickly divested the unconscious prisoner of his shackles, placing them back onto his belt. Perhaps his punishment had been harsh, but there was nothing worse than a person traitorous to their cause. Even the Lestranges he had more respect for. Though heinous their crimes were, they had shown loyalty to their master all the way to the floor of the Wizengamot, a concept the piece of human garbage before him had no grasp of.
"Levitate the prisoner," the Warden ordered without turning. The Aurors behind him immediately rushed forward to follow his command, lifting the unconscious body off the floor. As he took off down the corridor, they followed behind, floating Black several feet off the floor.
For a short moment, a rare smile stretched across his lips.
If there was anyone more deserving of a trip to 'the basement' than Sirius Black, they had not yet arrived at Azkaban.
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Awakening was like desperately trying to surface from a lake comprised of tar. Struggling, fighting against the pain and exhaustion he felt, Sirius surfaced. Opening his eyes slightly, he discovered that he was being levitated by two Aurors.
For a moment he considered trying to break the charm, but immediately discarded the idea upon glancing forwards slightly, and discovering that their procession was being headed by the Warden.
Sirius, upon arriving on Azkaban, had thought that nothing could be more frightening than the dementors.
His opinion had abruptly changed one year into his life-sentence, when he had first met the new Azkaban warden. He wasn't even sure of the man's real name, just that he was one scary motherfucker. A staunch believer in blind justice was the Warden, simultaneously reminding prisoners of the severity of their crimes and doling out punishment that may have landed him in Azkaban had word of their usage gotten out.
Taking inventory of his immediate surrounding, Sirius noted that the hallway he was being ferried down was even more dimly lit than what he was accustomed to. Though the dark masonry of the wall was similar, as opposed to the heavy, oppressive ironwood door the Warden had installed early in his tenure, the cells were comprised of bars of an unknown dark metal.
Where was he?
Hearing cries, Sirius flicked his gaze to the right. A short man, little more than skin and bones, madness shining in his eyes, thrust his arms through the bars, grasping towards the Warden.
"I'm innocent; you've got the wrong man! You have-"
With a movement so quick it was almost a blur the Warden withdrew his infamous ironwood club from his belt and swung it in a downward arc. The blunt end of the club smashed the man's right hand with a dull snap as it raked downward, tearing out several of his fingernails.
Screaming loudly, the man cradled his shattered, bloody hand against his chest, retreating towards the back of his cell. Oblivious to the man's agony, the Warden addressed the man.
"Proper prisoner etiquette states that a prisoner is not to speak unless spoken to. Is that clear?"
Continuing to whimper, the man slumped down the opposite wall, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
A cloud descending over the Warden's eyes, he stepped closer to the cell, his fingers clutched tightly around the club.
"I asked you a question, Pepper, and expect an answer."
"Y-y-yes," the man stammered, barely able to get the words out.
"Very well then," the Warden answered, before moving to the next cell and opening it. Unceremoniously, they dumped Sirius into the cell, his aching body colliding painfully with the stone floor. He considered asking a question, but thought that perhaps that might violate the Warden's 'etiquette'.
Breaking the Warden's etiquette was always a bad idea.
Without any further words, the Warden left, closely followed by the other Aurors. He waited a few minutes after their footsteps had faded, but it quickly became apparent they were gone for good.
Ignoring his pounding head, he approached the front of his cell, moving all the way to the left, as close as he could to the adjacent cell.
"Hey," he said softly. Met with only silence, he tried again, raising the volume of his voice.
"What do you want?" the man snuffled, still in obvious pain.
"What's your name?"
"O-Octavius Pepper."
The name was unfamiliar, certainly no one he had met before arriving at Hogwarts. A fairly new arrival, perhaps?
"Well, Octavius, where are we?"
"We've got to get out of here, before it's too late!" Pepper said, his voice becoming hysterical.
For the first time in a while, Sirius let out one of his bark-like laughs.
"Sorry to break it to you, but we're already at Azkaban. It's already a bit too late."
"No, no!" the man insisted, punctuating each words with a kick to the wall. "This is far worse than Azkaban ever was!"
Sirius froze slightly at the words. Worse than Azkaban?
"Octavius, what's going on here?" Sirius asked gently, hoping to calm the hysterical man into coherence.
Swallowing heavily, Octavius began to talk.
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Author Notes:
This chapter contains about half the content I had planned, but the scenes at the Delacour Manor would just not come to me. After banging my head against the wall for two months, I ultimately decided to just save his trip until year three summer. I know this chapter's short, and admittedly not very interesting, but hey, it's an update.
Things will begin to pick up next chapter, where I begin to put in motion all the things I've been setting up. Only three more chapters to go in year two.
Sadly, work has become quite hectic again, so my writing time has taken a serious hit. I imagine the next chapter will be up by late October, but as always, work may get in the way.
As always, any comments or criticisms are welcome. Even a quick "I liked it" or "it sucked" would be appreciated. Any questions, ask away. I reply to every review I receive. That is, except for anonymous ones. Rather difficult to reply to those.
Thanks to mira mirth and scaryisntit for their help in the planning process.
Thanks to my beta, Princess Serine, for her valuable help.
DLP Thanks:
jwlk, Inert, CheddarTrek, akakstn, shinysavage, Republic21