Chapter Two:
Don't Panic
Hemlock Potter's P.O.V
For the twentieth time in only Merlin knew how long, Hemlock Potter kicked up her aggravatingly long skirts, scrunched the layers tightly in her fists, braced her bare feet shoulder width apart, and ran for the ornately inscribed entrance to the hall.
She was going to do it.
She was going to make it.
This time she would slip out the open gate and find Hogwarts, find home, and all would be right and well and good-
As with all the other failed attempts for freedom, Hemlock made it to the crux of the entrance before she was bounced back by some invisible force, landing on her arse on the marble with a thud and a frustrated growl.
Precariously, she reached up and rubbed at her chest, shooting a glare over her shoulder to the flower on the jade chair accusatorily.
Maybe not bounced back then. This time was just long enough to get an impression of it, the thing keeping her here, a sense that felt like a tug, a winding yank from the very heart of her chest that swept her feet out from under her. She wasn't barred in, sealed here, locked down, she was… Tied. Bound to that bloody flower, tethered, wedged in a twenty-step radius of the damned thing.
Exasperated and infuriated and many more unpleasant emotions ending in 'ted, Hemlock threw herself backwards, head bobbing off the stone floor as her limbs stretched wide across the marble as if she were a stain on the pristine surroundings.
She sure felt like one. A big, ugly, black bruise of boiling resentment.
The action didn't hurt. Nothing here did.
It was really, really starting to piss her off. The whole damned lot of it.
Not a thing made any sort of sense here in the light-place.
Hemlock had tried grabbing people, before they began to depart leaving only a handful left in the hall on the orders of the one dubbed 'Heavenly Lord'. She had run at them, snatched at arms and hands and wrists, stuck a leg out to trip one or two, tried to tug hair and flick noses and even threw a punch, and she merely passed through like one would wade through stagnant pond water. With a hint of shock, but no real barrier. Yet when Hemlock tried to leave herself, to get away from that tacky green chair and that obnoxious red lotus, more than twenty steps either way, north, south, east and west, she was wrenched right back to the flower.
She had tried jumping on the spot, her bare feet meeting solid ground below instead of phasing through and falling down to… Down to whatever it was that laid below. She had skimmed her dress with curious fingertips, felt the stitches and the butter-soft-cloth, could feel the hem and the sash tighten around her chest when she lunged or bent or bowed. She had jerked on her own curls, and prodded her own nose, and yanked hard on a small earlobe, and she had felt it all.
Smarted a little too, that latter one.
She had tried casting wandless magic, a stinging hex there, a slicing hex here, and when she had grown so very desperate, an Incendio. The magic worked, better than expected, huge explosions of flashing light and power and wind blowing from her hand and-
And it affected nothing, didn't even singe the chair or petal, or put soot in the beard of this irritating 'Heavenly Lord'. As if her magic too was trapped in this in-between place.
Toothless.
Hemlock and her magic were impotent in this state, defenceless, stuck.
She loathed it.
Hemlock must have been corporeal in some way, she figured. She felt things, and didn't go falling through the ground itself, and yet, obviously, in other ways, in any way that could possibly help her precarious situation, she was not so physically... real.
Her first thought, logically, was that she was dead and now a ghost. The only problem with that theory was that she didn't feel dead, if one could feel dead at all. In truth, Hemlock felt alive. Very alive. The most alive she had felt in… Well, years.
When Hemlock put her hand to her breast she felt the steady beat of a heart below her palm, and when she touched herself, pinched and plucked, she could feel the push and give of skin and bone and sinew. She was breathing, an inhale and an exhale, but when she attempted to hold her breath there was no burn, no heavy weight in her lungs, no clutching need to suck in a lungful of air, and she felt as if she could hold that breath in her chest for an eternity.
Could someone be partially dead? Partly a ghost? Jammed somewhere between alive and dead and ethereal?
Was this purgatory?
It was all right. Hemlock simply needed to, for once, just once, think. She wasn't dead. She was a… Flower. She was a bloody flower-
Don't panic.
Breath and think.
You can fix this.
You have to fix this.
That's what Hermione would tell Hemlock if she were here. Think. She could do this. She could figure this out if she simply kept calm and considered the facts.
Hemlock Potter refused to be some glad-rags ghost for time without end.
No thank you, sir.
So… what did she have? Evidently, she could manifest herself outside the fire-lotus, at least mentally if not materially. The fire-lotus was… it was herself. She knew that much, could feel that much.
Curiously, improbably, that flower was her.
Her soul, maybe? Her soul was a flower, and out in the open, and sitting on a bloody chair while she could do nothing, summon nothing, hit nothing. Nevertheless, if her soul was here, if it had survived the Killing Curse, if Hemlock could go so far as conjuring her mental state outside of the flower, there was still hope.
Here…
And where was Hemlock? Not the Chinese Ministry of Magic, she thought. These people were… Different. The longer she was around them the easier this was to see. They spoke so strangely, about things Hemlock had no hope of understanding, acted as if finding her bloody soul on a seat was a typical Monday morning.
Old.
They were deceptively old.
The words they used, the terms they employed, the way they held themselves, unprovoking but proud and almost languidly slow as if they had all the time in the world for a cup of tea and a chat over a soul, confidant then, aged.
How old?
"How young are we thinking? Sixty thousand? Seventy thousand? Surely not below?"
Wasn't that what the pink robed one had said?
Hemlock winced as if in pain from the idea. She really, truly, genuinely hoped that did not mean what she thought it could mean, that sixty or seventy thousand was not meant in years, but something else, anything else, money, grains of sand, Morgana, even stars in the sky.
If it did mean years, and Pinky had said young-
Old indeed.
Keep to the facts for now. What do you know?
So Hemlock was trapped as a mental manifestation outside her soul in the form of a lotus, surrounded by very, very old beings in…
China?
Undeniably China, but as an impossibly large country, fourth largest in the world actually, where did that alone leave her? It could be anywhere. Beijing? No, from what Hemlock could see out the paper windows of the hall, which was very little from not being able to get too close, there was no smog or skyscrapers, just bright pale light and what seemed like clouds.
A mountain then? Somewhere up high. Mount Tai? Huangshan? Mount Hua? Mount Song? Mou-
Hemlock glowered on the floor, suddenly perplexed by her own thoughts.
How did she know the mountain ranges of China of all places? That had never been on the curriculum of Transfiguration or Potions, and the little schooling she had in muggle school had been focused on numbers and writing and-
Keep on track! Random pub quiz knowledge aside, focus on what's currently important, like regaining a fuckin' body!
Right, yes. She had likely heard it from some game show Vernon had liked to play on Saturday mornings from her understairs' cupboard.
Concentrate.
Hemlock was trapped as a mental manifestation outside her soul in the form of a lotus, encircled by very, very old beings, likely somewhere in China.
And how did any of that help?
She had not seen a single Wand so far, she, herself, was the only European she had spied about the place, and as bodiless, wandless, and voiceless as she currently was, being in China or on the moon was of very little help. She was fuckin' stuck in this chamber, by this flower, and if she could not get out the room itself what use was knowing what country she was in? None. None at all.
She needed answers to the real questions.
How did one push oneself into reality?
How did you make energy into physical matter?
What spell, curse, or hex could get a ghost her body back?
Circe, she was thinking herself into circles, tying her thoughts into thorny knots, impossible to pick apart and difficult to follow the thread to anywhere valuable.
"My safest hypothesis is, much alike Lord Mo Yuan, perhaps the Jade Emperor's soul was scattered after an attack, and similar to Mo Yuan, he must have been spending the last eons piecing it back together again. Evidently something must have gone wrong with the process. Perhaps there was only a few pieces left. Despite the state of it, it's him in essence if not structure. Why or how exactly it has come back in this manner, now of all times, is anyone's guess. Knowing how… Unpredictable the Jade Emperor could be, given his once mortal history, possibly this was his intention all along for reasons I presume only he would know."
And if Hemlock had been thinking herself into a corner, then the ones left in the room had been circling just as badly in conversation.
Pink-robed man, the one named Zhe Yan by the one Hemlock had nicknamed Snow White, Dong Hua Dijun, spoke up at the latter's claim.
"We know the Portal to the mortal realms was open. Do you believe that could have had anything to do with his current state?"
Mortal realms.
Perfect… Perhaps being on the moon was actually closer to truth than China.
Bloody hell.
Dong Hua nodded under the intrigued stares of the remaining four in the room. The one dubbed 'Heavenly Lord', the man in black christened Crown Prince Ye Hua by Zhe Yan, and last of all, a man no one had called anything other than First Prince.
They have a monarchy then, Hemlock thought, or at least some feudal type of societal composition.
Mermaids?
No. They didn't reek of fish guts.
"Conceivably. Too much is still unknown to come to a definitive conclusion. All I can comfortably say is his essence is there, but the spirit itself is new."
Hemlock grumbled as she sat back up from the floor. This was all it had been since she had woken up. For what felt like hours, this had been the conversation in the room.
Jade Emperor this. Jade Emperor that. Jade Emperor would blah, blah, blah.
If Hemlock ever got out of this chamber, and if she ever heard the name of this Jade Emperor again, ever, it would be far too soon.
"For the last time, I'm not this Emperor guy! You have the wrong person. If you could see me you would all know that. I'm Hemlock. Hemlock Potter. I'm a she, not a he, and I know they might be a bit on the small side, but my tits can attest to that! I'm not this Emerald-bloke! I'm very much pink and ginger!"
No matter how long she spoke, how high she yelled, how loud she was, it garnered not a single blink or glance or gasp.
Worth a try.
"So it is him."
Dong Hua hummed introspectively, the notes lingering like chords from a lyre, drifting and almost magical by itself.
"In a style."
Hemlock marched forward, to the white-haired man, and did the last thing she could think of.
Beg.
Nevertheless, if that was what it took, if her pride was the price to pay for getting back to her friends, to seeing if they were safe, then she would plead and pray until her voice grew hoarse.
Dammit, they could take her body back after the war if that was what these people wanted. She would live on in this between place, haunt this very room, bounce between flower and door, if only to know her friends were alive and well.
"Please, I need to get out of here. My friends are in danger… Grave danger. I need to help them. I need… Please, just hear me. Hear me."
For the briefest of moments, Dong Hua frowned, a tiny little uptick to his arching brows, dark eyes flickering to the left, just where Hemlock was, and just as she thought he had heard her, finally heard her, he-
Turned back to his buddies.
"We need to consider where to place him. We cannot leave him out in the open while he cultivates himself back into corporeal form."
Hemlock felt like screaming.
Hemlock did scream.
Rough and raucous, more battle cry than weep, Hemlock threw her head back and she screamed up to the ceiling, up to the sky, until only hot air left her parted lips. It felt good to let it out, regardless of knowing it would not be heard, to turn that valve and let the pressure, anger, frustration, grief too, fear as well, out of her body.
It felt good.
Therapeutic nearly.
Then Snow White's words, not his inattention, caught up to her.
Corporeal form? Did he just say corporeal form? As in… Physical bodies?
She could be corporeal again?
Oh, thank Merlin. Thank Circe. Thank Morgana and Hecate and any other God or Goddess out there listening to her-
"How long do you believe that will take?"
Hemlock beamed, smile wild as it was toothy and dimpled at First Prince's query. Yes, she thought. How long? A day? A week? Dammit, she would take a month. She could last that long like this and-
Dong Hua gracefully shrugged.
"Given the power I feel emanating from the spirit lotus? Imaginably as soon as ten thousand years."
And as quick as it came the hope died in a pathetic sizzle and pop. Hemlock spluttered like a candle quickly doused.
"Ten… Did you just say ten thousand years?! I don't have ten thousand years to be playing Casper the friendly fuckin' ghost! I… Wha… Ten thousand years!"
Ten thousand years… What…
No. Nope. Hell fuckin' no.
Hemlock Potter was getting out of here. She had a castle to find, friends to save, and a war to end.
These people with their pretty chambers and their pretty hair and their pretty faces were all, clearly, insane.
Off their merry little rockers.
Maybe, by their pristine clothing, and their pristine house, and their pristine white marble floor, part of some cult. A very beautiful cult, fancy, but all drinking the Kool-Aid.
Maybe that was it. Maybe it was never the Killing Curse at all. Maybe this cult had kidnapped her and transfigured her into a flower, and maybe all she really needed was the advantage of surprise-
Out.
Now.
Hemlock bolted for the door again, running with all her might, all her force, with every atom of her being and every beat of her heart.
Down she went twenty steps out like a paper bag snagged on a tree branch.
Hemlock did not scream this time. Instead she sat there, staring at the door, so close to freedom, and yet so far out of her reach.
Hemlock felt like crying.
She didn't move when the Heavenly Lord stood from his own opulent chair.
"I have sent a messenger to Lord Mo Yuan when we first noticed the lotus's arrival. He should arrive here shortly. As someone who has been through similar… Circumstances, shall we say, he might be able to aid the Emperor's soul in gaining corporeal form again. Perhaps then we will gain the answers we seek."
The pink robed man nodded along, and Hemlock went on staring at the door she could not cross, to the land before it she could not traverse, to the friends she had somewhere far away.
"Kunlun is a peaceful place. It might prove productive for the spirit while it heals. But will he be able to move it? Everyone else who has tried to touch the lotus has been… Pushed back."
Pushed back? Hemlock hadn't pushed anyone. That was the problem. She could not push or pull anyone or anything, even if she wanted to.
Which she did.
Unexpectedly, she did. She wanted to push the jade chair over, and Snow White and Pinky and this Heavenly prick, and the door and this room and this entire place until it was rubble at her feet.
Nevertheless, no one disputed what Zhe Yan said, and if she had pushed someone, it must have been while she was sleeping, when she was in the flower.
Which meant she could.
She could push someone, and she could be corporeal again, and this wasn't the end.
She just needed to figure out how to do it consciously. Preferable before ten thousand years.
One by one, the five men stood, Dong Hua sweeping by in a swath of lilac silk.
"It was successful for Ye Hua, was it not? And there was no injury to those who tried before, it was only a warning. Either Mo Yuan can move the spirit to a safer place to heal, or he cannot, and we will have to guard it here."
Hemlock too stood, trapped in the sphere of the flower's scope.
"You're not going to be handing me off like a game of pass the parcel, are you? This is human fuckin' trafficking. I'm here! Right here! Hello!"
Her voice drifted along the decorated halls of the room, but that was all it did.
Pointlessly flow.
"We should leave and let the soul rest peacefully. Let us retire to the second hall."
"Wait? You're going? No! No, stay! Hello! Don't leave me here-"
The grand doors clicked shut.
They were gone.
Hemlock stood in the hall, crushed, unseen, mute and very, very lost.
"Alone."
She pathetically finished to the silence.
A.N: I am currently on holiday, so updates will be slow coming for the next two weeks. I will try to answer any PMs or reviews after I get back home.
Thank you for those who have read, followed and favourited this! I hope you all liked this chapter, and as always, if you have a spare moment please don't forget to drop a review! And I will see you all again soon!