Just a reupload of an older story under a new name.
Asshai, 270 AC.
The ancient, legendary and rumour-shadowed city of Asshai sat in a valley beneath the mountain range called the Shadow, where it sprawled for leagues across the shore of the Saffron Straits. Due to its unique geographic location not much light reached the fabled City of Shadows. During noon the sun's glorious rays were blocked by the gigantic mountain, casting its large shadow over the ancient city, hence the name of the range. That left only the weak light of dawn and twilight to reach Asshai when the sun peeked around the Shadow. Though, what little light arrived was barely felt by the Asshai'i due to the black stone the city was built with devouring nearly all of it.
Legend said Asshai could contain Volantis, Qarth, Oldtown and King's Landing combined in its great walls and all who've visited agreed. Said walls, buildings and even the streets were made out of a black stone that showed no sign of erosion or other blemishes. Nor any indication that the stone had been worked by masons of a normal kind. The whole settlement was kept in an architectural style no other city in the world possessed, with flying buttresses, pointed arches and full of decorations. There was no concern for structural possibility, but rather the feeling of the building. Some of them reached far into the sky, as if to try and escape the Shadow's oppressive hold. None succeeded and instead added their own shadows onto Asshai.
Up in the night sky a full moon as red as blood hung, bathing Asshai in its eerie glow. Beside it was a comet, a bleeding star blazing across the firmament, cutting the heavens open to bleed as it flew. Both glared fiercely down onto the land; like radiant eyes. Their light falling to earth like tears of crimson, only for it to be swallowed by the black stone Asshai was made of.
Among these dark streets a vaguely feminine figure wearing a dark hooded robe and red lacquer wooden mask made its way along the empty streets. Finding their way easily despite the near labyrinth the city was. Not many people lived in the massive city and all who dwelt here wore masks or veils, and often walked alone or rode in a palanquin of ebony and iron, hidden behind dark curtains and carried upon the back of slaves. There was not a single ruler and therefore no such thing as a city guard existed either. Not that the Asshai'i felt the need for one, seeing such a thing as a detriment to their very craft. After all, everything, no matter how taboo or depraved, was permitted in Asshai.
After a few minutes of walking, the figure came upon the massive Ash river that lazily divided Asshai in half as it meandered through to the Jade Sea. By day it's waters were black as night and at night it would usually glimmer with a pale green phosphorescence, now it was a river of blood. It's eerie glow allowing for passer-bys to observe the deformed and blind fish living in the Ash. Only fools or shadowbinders were willing to eat the flesh of these fish. As a result of that pollution no plants grew in or around the city, animals perished soon after being brought here and not a single child lived in the City of Shadows.
Asshai as such needed to import freshwater and all of its foodstuff, obviously consisting of only the preserved kind. Those included salted, smoked or dried meats and fish, pickled vegetables, honey, cheese and of course various alcoholic beverages. Luckily, Asshai did not lack in materials suitable for trade, which made it part of the traders' circle and a popular trading destination for ships all over the world. Gems, amber, dragonglass and gold were all common exports, though people said the gold was as unhealthy as the misshapen fruits that grew outside the city. However, no caravans travelled to Asshai overland. None were brave or foolish enough to go near Stygai, the Corpse City, that lay north of Asshai.
After crossing empty bazaars, halls and humongous palaces the cloaked figure finally arrived at the District of Gods. One temple after another was ignored, most serving gods long forgotten and dead. That was until a smaller one came into view, a Red Temple that was said to be the oldest one in existence dedicated to R'hllor. The Faith of Fire and Shadow having originated in Asshai together with the legend of Azor Ahai.
One could hear a good amount of noise coming from inside, meaning an unusual amount of people were gathered. Not surprising, considering that today a ritual was to be held that, if it succeeded, would be a momentous occasion that ushering in a new age. Or so the host assured the attendees.
The interior of the temple contained vaulted ceilings and pillars made of red marble stretching to the top. Enormous windows of stained glass depicting the glory of R'hllor decorated the huge room, nearly going as high as the ceiling. Exquisite mosaics on the floor were worked with such skill that you couldn't tell where one colour began and another ended. The red light from outside reached every corner of the building after being reflected in the glass to give the room an opalescent shimmer in the air. Above the altar one the ceiling was a stained glass window showing the flaming heart of R'hllor.
Out of the many people none made any move to greet the newcomer until a red-haired woman. "Welcome, Quaithe, it's heartening to see that you decided to believe." She greeted with a smooth and melodic voice that made listeners envision nutmeg, anise and cloves. Fitting for a red priestess she had hair the colour of deep burnished copper, red eyes and pale, unblemished skin. She was tall, slender, graceful and possessed a narrow waist, full breasts and a heart-shaped face. As is custom for clergy of R'hllor Melisandre wore long flowing robes of scarlet satin and blood velvet. A red gold choker containing a ruby that glowed softly fit snugly around her neck.
"It's good to see you, too, Melisandre." Quaithe greeted back with a simple nod. "I'm quite curious to see if you can deliver on your promises." there was a small bit of scepticism in the masked woman's voice. While Asshai'i did practice all manner of sorcery not all of it is successful or well done. With many a charlatan or weakling pretending to possess great powers. Though, these imposters usually did not survive for very long.
Instead of being discouraged, Melisandre smiled enigmatically. "No need to fret, Quaithe. Azor Ahai shall be reborn as the seventh moon of this year dies." she opened her arms wide as if to embrace the crimson light coming through the windows and glass ceiling. "Reborn with sacrifice as the world is bathed in red and fire covers the sky and blood flows from the moon. A golden mind shall be his." she said theatrically, her smile never wavering. "Today the Lord of Light's marked champion will arrive!"
"We'll see." was all Quaithe replied with.
"Indeed, we will!" Melisandre said with absolute certainty. She had worked towards this for seventeen years, piecing together what the Lord of Light showed her in the flames. Sure, she had to interpret things and improvise at times, but all of this had lead her to this very moment. With that Melisandre bade her fellow sorceress goodbye to approach the elevated altar of black stone at the end of the cavernous room. On the ceiling above Melisandre the sky's red light shown down on the altar, bathing her in its glory. Once the priestess had everyone's attention she motioned for silence that was quickly granted.
Quaithe tuned the sermon out, not expecting to see anything but failure. She knew of the red priestess' quest to find Azor Ahai, something she took to with fervour unmatched by her peers. Though, Quaithe herself also believed in the prophecy, she did not share Melisandre's interpretation of it.
Taking a look around the sorceress took in her fellow attendees. She knew just a handful personally and only two well enough to hold a conversation with, due to having taught them in the higher mysteries of magic.
One was a short and squat man with a thick neck, beetle-brow and a strong jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once and his smile was red from chewing sourleaf too much. His hands were enormous, his chest thick and a prominent ale-belly protruded outwards. Greying hair slowly receded from his scalp, but seemed to relocate as it grew plentiful out of his nose and ears. The man's name was Marwyn, a Maester of the Citadel in Westeros on a journey to learn more about the higher mysteries. In exchange he taught anatomy and other more mundane subjects, however not many in Asshai viewed these things as useful. Quaithe knew that Marwyn was no believer in prophecy and was just here to assist and to sate his curiosity.
Beside the Maester stood a young girl of about sixteen years of age. She was no great beauty with a flat nose, coarse black hair and a fleshiness that indicated she'd be fat later in life. She was called Mirri Maz Duur, a Lhazareen who had learned the birthing songs of the moonsingers of the Jogos Nhai and Bloodmagic here in Asshai.
Normally outsiders of any kind were not welcome in such ceremonies, but these were two exceptions that had been invited personally. Marwyn for his knowledge in birthing children that all Maesters possessed. Something no Asshai'i knew how to do due to the fact that no children were ever born in the City of Shadows. While Mirri Maz Duur was here for a similar purpose, to assist with the famous birthing songs. Melisandre wanted nothing to be left to chance today.
In addition there were slaves positioned around the room. Each one gagged and bound to a white wooden stake that seemed to bleed, sufficient kindling placed underneath each sacrifice. Not at all an uncommon sight in red temples, much less Asshai. 'Weirwoods.' Quaithe realized, gazing at the wood that only grew in Westeros.
A clap coming from Melisandre signalled the end of the sermon and served as a sign for the slaves to begin. From an adjacent room a beautiful woman with silver hair and purple eyes was brought in, the classic Valyrian look. Most likely having been chosen because for exactly that reason. She was on a litter carried by slaves. Not a single stitch of clothing was on the silver-haired slave, making it easy to see her swollen belly and breasts ripe from pregnancy. Her lips, nipples, nails, tongue and the white of her eyes were coloured blue. Valyrian runes had been branded all over the slave's inflated stomach and one on her left breast, directly over her heart. They glowed hotly, like coals in a fireplace.
Quaithe watched with more interest at that. From what she could gather the slave was not adept at casting any kind of magic. Therefore she couldn't even hope of performing the rite to create a shadow assassin made by life energy taken through sexual intercourse. However, the runes seemed to serve the same purpose as the spell, with the woman simply used as a receptacle. Yet this also looked to be partly a real pregnancy, making it some kind of mix? How much life force was now inside that slave after so many months? Despite her misgivings Quaithe was curious now and took her place in the circle around the altar. On it laid the female slave, now bound with her legs spread wide and the comet's crimson light illuminating her nude form.
Melisandre took a carafe sitting on a silver tray held out by a nearby servant. The glass container held a viscous, blue liquid; Shade of the Evening. Also known as the Wine of Warlocks. With care every last drop of potion was fed to the slave, who obviously had consumed the exotic drink heavily in the last months.
A moment later more slaves were brought forth, all male and all naked as well. One after another they fucked the woman and began pouring their essence and life inside of her. After the first one had finished the runes became brighter, more lustrous, more alive. Before their very eyes the male slave fell over, dead, with blood pouring from his eyes and smoke out of his mouth. Everything taken from him down to his last breath. On and on it went, each successor seemingly stroking the fire in the slave's belly to greater heights. The runes growing in intensity with every lifeless husk falling to the floor before being removed.
It was not enough for Melisandre, who commanded the slaves on the stakes to be burned after having their throats slit open from ear to ear in a bloody ruin of a smile. In no time the smell of charred meat and smoke and fire filled the room completely and combined with the taste of sex permeating the air. Blood mixed with ash as the magic took hold and caused the runes on the pregnant slave to burn, changing from red-hot to white-hot. Their light by now nearly blinding.
A primal scream was ripped from the female Valyrian slave, none able to say if it was from rapture or agony. Her back bending like a bow as water spilled forth from her womb, signalling the beginning of birth.
That was the cue for Mirri Maz Duur and Marwyn, who moved to fulfil their part in the ceremony.
While they did as instructed Melisandre waited for the last part to begin, an ornate dagger made of Valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt waiting in her hands. The timing had to be perfect or all would be ruined. Fortunately, the red priestess did not have to wait for too long.
Fire and blood and shadow would see Azor Ahai reborn, just like the fire-omens the Lord of Light sent Melisandre foretold.
Once Melisandre saw the head of the child crown she plunged the dagger into the rune on the newly-made mother's breast. Impaling her heart before twisting the knife to make sure, ending her life. Following that Melisandre cast the spell and intoned. "Only death may pay for life!" The last sacrifice today, and most important. All the others had been used to strengthen the ritual for summoning the spirit of Azor Ahai into the world. The mother's death was simply to make sure he lived.
The runes on the slave's belly flared to life before dying down. No child's wail pierced the oppressive silence as Mirri barely caught the newborn before it could slip onto the floor. After cleaning the babe and taking care of the umbilical cord, everyone impatiently tried to get a good look at it. Try and see if it survived or not. Most already assuming the endeavour a failure with the child being a stillborn, as was expected.
The babe had tufts of golden hair on it's head with two small horn-like protrusions sat on the forehead. It's eyes opened, showing them to be a deep purple that blinked at them in what could only be bewilderment, and clear consciousness. As if it already comprehended this situation. But most importantly was that it was a girl and not a boy as most had expected it to be. Strangely, the child's skin, raw and red from birth, didn't stay so for long, turning pale rapidly.
What everyone did not notice was that the ashes of the sacrificed had moved during the duration of the ritual. Slowly creeping onto a smouldering pile and growing red and hot. Next the roar of flames could be heard as the ashes ignited, causing everyone present to become startled and look towards it. An arm of bones emerged from the burning ground, propping itself up as if to lift an unseen body out of a hole. Soon after a second one came out followed by a skull, ribs and more as the being dragged itself out of the ashes. Bones began to weep blood that swiftly gave way to muscles, nerves and tendons. The figure that now looked like a completely flayed man, didn't stay so for long as the ashes that clung to his blood ignited.
He let loose a howl of sheer agony that summoned a furious pillar of golden flames that enveloped him. It blazed so bright and hot that everyone was forced to take a step back from the sheer heat alone. When the flames reached their zenith the roar was replaced with a song of terrible beauty. It's music inside of them and not without, touching their very souls to the core. Most were forced to their knees or collapsed entirely. Melisandre, Quaithe, Mirri and Marwyn were unaffected, standing straighter instead.
From out of the fire a eagle-sized bird emerged, its body covered in crimson feathers that glowed faintly and a bright golden tail as long as a peacock's. Its claws and beak were gleaming gold with eyes as black as coal. As it circled the room one could see a small purple silken drawstring pouch held in one of it's talons. In the other the Phoenix carried a silver sword, its handle glittering with rubies the size of quail eggs. Both objects were dropped near where the golden flames slowly died down, the sword impaling itself in the ground.
Soon a young man with fair skin was revealed as the golden flames released their hold on him. He was kneeling on the ground, heaving in exhaustion and taking deep lungfuls of air. His body was still partially covered in his own blood and a few flames licked his skin here and there. He obviously was unsteady from his stressful rebirth, even trying to grasp something to hold onto. By chance his bloody hands found the sword's hilt.
As soon as the crimson liquid and radiant flames touched the blade it gained a red-hot glow as if fresh from the forge before igniting into golden fire itself. Trilling its song the Phoenix landed on the raven-haired man's shoulders, nudging him in encouragement or consolation.
If near all in the room weren't kneeling already they'd do so now. For Azor Ahai was reborn before them.
The man stood up slowly, using the sword as a crutch and gaining his bearings as he did so. His other hand holding his head as he turned to them. He was a little over six feet tall and of a lean and muscled physique; a warrior's body. His face showed some aristocratic features, notably a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His hair seemed to be Ghiscari in origin. It was thick messy and the colour of coal with soft red highlights at the tips. From under his mane almond-shaped emerald eyes peered at their surroundings. One eye was a deep jade green and the other as red as blood.
His mismatched eyes immediately fell onto the now crying babe, recognition flashing in his eyes. Without warning he strode towards it, a hand outstretched towards the girl. One second the newborn was in Mirri's arms and the next she floated towards the man with a giggle and outstretched hands. He caught her with utmost care, gently cradling the newborn in his arms. "Hermione?!" the unknown word held all and every emotion, more than a single word should be able to contain. Relief, bewilderment, concern, but most of all love.
A incoherent babble was the answer, which caused the babe to scrunch her face up. As if her own inability to speak seemed to annoy her.
"I can imagine." The man said amused in the Common Tongue, evidently speaking to the babe. "Well, let's get out of here." the Phoenix on his shoulder trilled in agreement, sending the audience back on their knees. Without warning he picked the bag up, put Lightbringer inside and promptly made his exit.
"Wait, please!" Melisandre called out frantically in the Common Tongue, pleading and scrambled to follow. Near panicked at losing the prophesied hero so soon. Fortunately she was one of three present that spoke the Common Tongue, the others were just confused as to what occurred. She didn't know why he wasn't the one being born instead of the girl. Though, that didn't matter as long as he was here.
Azor Ahai turned his head to her with a raised eyebrow and curious eyes. "Why should I? I don't know you." he gazed over the assembled people and the dead bodies littering the floor. "And I'm sure I don't want to know any of you." shrugging he once more tried to walk away.
This time Melisandre took hold of his upper arm to stop him. "You must listen." that seemed to be the wrong thing to say as he grew tense in clear preparation for a fight.
"I must?!" he asked lowly, his eyes narrowed and his voice got a clear and dangerous edge to it. A protective glow enveloped him that cackled with barely concealed power, like a cloak of thunder.
The red priestess immediately noticed her blunder and let go of him as if burned, trying to compose herself. She took a deep breath to steady herself and said delicately. "No, you don't have to do anything, and I am sorry for my presumption. However, would you not like to rest and get some clothes first?"
At that the man looked down at himself, only then noticing his lack of clothes. He warred an internal battle for a little and after a glance at the babe he said. "Alright, lead the way." his posture still was wary and on guard however.
Harry watched as the red-haired woman led him towards another room in the back. It was nothing special, just a bed with a trunk at its foot and a few trinkets strewn about. A burning hearth and torches on the walls illuminated the room. As he closed the door and watched the red woman carefully, his mind was somewhere else entirely. One moment he and Hermione were on, what Harry assumed, their way to heaven and in the next he felt pain that rivalled the Cruciatus as his body was reformed. Not to mention Hermione's current predicament.
'Do you have any idea what happened?' he asked the newly born Hermione through their bond, built up through countless sessions of training with Legilimency. Not even needing eye-contact anymore, though close proximity was still required. His eyes roamed around looking for possible threats as he held her close to his chest. Feeling even more naked and vulnerable without his wand.
'No... I... I don't know.' came the answer, sounding panicked in more ways than one. Suddenly she felt the urge to cry coming from her new condition and promptly began to wail. Too many things she had not expected in the least were happening all at once. In a new body with unfamiliar instincts on top of it.
Despite the utterly surreal situation Harry rocked Hermione in what he hoped was a soothing motion. All the while sending his love towards her. "It's alright, we're still together." Harry murmured his reassurances over and over, kissing her forehead softly. The Phoenix on his shoulders also helped by singing a calming tune.
A minute of that seemed to do the trick. "Better?"
Thoroughly embarrassed but also thankful, Hermione replied through the bond. 'Yes, thank you.' she looked down at herself, clenching her tiny hands. 'Sadly it doesn't change the fact that I'm a bloody infant!' the fact that Hermione had cursed was evidence enough of her agitation.
"I don't think that's a problem for much longer. I felt you get heavier than you were a few minutes earlier and your hair has also gotten longer." he told her, holding Hermione up under her armpits. She indeed grew remarkably in a short time with her hair already growing too. "Seems you'll grow up rather quickly." his tone rather amused at their current circumstances.
Melisandre choose that point to chime in. "Indeed, she will shortly be a woman grown. A side effect from the ritual." So much life-energy couldn't be ignored. Placing the clothes on the bed and stepping back, she offered. "I can try my best to answer any questions you may have, if you want?"
Harry inspected the clothes first, noticing them to be rather medieval in their make. Even more so than the robes he was used to. A simple white shirt and underwear made from linen as well as black leather trousers and boots. For Hermione it was just a huge blanket. No sense to clothe her when she just grew out of it a moment later. The clothes did not fit him perfectly, but they were better than nothing. Sadly, neither he nor Hermione had a wand on them to fix that.
He gently picked Hermione up in his arms after wrapping her in a blanket. Always making sure to hold her close and away from potential threats. "I think, for the time being, I'll wait for my companion to grow up." it'd be easier for all involved if Hermione could speak.
Next rustling could be heard as Harry rummaged around in the extended bag, his right arm buried in it up to his shoulder. When his hand withdrew it held a cloak of starlight, its silvery substance rippling like liquid. Two other objects also fell out with it. A golden ring, in its socket a stone as black as night, shining like obsidian and incised with a symbol; a triangle containing a circle bisected by a line. The last was an unassuming piece of wood at first glance, that upon closer inspection revealed itself to be a delicately carved wand. About fifteen inches long with a smooth handle on which runes were inscribed while knobs sat on the shaft that grew progressively smaller towards the tip.
'Huh, the Deathly Hallows are in our bag.' Harry informed Hermione, his tone incredulous. Before he could do or say more the ring literally flew onto the index finger of Harry's right hand. The Cloak of Invisibility draped itself over his shoulders, while the Elder Wand jumped into his hand as if summoned. 'How did they get here?' he wondered. Not knowing how that was possible.
A gasp alerted him to the priestess who was wide-eyed, staring at the ring. Not knowing just what she wanted from him Harry requested somewhat testily. "I'd appreciate it if we could have some privacy." the wizard gave the priestess a look and inclined his head towards the door.
Reluctantly Melisandre took the hint, gave him one last reverent look and stepped outside before closing the door. For good measure Harry threw their usual privacy wards up and locked the door. Followed by changing the size of his clothes to an appropriate one.
'I don't know, but I saw the phoenix, who brought the bag and the Sword of Gryffindor, arrive with you.' Hermione answered his earlier question as she wiggled inside her blanket, trying to accommodate her rapidly growing body. 'Do you think it's Fawkes?'
Before anyone could ask the being in question the phoenix leapt from it's perch on the bed, sat on the ground and went up in flames. Leaving behind ash, a feather and a glossy green Phoenix egg.
From then time seemed to flow quickly as they discussed various possibilities. One being that this was their Next Great Adventure due to the vagueness of the phrase 'going on'. Which could've meant the afterlife, but also being reborn into this new life. But then why did they remember their previous life? The manner of their arrival also did not seem supportive of the reincarnation theory. Had they been summoned here somehow? Or did it have something to do with Harry being the Master of Death?
In the end there weren't any answers. Only speculations and theories.
During the rather long discussion Hermione literally grew up. Obviously possessing a different body than in her previous life, with new and old attributes. Those being a shapely figure with her previous height of 5'5 feet. Buxom curves, long legs and full lips were her own. Eyes of a deep purple replaced cinnamon brown. Her skin was smooth and pale and flawless, nearly porcelain. Hermione's hair still was a mane of wavy curls, but instead of brown it was a gold so radiant it glittered when hit by light; as if sunlight was snared in her tresses. At the end of Hermione's maturation her hair cascaded from her head downwards to pool at her feet. All of which combined to grant her an ethereal beauty.
Another, more noticeable change, were the curved black horns jutting out of her skull, sprouting from her forehead and sweeping back slightly. Nails on hand and foot were as black as night, sharp too. Like her hair, the nails and horns had grown considerably during her swift maturation. With her horns more than a foot long and the nails even more so.
Though, the most unpleasant thing about it had been her teeth. Replacing one set of teeth for another shortly afterwards was painful and annoying.
"I know that being reborn and getting a new body comes with different DNA, but this will take some time getting used to." Hermione grumbled with a huff as she reclined on the bed. Feet and hands outstretched to present Harry with her predicament.
Sitting beside her on the bed's edge, Harry chuckled good-naturedly. "I thought you were used to having anthropomorphic features. The Polyjuice incident in second year comes to mind." He teased, drawing the Elder Wand to correct the problem. "Besides, you've only gotten more beautiful and enchanting."
"Prat." Hermione scowled playfully, wanting to swipe at him but unable due to her long nails. Though her eyes were dancing with mirth, love and fond memories as she relished in Harry's attention.
Harry too could not get enough of the addictive feeling of love he got from Hermione. Every smile, touch and caress did things to him that the last Potter thought he'd never experience again. "Besides, I changed too." Harry pointed out, swishing the Elder Wand over his body. His eyes were now rather odd, with one still emerald green and the other a deep crimson. The effects of his childhood malnutrition were also wiped away. "It's not as huge a change as yours and I'm not complaining, but it's still something to get used to." He said before taking care of Hermione's nails and horns by magically cutting them to appropriate lengths with a rather handy cosmetic charm.
"True." She admitted, her eyes appreciatively raking over his new form. He hadn't been ugly to her before, far from it, but he filled out even better now. However, Hermione's smile turned to a frown and her mood changed for the worse when she saw him use magic with the Elder Wand. "I wish my wand would've been in the bag too." she lamented out loud, observing with sad purple eyes as Harry used the Elder Wand as if it belonged to him all along. Clear regret and longing in her voice at having lost something of herself at Malfoy Manor. Though, not just her wand had been lost in that abominable dwelling at the hands of Death Eaters. But the last of her innocence and restraint too.
"I'd also rather have my old one." he confessed with a small crooked smile. Taking her hands in his, he tried to console her. "We hopefully can make you a new one with the feather the phoenix left behind." Harry squeezed her soft hands gently, leaning in. "Fitting, don't you think? New wands for our new beginning."
"Indeed." she murmured with a soft smile before meeting him halfway in a kiss. Slowly their worries melted away as they momentarily forgot what happened to them. Knowing that as long as they had each other it'd be alright. No matter their circumstance in life.
After that they took stock of their current assets.
It had been a miracle for Hermione's extended bag to appear as otherwise they would've been set back considerably. Among the items inside were Harry's mokeskin pouch, some of Hermione's clothes, the Sword of Gryffindor, their magical tent and a magical trunk. Like Moody's it had multiple compartments, five in all and each stuffed full to the brim. Each even possessing a lock that required either of their magic to open.
The first was the smallest, holding stacks of parchment, an assortment of quills, and stoppered inkwells with many different kinds of ink. The second compartment was separated into two. One part held the few magical artefacts left to him; a Pensieve, the Marauder's Map, a pair of Two-way mirrors and Dumbledore's last gift to him; an instruction manual written by Dumbledore on how to raise a Phoenix. The other part contained a Herbalism kit that was a simple wooden box which was closed with two clasps of steel and leather. Besides that were samples of herbs, grasses, flowers and other plants; magical and mundane.
All of the gold they stole from the Lestrange vault while they were already robbing it was in the third compartment. The rather large amount helped bolster Harry's own considerable amount of gold inside.
In the fourth compartment was everything needed to brew potions, like mortar and pestle, brass scales and a shrunken copper cauldron. As well as an assortment of potions and salves; be it Essence of Dittany, Skele-Gro, various antidotes and bezoars and salves for burns or bruises. Even a single vial of Polyjuice, Pepper-up potions and Invigoration Draughts were present as well. The fifth was the biggest compartment, and unlike the others was even enchanted to be much bigger, something Hermione had insisted on. It held all the books, scrolls and tomes they had amassed during their time at Hogwarts. The wealth of knowledge ranged from his schoolbooks to grimoires from the Black Library.
Harry took out his mokeskin pouch, hung it around his neck and stored all of their stuff inside it. Like that both could store their valuables inside and not lose anything. Sadly, afterwards, there wasn't anymore time to waste.
"Let's see what these people have to say, then." Hermione said resolutely, hoping to get some more information on their current situation. She righted an imaginary fault in her clothes before standing up. Now wearing the red dress she had attended Bill Weasley's wedding with.
Harry simply nodded, seeing no way around that himself. No matter how much he'd like to avoid doing so. His gut and instinct practically screaming at him that this was an atrocious idea.
Melisandre did not know how much time went by as she waited for the door to open. Much too focussed on not losing Azor Ahai that she could be bothered to notice the passage of time. She and others had tried to enter, of course. But every attempt, be they physical or magical, was rebuffed easily. That alone let people stay. A few stragglers had also arrived after the ritual was finished. Apparently the flames of rebirth coming from Azor Ahai had created a flare that had been reflected by the glass ceiling. Where it broke apart into a kaleidoscope of colour that put any dawn to shame, illuminating part of Asshai.
Melisandre could clearly see the hunger for more magical knowledge and information in their greedy eyes. Though, that was not something the red priestess herself was overly concerned with.
'Please, R'hllor, let him be there when this door opens.' she prayed more fervently now than at any other point in her life, save one. She knew without a doubt that this man was Azor Ahai reborn. He fulfilled the prophecy perfectly. What also contributed to that conclusion was what she assumed to be his own symbol. On it's own it was nothing special as far as sigils went, but if looked upon with knowledge of Alchemy? Well, then it held all the meaning in the world. The upward pointing triangle symbolized the element of Fire. The circle represented gold or the sun itself. Lastly, the vertical line stood for the soul reaching out to the divine. All signs pointed towards him, but not why he arrived with another at his side.
The most vexing problem was he seemed to dislike her, if not outright despise her, after laying eyes on her just once. Not something Melisandre was used to from men. Normally they were enchanted with her beauty and easy to manipulate through her female wiles. The only thing on their minds being to slate their lust. Evidently Azor Ahai did not share that weakness.
Thankfully, her prayer was answered when the door opened and two people appeared.
Azor Ahai with the now grown woman holding onto his arm. The latter looked markedly different from earlier. Black horns decorated her head, from which a lustrous golden mane fell down her back in curly waves. Eyes of deep purple took them in with an intelligence unsettling to the red priestess.
"Could those responsible for bringing us here please step inside? We have some questions." the woman requested politely, but those experienced enough knew from the posture and tone alone it was not wise to refuse her.
While there was some debate, in the end Melisandre, Quaithe and Marwyn were chosen. Mostly because they spoke the Common Tongue.
Once inside the door clicked shut on it's own, briefly glowing with a pale blue shimmer. Azor Ahai flicked the wand in his hand, causing three comfortable looking chairs to materialize out of thin air. "Please, sit." he invited with a friendly wave towards the new seats.
Despite not knowing just what to expect all of them did so. Apprehension filling each to different degrees at the casual and effortless magic displayed before them. It'd be a long and arduous talk.
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