Act Two Chapter Seven: The Knight of Wands III
Hello again. I somehow got and lost a beta in the span of one chapter. That is ok though, maybe I am hard to deal with. Here is the next chapter, one I liked a lot.
Other news. I have a second story, a SNAFU/Familiar of Zero fic that is almost the opposite of this one in how depressing it is (being not at all compared to this sad story). The writing level is much lower than what I use for this story and the editing is also less meticulous. That story I only write for fun whereas this one I really try.
Statment about still needing a beta (since I chased one away).
Response time.
Urgazhi: He is not a vampire, sorry. The magic hurting him is more along the lines of an intense workout, not due to magic but more due to magic exercise. The letters are important, otherwise, I would not include them.
Sir Dedrick the Cool: Welcome back! Been a minute. Glad your caught up (or at least this is me assuming you read till A2C6) I am glad you like it. I think the economic ramifications of this world are too interesting to not point out, although I doubt I will go DEEP into it.
As always thank you.
Time for the normal spiel.
Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta.
Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!
They would spend the first in the nearby village. As the group gathered the travel materials, they followed the humanoid into the giant forest. Harry naturally found himself in the shadow of Nic, the looming tree's draping above and bearing down upon him, swallowing him. They stepped through the thin underbrush and none spoke, the only sounds were the occasional whisper of the tree's or the mawing of an unfamiliar bird.
Harry reached out for the thing leading them to the village. Its familiar scent and feel calmed him from the forest above and around. His hood had dropped, revealing flaming red hair, and he radiated a feeling of warmth and care.
The sun had begun its descent, leaving the forest which already wanted for light, crying for more, as shadows followed the group on their travel. They walked until the sole light bleeding through the upper canopy was a dim and pale thing, as muted sounds of the forest breathed in its first sense of life.
The village they would stay at that evening was beautiful.
The homes of the citizens appeared constructed by trees around as if they aided creation. Every millimeter of the village seemed to ooze natural magic, sympathetic in nature, caring for its inhabitants. Despite the lack of the sun, walking through this portion of wood felt like it beat warmly upon his face.
Those who inhabited had waited for them. All similar to the one he had already seen. They watched with keen eyes as his party passed, their gazes never lingering long on anyone. Though, that was not necessarily true. A few of the congregate seemed to pay him more heed than his compatriots, their gazes lingering upon Harry as he passed. Normally, these watchers tended to be individuals who showed the most effect of aging, but a couple of the younger ones paid him heed as well. Was it because he was much younger than the group?
Harry's swordmaster led the party and was flanked by Nic, leaving Harry near the front as the parade stopped. Five stood before them, not flanking but directly above the party. The Elder man adorned an ordinate crown of flowers, as did the woman gripping his arm. Her headwear was less grandiose than the mans, but on her side was a saber, though it appeared as if it were pulled from the tree itself and was wrapped tightly with animal leather. The subsequent three were a cross between them, a pair of young brothers and a girl, the girl being only marginally older, maybe as old as Fleur, than Harry with the boys matching the physique of Bill or Cepheus.
They spoke in words Harry did not recognize, but a whisper in his mind told him the translation. His initial thought was Alastair was translating for him, but the voice came from elsewhere, its feminine tones translated as the man bartered over hospitality agreements. A cut of prophit would be given if aid was as well. The dragon blighted the forest, and they were responsible to help.
A deal made.
A pack forged.
This is the olde way.
While they ironed out details, he felt gazes wash over him, none lingering past what was regular, but the girl before him, and her mother, seemed to ever watch him. One did so with distrust, the other with overwhelming eagerness brimming. As the time passed, he bathed in their magic, warm and kind as it swept over him. The group in front was more powerful than those flanking, and everyone of importance recognized it. They radiated like a breeze, warm and kind. It tingled on his skin, reminding him of another who wore the sun and heat like a blanket.
Dinner.
"We welcome you to our home. Let us eat before resting for the long journey ahead." The man spoke in French, fluently and without a meaningful accent. His words were strong and concise, and flawless in execution.
They ate outside in a dining pavilion dressed in skins and tied between branches protected against the chance of rain. The group segregated from its host, many of which left the company and entered various homes carved into the woods. Few others served them, with linens less spectacular than their compatriots. The food brought was mostly nut dishes, seasoned with flavors he did not know. They brought small fish and even a bit of rabbit as a second course, leaving Harry no room for dessert.
They gave Nic a seat with the family, which greeted them, but only he. Harry was forced to sit with the rest of the rabble instead of his guardian. Often, he found himself gazing up at the main table, ignoring the bickering friends he had made. His glances were for Nic, but regularly he found eyes looking back. Warm eyes, like a log ablaze, would meet his own, curiously inspecting him.
"They must be elves," Bill said, voice ringing with wonder. Elves? Like house-elves?
"We must really be in Atlantia, Bill," Charlie added. In response, Cepheus began to make fun of the boy, but Harry no longer cared. His attention was, again, directed at the main table. The words Nic spoke looked unfamiliar to Harry, probably in the native language of these "elves." He spoke to the leader of the group, the male who greeted them like they were old friends. They probably were, considering that Nic existed before they split from the rest of humanity if they split near the time the Statute of Security was implemented.
"What do you think, Harry?" It was Bill that broke his thoughts.
"Hmm, ya."
"You really think so?"
"Ya.'' Bill and Cepheus stared down at Harry as Charlie grinned at him. What had he agreed to? He could peek. Just a sliver would be adequate on Charlie's week mind. He could slip in with the young fellow, never being the wiser. Harry's magic already flowed, changing it to move with purpose would be simple. Locking eyes with the boy, the flow mutated, from empty to driven.
A stone hit him on the side of the head, breaking his concentration. Many eyes at the executive table peered at him with interest, but one held only disappointment. On the ground near Nic's feet, a circle was drawn with a pile of rubble toppled onto it.
"Sorry. I am a bit out of it tonight," Harry said, rubbing the point of impact. The stone had been small enough that none of the others noticed, but it still stung against his face.
"Why is that?"
"Well, doesn't everything just feel," he paused, letting other conversations overtake his, "familiar?"
"Nope,"
"Not at all,"
"Not even remotely,"
"Really Harry, you are weird sometimes."
"Fuck you, Bill,"
"Don't swear, its unbecoming,"
"Such a vulgar statement should not come from my future Head of House's mouth."
"I am going to bed."
"But Harry."
"I am going to bed," with a glare, he left.
The Knight of Wands.
He bunked alone.
Others had to share. The curesebreakers, the dragon handlers, the hit wizards each shared larger spaces. Nic and Harry had private rooms.
His abode had been grown from the redwood, shaping out into a spherical bulge from an overly large root. Tiny glances of silver dripped through the leafy canopy, letting in only specs of the written word of starlight, speckling through the paneless window.
The bedframe had sprouted from the floor, asymmetrical it housed a bed of feathers which cocooned around him as soon as he contacted it, letting his form sink and wrapping him in its warmth. He brushed his hand against the wood as it hummed to him, a song of warmth and flowers it sang of comfort. It lulled him to dreams which did not call for nightmares.
He did not dream of hell.
Harry did not dream of death.
Of control.
Instead, he walked.
The sun shone upon his back, warming him. He strolled through the meadow with his hands grazing over the tall grass, letting his fingers drip over the flowers that surround him. Yellow, pink, and white they danced in the breeze as if they tried to communicate. When nearby they would drift to him, like static that would caress him back.
What were they called again?
That's right.
Lilies.
The Knight of Wands.
He woke to the familiar smell as if his dream had yet to end. The starlight still smiled upon his bed as Alastair slept beside him, sending feelings of joy and bliss, most likely torturing someone in his dream. He breathed in the warm air as it soaked into his lungs, filling him with hope of the familiar touch. Around him the bed still wrapped around him, returning the heat he gave off.
Confort.
Home.
The floor cracked.
Harry was not alone.
While still faying sleep, his hands slithered to his weapons, neither of which he was proficient with. His dominate grabbed the one he could best defend with.
More joy came from Alistair; How had he not known?
The scuttle moved nearer to him; soft footfalls close to undetectable. The presence was warm, soothing, lulling, tricking him to accept the one coming.
Bigger and badder things than this strike had controlled his mind. It was a bug compared to the control of Tom Riddle or Erised. A gnat to their tsunami force.
It had come to the foot of the bed, stopping and watching him. He focused on breathing, of control. His magic flowed as it always did, steadily without purpose. His breathing stayed natural; do not go out of normal. Stay safe. Pretend you belong.
The personification of warmth and flowers bent down.
Near three feet of goblin forged weaponry hovered near her neck. The soft light of stars glimmered from the blade, illuminating the slim and young face. She quickly flashed to surprise when the sword borne forth until it morphed. What had been a sweet face shifted into a fierce, menacing glare overflowing with hatred.
"You dare bare steel in my presence, boy?" She bit out through closed, sharp teeth.
"You dare break house rights?" He answered back without forming the idea.
"That weapon could be cause enough to break it, boy." She hissed at the blade as he pushed it nearer to her tanned skin, letting the blade almost itch her slim neck. The starlight kissed and hummed along the blade, itching for him to ask it.
"False, and you know it. I hold it only in defense, not provocation," Harry spoke without speaking.
"You raise the weapon of an inferior fey against a true? You evil thing."
Alastair had stopped sending him fantasies and no longer lay next to Harry in bed. He was concerned. "How can you call them inferior? Whilst that may be true, they are in no way inferior to you, you mixed blood experiment gone wrong." The words left his mouth without meaning to the self.
"You monster." She hissed and moved forward.
"I wouldn't suggest that?" A new voice sounded. From the air the red imp came into existence, "you are slipping forgotten one, you did not notice that I was here." His barbed tail dragged on the back of her skull. Her anger grew evermore.
"Why have you entered under the cover of darkness, what do you seek with my chosen?" Alastair sent confusion over the link.
"This one feels so close. He is like a summer breeze. I was curious. But now, associating with demons and bringing a piece of filth here. I am rethinking, could he be a liar, the most evil being?"
"Of course, he feels close. He is mine. He is closer to what you hope to achieve than any other of your kind could hope."
"Yours?"
"Mine. I am an elder. I walked creation before you sullied it with your faithless bodies."
"Faithless? No, I am not faithless. I will achieve what no other has. I will go into the lands beyond and be welcomed by my ancestors."
"And how would you accomplish your silly goal, mortal?" Alastair battled against Harry's mind. Fighting against the power which resided there currently. He tried to free Harry from the speaker, but he had no aid in his task. The young elf had stopped, becoming statue-like as she debated over her next words.
"I will serve your chosen." Her voice broke in a whisper, with fear dripping like a child in a violent storm. Her sharp ears had drooped, but her eyes burned like warm embers, with life enough to burn all in their wake.
"You would do as your foolish cousins did so long ago? Bind to a wizard and follow the olde laws. Foolish mortal, you think this will bring about your dream."
"The chosen is a stronger path than waiting endlessly in a forest without hope of improvement. In his shadow and with his name as my sword, I will forge my path to the promised land, where I will contend for the throne even against you."
"He knows the rite, though he has yet to perform it. Would you truly bind yourself to this wizard? Do you truly believe this is the path you must travel?"
The young elf's eyes burned, "yes, my lady," her eyes burned red against Harry's green, "I know this is the correct path for me."
"Let it be said I warned you."
"Let it be said that I passed your test."
"Beloved Harry. This one is now yours. Finish the contract and she will obey." The presence left him as he slumped into the bed.
"Harry?" Alastair called to him, unsure.
"I need my book."
"What?"
"My book. Bring it here. Erised told me to use a certain ritual."
"The mirror?"
"The book." His sword returned to its sheath as he looked the girl in the eyes. He would irreversibly remove her from all she knew. Bind her to his whims. Take her from family, friends, her future. As Alastair went to his trunk, Harry reached to her face, laying a hand against her warm cheek. "As myself, are you sure you wish this? Once done, it cannot be undone. My fate will now be tied to yours is that truthfully your wish."
"Yes."
"Let it be said, I tried to dismiss your folly."
"Let it be declared the folly is my own."
With a letter opener, he broke his skin, dripping onto the floor. He painted the sigils and circles with understanding and chanted words in the tongue he and Alistair shared. Adding the imps blood changed the ritual slightly, whether it was better had not been revealed, but with the woman's blood added to the center, the chamber flooded with magic and light.
His chanting directed the flow, bringing her magic to his, inscribing the pact against his soul and entwining her fate to his. She would serve him. Be his in the eyes of magic. Her summer magic did not harm him, for the deepest shadows formed from the brightest light. As the power dissipated, he fell back onto the cloud, with her following him down, the brand glowing above her breast. "Thank you, chosen." Her fiery lips glanced off his cheek as unconsciousness attacked on all fronts.
The last thing Harry remembered was the irritation Alastair sent over their link at playing janitor again.
The Knight of Wands.
His brain pounded against his skull, a chilling rhythm attempting to break the organ free, collapsing any mental facilities he still housed. He wiped at his eyes, brushing off the sand and residual gore that had left his eye the previous night. Harry did not wake alone. Alastair's presence had drifted into nothing, meaning the being of lore had cycled away from dreams and into rest, but Alastair did not share with him alone. Gripping his arm, she snuggled to him in her own unconsciousness, breathing softly with a content smile adorning her face.
He was evil.
What he accomplished was wrong, cruel, and horrible in every sense of the world.
He severed her freedom, and what did she gain in exchange? Nothing. He bound her will to his, stole from her magic and family. Her magic soured through him in… elation? Her emotions still fell through their link hollow, like the origin of Alastair: the hints of feeling only fell through the net if they were strong, not yet decaying the borders which separate people.
So, we bound her, what of it. An elf is a powerful ally to forge your path forward.
Ah, the voice had returned. His darker thoughts rattled his mind, bleeding its thoughts and mixing with his own. For how long had the parasite done this? The thoughts were not his own. The evil, malicious voice that occasionally berated him, seducing him to a different opinion was a lie.
The magic sourced from within him, but not within himself.
It bled from the scar. A mocking memory of evil corrupting him since birth.
How much of Harry was himself and how much was the scar?
He kept it at bay, resting his mind against thought and giving the leech nothing to suckle.
She shifted against his arm and he reached to push the hair from her eyes. Her warm breath tickled against him, but he stayed firmly content to share this moment of closeness. What did they feel through the link? Was he happy, sad, hopeful? Did Harry even have feelings; or was he only a monster? A being of evil like him should not have feelings as such.
The sun lit his room, framing the face of the elf of which he knew no name yet devoted herself to him, fueled only by hope her decision lay heavy on his soul. He heard more voices since they bonded. The morning had them wake in greeting, heavy with warning. They wished him here but wished him not to go. A blight lay in them, but attacking the source would bring more pain.
The goal of the party lay with the blight. Forward was the only direction he could travel. The road ahead they promised would be difficult. Birds flew by the window, the flight pattern had meaning, but what?
Ornithomancy.
He did not study it within the halls of Hogwarts, but why. Birds were everywhere, having them on display constantly would have been fantastic practice. Practice that may have been well in the situation he lived in.
The display was a yellow bird dancing with a raven. A mix of landings and takeoffs the yellow bird ran from the raven, further away their dance took until he stared only into the empty woods ahead, on the path he would be taking.
What did it mean?
His cards were in his chest, but an anchor prevented him from receiving it.
The staff had taken his nightly teacup.
The trees obscured the clouds.
Stones were locked with his cards.
The tree ached; his house had warned him of incoming danger. It violently shook from the angry steps tearing through it, despite the room never moving.
The door shook but remained in place despite not having a latch or lock. It asked him permission for entry, not wishing harm on its roots. Permission granted had the old man look at him with fury.
"Harry, what have you done?" Behind that mask of anger, his genuine emotion settled. He feared for his sake. What was the reason for the fear?
His mind rests in an empty void.
"Sorry, Nic, with everything going on I forgot to hold back."
"What have you done?" He repeated.
The Knight of Wands.
"… and that is when Eri-"
"Do not speak of… her,"
"She… spoke from me."
"And?"
"This one asked to be bound," Harry pointed to the still sleeping girl, the yelling failing to wake her from her exhaustion.
"Why did you proceed with such haste? You could have waited, talked to me."
"It felt right. Like it could only happen then."
"We will have to inform the master of Selphie's fate,"
"So, her name is Selphie Silverleaf?"
"You bound her without a name?" Disbelief was written upon his face.
"Yes."
"It took?"
"Without question."
"How are you sure?"
"It left a mark. A mark that is quite familiar to me."
"Is it a lightning bolt?"
"No. It's The Gate."
"The Gate?"
"Alastair, fetch."
"Fuck you," despite the protest the devil did the task it was asked, grabbing the book from the chest, and handing it to Nic. He dropped the book once he flipped to the cover.
"How? How did you gain a piece of it? Why? They were hidden." None of the questions had a target. The old man merely stared at the book as if it burned him. "Does Albus know you have it?"
"No."
"Harry, that book is evil."
"Not completely. I would go so far as to say it is neutral. Even to the point of uncaring. To me, it appears the book- is, as if its existence is one of imparting knowledge for the sake of it."
"Besides the truth of your statement, it is evil. The lack of morals behind its creation is ignorant to the point of malicious. Hiding evil next to wondrous good is a trap of the reader, to comply with evil and let it be such."
Laughter broke from within him, "You are thinking too much, Nic. A book can only educate. It is up to the individual to decipher what is right and wrong, to forge the path. The book is only a tool to pave forward."
"A tool which tethered a denizen to you,"
"At no fault of the book."
"I fail to see that."
"I couldn't yet read Infernal. Alastair highjacked a dream to tell me the details. All the book did was help me make a circle."
"It also bound a humanoid to your will."
"A ritual which I modified on the fly, thank you. It could be stronger or weaker than the original, but all that matters is it's my own. The book did not force me to do this. If you wish to put blame, blame me."
"Oh, I do."
"Then what is the problem?"
"The problem, Harry, is that that piece of the book," a piece? "contains with it some of the evillest magic in existence, rivaling even Avada Kedavra."
"Then it is good that I have it and not Tom Riddle."
"Tom Riddle has his own. And he used the same ritual you did on his followers. He marked them and held control over them as you do now."
"I am not Tom Riddle,"
"Are you certain?"
Without a doubt,"
"How?"
"He never made it through the barrier."
"Barrier?"
He pointed to his scar, "This is where Tom Riddle starts," sliding the finger to his forehead he continued, "this is where Harry Potter begins," giving the man a smile, "and Harry Potter is the son of the geezer known as Nic Flamel."
"We are going to have to face the music,"
"I doubt this ranks in your top ten for disturbances, Nic,"
"You can have a top ten list, but when things crack my top one-hundred we have problems," Nic absently rubbed the boy's hair which Harry leaned into.
"I am sorry, Nic,"
"It's fine, it happened. Just, please, try to not do it again."
"No promises,"
"I was afraid you would say that."
The Knight of Wands.