The Forbidden Forest is not a particularly pleasant place to find yourself at night; even more so when your best friend has been kidnapped and you have just been stunned by an unknown foe, and left lying on the grass outside your school. It would be excusable if you were nervous. It would be excusable if you jumped every now and then at a tiny sound behind you, thinking it was the evil-doer come back to hurt you. It would also be excusable if you snapped at a boy who until recently was your rival, and still was, in a sense. So Guin's behavior was quite understandable. Right?
"Be /quiet/!" she hissed at L'Argent as they tiptoed through the underbrush, heads ducked and limbs drawn close to their bodies. Several times, each had practically suffered a heart attack when a twig or branch snapped underfoot. The crystal, still with the image of the island emblazoned in its center, was shoved into Guin's pocket, though the light created a misty patch in the fabric of her robe.
"I'm /trying/, Marlowe," L'Argent returned, teeth gritted. Both children had their wands out; Guin's fingers were clutched so tightly around the ebony of hers that her knuckles were completely white, the blood driven from them by the force of her grip. Highlighted in the paleness was the old scar on her left hand, where she used to chew her hand nervously. It was funny, she thought, in all the books she'd read; it never said anything about the heroes feeling sick to their stomachs and nervous as hell. Or jumping at shadows. If this was a book, she'd be charging the island at this very moment, wand out, and shouting something suitably stupid.
"I think.. I think we turned off the path here."
"We could go back," L'Argent said, his face unreadable, but pale in the light of the moon that filtered through the trees. "We could get a teacher."
"You know we can't."
"I know."
They left the path and proceeded, if possible, with more caution than before. In her head, Guin was reciting all the spells that she knew, hoping that one of them would be appropriate for the situation fast approaching. Jelly-legs jinx; stunning charm; disarming incantation; the fire-calling curse. All of them might work, but Guin was deathly afraid that she'd forget them once they reached.. wherever Rilla was being held.
As quietly as possible, they stalked through the forest: Guin was more used to this type of thing; her forays into the wilderness at Shadehurst had made her feet light and her ability to escape notice better than L'Argent's; he was a city boy at heart, and stumbled uncertainly over the underbrush. They passed tree after tree; the branches whispering in the wind. Guin had the uncanny feeling that the forest itself was moving the news of what was occurring through some odd plant-language known only to the green of the Forbidden Forest.
"Here!" Guin said, relief flooding her as the reflection of the lake could be seen – and then, relief faded rapidly as she saw what confronted them.
It was the lake, though not as she had last seen it. While the waters before had been fairly shallow, and had maybe spanned a width of twenty feet on each side before reaching the island in the middle, they were now dark and roiling. Choppy waves cut across the surface, and it seemed miles and miles until the tiny speck of land could be seen in the distance. Like an oil slick over the top, an ebon shadow lay, iridescent and shimmering with a prism of color. In dismay, Guin walked around the entire circumference, only to find that no matter what the angle viewed, the island was equidistant from the shore.
"Whoever captured Rilla's enchanted the lake," L'Argent said, eyes squinting as he knelt beside the water, reaching a hand into it. "Powerful magic—" He bit off a strangled cry and suddenly rocked backward. Twining up his arm was a shadow, a liquid specter that gripped the boy's hand tightly. Pulling back, he strained against the prisoning lake, and cursing fumbled for his wand, as Guin did the same.
She was quicker; pointing her ebon wand at the lake and screaming, "Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" It was the first spell that came to her mind; and the result was that the living water emitted a hollow sort of squeal, that sounded as though several stereos were inverted on each other and combined with the spine-shivering sound of nails on a blackboard. Wincing, she covered her ears, then gasped as L'Argent was thrown backwards by the release and the force of the spell, landing in a heap on the ground.
Picking himself up, he winced and rubbed his arm, where a rosy pink rash was forming, in snaking lines where the water had touched him. "I don't think I want to know what that was – it /burns/. How can we get across, if that.. that thing is there?" Resting on his haunches, L'Argent muttered to himself and scratched fitfully at his hand.
Guin stared at the water moodily, thinking hard. Help! We need help. How can we do this alone? We're just kids; this is powerful Dark Magic; I can't deal with this.. If only I could get across the water. The water? Suddenly it hit her: a voice from the past, echoing in her ear. A small pool of clear liquid, in a moor near Shadehurst, and a beautiful, ethereal face. 'If you ever require assistance, speak the name of Aua.' Stepping forward, Guin threw her arm out imploringly to the water, fingers stretching apart. "Aua! We need you!"
With a burbling sound, the nymph appeared, balancing delicately on top of the roiling black water. Her feet just barely touched the 'ground,' and her mouth was contorted into an expression of extreme distaste. "Child, this is as good a time as any to ask my boon," Aua said, curtsying prettily to them. L'Argent was staring at her as if thunderstruck, his mouth open. ("Might want to shut that," Guin advised him cheerfully, "Wouldn't want anything to fly in.") Aua heard, and crinkled her eyes in a smile, which rapidly faded as she prodded the surface of the water with one foot. "This," she said, "is horrible. It should not have happened. Evil. Wrong. I will take you across to the island safely, if you will destroy the wizard who caused this.
"Take my hand."
Guin and Mikael stepped forward and each took on of Aua's hands, gripping them tightly without relinquishing hold on their wands. The nymph's skin felt smooth and somehow insubstantial, like lustrous silk with a sheen of water atop it. A strange tingling began in their fingers and traveled through them, and it was all Guin could do not to drop Aua's hand and twitch with laughter. Her stomach quivered. "Step onto the water," Aua ordered them. Both children were reluctant to set foot on the sinister surface; eventually, Guin stuck out a tentative foot. To their great surprise, they found that it now supported their weight, only shifting gently beneath.
Though the shadows licked towards their legs, not one was able to catch a hold. Aua glided forward calmly, and they struggled to keep up, tripping over waves that now seemed as much of an obstacle as the forest floor had been. Evidently, also, Aua was doing something – magical – to shorten the distance to the shore: it was almost as though the far-away length of the land had been an illusion, which they only now could see. "I must leave you here," Aua whispered, as their feet touched the dry ground again. "But gods be with you. I believe the girl is at the center of this young-land."
As quietly as they had ever moved, L'Argent and Guin slipped through the overhanging foliage, towards the clear and rocky center of the island. Suddenly, drifting across the silence, came the sound of voices: or at least, one voice, chanting in a dull, flat tone that was somehow more terrifying than any scream. There, in a clearing, was a scene that chilled their blood. A dark, tall figure, back to them, was mixing a cauldron of some sort. It fizzled and popped with a vile noise. "My Lord, wherever you are," he was murmuring to something.. that shimmered dully in the moonlight, a form not quite in this world. "Quirrell failed – he was weak – but this potion, with the life of this Muggle-girl, will give you more power – enough to formulate a better plan."
The voice was familiar. But Guin could not place it. Quirrell? The /Professor/? For a moment, she fought the impulse to laugh – and here, Potter and Co. had thought Snape the traitor. Stuttering Professor Quirrell.. 'My Lord'? Guin swept her gaze across the clearing, and found her friend. Rilla was bound to a tree, her arms spread out in a T, and tied to a fairly straight branch, legs spread-eagled as well, to prevent her from moving at all. Her head hung limply down on her chest, and a large bruise was beginning to swell her eye. Soft green smoke bubbled up from the cauldron. Guin blinked; at her side, L'Argent was gradually tensing, his face bleeding dry of color. Something he had seen – "No," he breathed, "NO!"
At this, the figure turned around.
-----
The face of Henry L'Argent was suffused red with a rage that made him quite unrecognizable. The handsome features twisted into a combination of puzzlement and fury. "MIKAEL! What are you – you'll ruin every – I didn't mean for you to –"
Uncle Henry's features now twisted in a comedy of indecision. He stared at his nephew, wand trembling in his hands. It twitched up and down, commanding Guin's attention. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have woken up yet! How did you get across the shadow barrier? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" He finished with a shout that should have echoed, but was instead absorbed by that curious silence surrounding the island, a waiting silence. The wand flicked up and down, a parody of vacillation.
"I should ask," L'Argent said, his voice icy, "The same of you."
Guin was inching towards where Rilla was suspended, hoping to free her while the two talked. "Stop right there!" Henry shrieked, his voice panicked.
Guin raised her hands, slipping the wand into her sleeve where it went unnoticed. "Uncle Henry – why? You don't have to do this.. You could let us go.."
"No! I'm going to have to kill you," he said, sounding as though trying to convince himself. Henry's face crumpled. "I only wanted to kill /her/ – a Mudblood, to lend the powers of her life-spirit to the ritual— not you – oh my god. Angeline would never forgive me—"
"What does my mother have to do with you?" Guin demanded coldly. She found, now that the danger was here, it was not as frightening as she thought. She could stare at the man before her with contempt and disdain, rather than hiding from him in fear. Keep him talking, Guin. In the books, in the movies, the villain always gave away his plans, while the hero thought of an escape. Keep him talking. And think. God, /think/!
"Don't you see? I love her! I've always loved her! She was so perfect, the dream woman—" His smile gradually took on a slightly insane quality. "But she'll love me now, oh yes. Edmund Marlowe, that pompous fool, he's dead – long gone. Thanks to the Great Lord. She'll love me when I bring back our master and help return the world to the Golden Age of power.."
"You're insane!" L'Argent said, staring at his Uncle in horrified disbelief. It seemed as though he was trying to convince himself of the sight, though the slightly dazed silver gaze stared beyond the figure of the fallen angel, Henry, and into some distant point.
"It's true," the elder L'Argent said, his eyes crinkling in a charming smile, the ghost of what he had been when Guin first met him. "The life of a Mudblood, in certain of the Dark Rituals, grants power – almost as good as a Philosopher's Stone, for bringing back the cursed – the half-lives.."
"You want to bring back Voldemort?" Guin interrupted, disgusted. Rilla was beginning to stir, twisting in the bonds that held her tightly to the tree. Little details stood out at her, the chaffed, red look of her friend's wrists, where the rope cut into them. Rescue Rilla, and get the hell out of there.
"Uncle Henry," L'Argent said, pleading. "You don't have to do this.. Untie Rilla, let us go.."
"No, no, I do," he said, smiling crazily again. "It's started already, you see." And here he raised a ceremonial sacrificial knife, the handle ornately carved, and started towards Rilla.
"NO!" the children yelled, and Guin attempted to cast a hex on him.
He was too quick; and the spell he used hit Guin in the stomach and bowled her over backwards, seeing stars. A word, "Impello!", another blast of sound and she could hear L'Argent retching nearby, sprawled on the rocky ground, his arms hanging limply. To her feet, too late to save L'Argent from too much harm – "Minuo!" she screamed at Uncle Henry. "Minuo, minuo!" The first spell missed, though the last two opened bleeding cuts on Henry's face; she could also see a damp patch seeping through the robes on his stomach.
"Plaga!" was his return: this spell slammed into her head, snapping it back and toppling her backwards again. And there was Uncle Henry, moving towards her best friend with the knife glittering in the moonlight, beginning to drag it across her neck. She wanted to scream, but that would give away her movement. Guin staggered to her feet, and raised her wand, pointed it at Henry's back—
"Stupefy!" she managed, voice hoarse. The spell hit right on target, and Henry crumpled. Guin rushed to Rilla's side, but not before pointing her wand at Henry again. "Locomoter mortis," she said vindictively, satisfied as his body stiffened into immobility. Relieving the wizard of his wand, she slipped it into her pocket, and then scooped up the knife. Rilla's bonds came away easily with a few strokes of the blade, and Guin tottered under the sudden weight as the smaller girl toppled onto her.
"Guin?" Rilla asked, blinking.
"It's me," Guin said.
"I— I hurt—"
"It's okay.. We're going to get back somehow.." But Guin was the only one standing. L'Argent was still unconscious, and Rilla could barely stand up. "Somehow."
"Be /quiet/!" she hissed at L'Argent as they tiptoed through the underbrush, heads ducked and limbs drawn close to their bodies. Several times, each had practically suffered a heart attack when a twig or branch snapped underfoot. The crystal, still with the image of the island emblazoned in its center, was shoved into Guin's pocket, though the light created a misty patch in the fabric of her robe.
"I'm /trying/, Marlowe," L'Argent returned, teeth gritted. Both children had their wands out; Guin's fingers were clutched so tightly around the ebony of hers that her knuckles were completely white, the blood driven from them by the force of her grip. Highlighted in the paleness was the old scar on her left hand, where she used to chew her hand nervously. It was funny, she thought, in all the books she'd read; it never said anything about the heroes feeling sick to their stomachs and nervous as hell. Or jumping at shadows. If this was a book, she'd be charging the island at this very moment, wand out, and shouting something suitably stupid.
"I think.. I think we turned off the path here."
"We could go back," L'Argent said, his face unreadable, but pale in the light of the moon that filtered through the trees. "We could get a teacher."
"You know we can't."
"I know."
They left the path and proceeded, if possible, with more caution than before. In her head, Guin was reciting all the spells that she knew, hoping that one of them would be appropriate for the situation fast approaching. Jelly-legs jinx; stunning charm; disarming incantation; the fire-calling curse. All of them might work, but Guin was deathly afraid that she'd forget them once they reached.. wherever Rilla was being held.
As quietly as possible, they stalked through the forest: Guin was more used to this type of thing; her forays into the wilderness at Shadehurst had made her feet light and her ability to escape notice better than L'Argent's; he was a city boy at heart, and stumbled uncertainly over the underbrush. They passed tree after tree; the branches whispering in the wind. Guin had the uncanny feeling that the forest itself was moving the news of what was occurring through some odd plant-language known only to the green of the Forbidden Forest.
"Here!" Guin said, relief flooding her as the reflection of the lake could be seen – and then, relief faded rapidly as she saw what confronted them.
It was the lake, though not as she had last seen it. While the waters before had been fairly shallow, and had maybe spanned a width of twenty feet on each side before reaching the island in the middle, they were now dark and roiling. Choppy waves cut across the surface, and it seemed miles and miles until the tiny speck of land could be seen in the distance. Like an oil slick over the top, an ebon shadow lay, iridescent and shimmering with a prism of color. In dismay, Guin walked around the entire circumference, only to find that no matter what the angle viewed, the island was equidistant from the shore.
"Whoever captured Rilla's enchanted the lake," L'Argent said, eyes squinting as he knelt beside the water, reaching a hand into it. "Powerful magic—" He bit off a strangled cry and suddenly rocked backward. Twining up his arm was a shadow, a liquid specter that gripped the boy's hand tightly. Pulling back, he strained against the prisoning lake, and cursing fumbled for his wand, as Guin did the same.
She was quicker; pointing her ebon wand at the lake and screaming, "Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" It was the first spell that came to her mind; and the result was that the living water emitted a hollow sort of squeal, that sounded as though several stereos were inverted on each other and combined with the spine-shivering sound of nails on a blackboard. Wincing, she covered her ears, then gasped as L'Argent was thrown backwards by the release and the force of the spell, landing in a heap on the ground.
Picking himself up, he winced and rubbed his arm, where a rosy pink rash was forming, in snaking lines where the water had touched him. "I don't think I want to know what that was – it /burns/. How can we get across, if that.. that thing is there?" Resting on his haunches, L'Argent muttered to himself and scratched fitfully at his hand.
Guin stared at the water moodily, thinking hard. Help! We need help. How can we do this alone? We're just kids; this is powerful Dark Magic; I can't deal with this.. If only I could get across the water. The water? Suddenly it hit her: a voice from the past, echoing in her ear. A small pool of clear liquid, in a moor near Shadehurst, and a beautiful, ethereal face. 'If you ever require assistance, speak the name of Aua.' Stepping forward, Guin threw her arm out imploringly to the water, fingers stretching apart. "Aua! We need you!"
With a burbling sound, the nymph appeared, balancing delicately on top of the roiling black water. Her feet just barely touched the 'ground,' and her mouth was contorted into an expression of extreme distaste. "Child, this is as good a time as any to ask my boon," Aua said, curtsying prettily to them. L'Argent was staring at her as if thunderstruck, his mouth open. ("Might want to shut that," Guin advised him cheerfully, "Wouldn't want anything to fly in.") Aua heard, and crinkled her eyes in a smile, which rapidly faded as she prodded the surface of the water with one foot. "This," she said, "is horrible. It should not have happened. Evil. Wrong. I will take you across to the island safely, if you will destroy the wizard who caused this.
"Take my hand."
Guin and Mikael stepped forward and each took on of Aua's hands, gripping them tightly without relinquishing hold on their wands. The nymph's skin felt smooth and somehow insubstantial, like lustrous silk with a sheen of water atop it. A strange tingling began in their fingers and traveled through them, and it was all Guin could do not to drop Aua's hand and twitch with laughter. Her stomach quivered. "Step onto the water," Aua ordered them. Both children were reluctant to set foot on the sinister surface; eventually, Guin stuck out a tentative foot. To their great surprise, they found that it now supported their weight, only shifting gently beneath.
Though the shadows licked towards their legs, not one was able to catch a hold. Aua glided forward calmly, and they struggled to keep up, tripping over waves that now seemed as much of an obstacle as the forest floor had been. Evidently, also, Aua was doing something – magical – to shorten the distance to the shore: it was almost as though the far-away length of the land had been an illusion, which they only now could see. "I must leave you here," Aua whispered, as their feet touched the dry ground again. "But gods be with you. I believe the girl is at the center of this young-land."
As quietly as they had ever moved, L'Argent and Guin slipped through the overhanging foliage, towards the clear and rocky center of the island. Suddenly, drifting across the silence, came the sound of voices: or at least, one voice, chanting in a dull, flat tone that was somehow more terrifying than any scream. There, in a clearing, was a scene that chilled their blood. A dark, tall figure, back to them, was mixing a cauldron of some sort. It fizzled and popped with a vile noise. "My Lord, wherever you are," he was murmuring to something.. that shimmered dully in the moonlight, a form not quite in this world. "Quirrell failed – he was weak – but this potion, with the life of this Muggle-girl, will give you more power – enough to formulate a better plan."
The voice was familiar. But Guin could not place it. Quirrell? The /Professor/? For a moment, she fought the impulse to laugh – and here, Potter and Co. had thought Snape the traitor. Stuttering Professor Quirrell.. 'My Lord'? Guin swept her gaze across the clearing, and found her friend. Rilla was bound to a tree, her arms spread out in a T, and tied to a fairly straight branch, legs spread-eagled as well, to prevent her from moving at all. Her head hung limply down on her chest, and a large bruise was beginning to swell her eye. Soft green smoke bubbled up from the cauldron. Guin blinked; at her side, L'Argent was gradually tensing, his face bleeding dry of color. Something he had seen – "No," he breathed, "NO!"
At this, the figure turned around.
-----
The face of Henry L'Argent was suffused red with a rage that made him quite unrecognizable. The handsome features twisted into a combination of puzzlement and fury. "MIKAEL! What are you – you'll ruin every – I didn't mean for you to –"
Uncle Henry's features now twisted in a comedy of indecision. He stared at his nephew, wand trembling in his hands. It twitched up and down, commanding Guin's attention. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have woken up yet! How did you get across the shadow barrier? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" He finished with a shout that should have echoed, but was instead absorbed by that curious silence surrounding the island, a waiting silence. The wand flicked up and down, a parody of vacillation.
"I should ask," L'Argent said, his voice icy, "The same of you."
Guin was inching towards where Rilla was suspended, hoping to free her while the two talked. "Stop right there!" Henry shrieked, his voice panicked.
Guin raised her hands, slipping the wand into her sleeve where it went unnoticed. "Uncle Henry – why? You don't have to do this.. You could let us go.."
"No! I'm going to have to kill you," he said, sounding as though trying to convince himself. Henry's face crumpled. "I only wanted to kill /her/ – a Mudblood, to lend the powers of her life-spirit to the ritual— not you – oh my god. Angeline would never forgive me—"
"What does my mother have to do with you?" Guin demanded coldly. She found, now that the danger was here, it was not as frightening as she thought. She could stare at the man before her with contempt and disdain, rather than hiding from him in fear. Keep him talking, Guin. In the books, in the movies, the villain always gave away his plans, while the hero thought of an escape. Keep him talking. And think. God, /think/!
"Don't you see? I love her! I've always loved her! She was so perfect, the dream woman—" His smile gradually took on a slightly insane quality. "But she'll love me now, oh yes. Edmund Marlowe, that pompous fool, he's dead – long gone. Thanks to the Great Lord. She'll love me when I bring back our master and help return the world to the Golden Age of power.."
"You're insane!" L'Argent said, staring at his Uncle in horrified disbelief. It seemed as though he was trying to convince himself of the sight, though the slightly dazed silver gaze stared beyond the figure of the fallen angel, Henry, and into some distant point.
"It's true," the elder L'Argent said, his eyes crinkling in a charming smile, the ghost of what he had been when Guin first met him. "The life of a Mudblood, in certain of the Dark Rituals, grants power – almost as good as a Philosopher's Stone, for bringing back the cursed – the half-lives.."
"You want to bring back Voldemort?" Guin interrupted, disgusted. Rilla was beginning to stir, twisting in the bonds that held her tightly to the tree. Little details stood out at her, the chaffed, red look of her friend's wrists, where the rope cut into them. Rescue Rilla, and get the hell out of there.
"Uncle Henry," L'Argent said, pleading. "You don't have to do this.. Untie Rilla, let us go.."
"No, no, I do," he said, smiling crazily again. "It's started already, you see." And here he raised a ceremonial sacrificial knife, the handle ornately carved, and started towards Rilla.
"NO!" the children yelled, and Guin attempted to cast a hex on him.
He was too quick; and the spell he used hit Guin in the stomach and bowled her over backwards, seeing stars. A word, "Impello!", another blast of sound and she could hear L'Argent retching nearby, sprawled on the rocky ground, his arms hanging limply. To her feet, too late to save L'Argent from too much harm – "Minuo!" she screamed at Uncle Henry. "Minuo, minuo!" The first spell missed, though the last two opened bleeding cuts on Henry's face; she could also see a damp patch seeping through the robes on his stomach.
"Plaga!" was his return: this spell slammed into her head, snapping it back and toppling her backwards again. And there was Uncle Henry, moving towards her best friend with the knife glittering in the moonlight, beginning to drag it across her neck. She wanted to scream, but that would give away her movement. Guin staggered to her feet, and raised her wand, pointed it at Henry's back—
"Stupefy!" she managed, voice hoarse. The spell hit right on target, and Henry crumpled. Guin rushed to Rilla's side, but not before pointing her wand at Henry again. "Locomoter mortis," she said vindictively, satisfied as his body stiffened into immobility. Relieving the wizard of his wand, she slipped it into her pocket, and then scooped up the knife. Rilla's bonds came away easily with a few strokes of the blade, and Guin tottered under the sudden weight as the smaller girl toppled onto her.
"Guin?" Rilla asked, blinking.
"It's me," Guin said.
"I— I hurt—"
"It's okay.. We're going to get back somehow.." But Guin was the only one standing. L'Argent was still unconscious, and Rilla could barely stand up. "Somehow."