Unplottable Island
Chapter 7:
Laura sat back, rubbing a tear out of her eye. "That's it, best I can remember."
Sirius sighed a little. "I came back to the house after looking for Peter—but I guess I was too late. All I found was James and Lily, dead on the ground—it was the Killing Curse. Hagrid—that's the gamekeeper, Tim—was there with Harry, and I begged him to let me take you somewhere, because I knew that they were either going to raise you themselves or send you to that awful aunt of yours. But he said no, duty was duty, so I lent him my motorcycle. And I knew that I had to find Peter. I caught him in the main square of Godric's Hollow—he never did learn to Apparate. He was a double agent for Voldemort, and I was so mad I would have killed him anyway—he betrayed James, Lily, you boys—and you, Laura. Well, he knew what I was going to try, so he blew apart the street, turned himself into a rat, and fled down the sewer. I got blamed."
Tim was in total awe. What bravery it must have took for his father to stand his ground like that! He and Harry exchanged looks, both of their gazes filled with respect for the parents they never knew—and the aunt and godfather they did.
The moment was shattered by Dumbledore bursting in, face sallow beneath his beard. "Sirius, Laura, you're remaining here tonight. Nowhere else would be safe."
Sirius rose. "What's wrong, Professor?"
"Severus Snape. He's gone—vanished from Hogwarts."
***
Biana Razi flattened herself again the wooden wall, breath coming fast. He was at it again.
She was tall and thin—but not human. Definitely not human. Her eyes were an unusual shade of amber, and the pupils sliced them in half like those of a cat, made more stunning by a tiny nose and a thin, lipless mouth. Brown henna tattoos lay in an intricate design across the top half of her face. Her skin was almost golden, with a scaly texture around her arms and torso. Each of her unshod feet ended in a clawed toe, and her fingers had the same long, scaly digits. Her long ragged dress was tight enough to show that (no matter what her species was) she was most definitely female. Her hair was long and inky black, tied behind her head in matted knots.
Biana was of a people called the Dreki Fólk—the Dragon People. Long ago, when dragons had run unrestrained through the world, there needed to be a special kind of people to tame and control the dragons. Thus, the Dreki evolved, a mythical people with the ability to control dragons and live forever—unless they were killed. After the world became more dependent on wizard-produced magic, the Dreki faded into fairy tales and bedtime stories, someone who had lived long ago.
But Biana was here. Now. And if she didn't play her cards right, she most definitely would not have the chance to see her next millennium through.
It had happened so quickly—the man, tall and so like one of their people, coming to the inner caves, braving the dragons that lived within. He had wanted their service—someone who had done him wrong, he had said. Someone who was trying to kill him. He needed the powerful Dreki—their hold on dragons—to seal his victory.
What he didn't mention was that they didn't have a choice.
Now she was in change of watching those this man found useful and didn't want to kill—precious few. Too many spilled their secrets and died, one after another, and Biana was in charge of removing the bodies from the presence of Lord Voldemort.
But now she crouched against the wall outside of his 'Wanting Room', hearing human screams and the horrible rending of flesh and bone—and she knew there would be the call of "Biana Razi, get this fool out of my sight." She shivered, knowing that the fool was dead now, knowing that she would have to gather this poor mortal together in a sack and walk by the eyes of the others awaiting their audience, carrying a bloody bag that she would bury outside, with a small rock placed on it with the name of the deceased.
Biana looked down the row of cells. There were twenty of them, each five feet by five feet, barely enough room to lie down. No food. No water. Just the miserable few souls who still lived. They all hated Biana, the silent messenger of death to them all. What they didn't know was that she'd gladly thrown herself on the spit for them—but she knew that she couldn't. He'd do his cruelties with or without her, but for now she would settle for the long wait for someone who would listen to her—someone who had not given up yet.
"Biana! Here's another for my Lord." She rose, her clawed toes scratching the floor as she walked to the door. Another of her kind, Boaz, held a man. He was tall for a human, though very short to the eight feet four inches of Boaz and the seven foot eight inches of Biana.
"Thank you, Boaz," she said quietly. The mortal looked at her oddly. They all did that at first, not realizing that the Dreki spoke in Parsel Tongue—creature with forked tongues cannot speak human languages. "I'm sure my Lord with be pleased."
Boaz winced. "There's nothing we can do, Biana. Only wait. He's only a mortal. We are much more than that."
Biana nodded and closed the door, the man's arm in her grasp. There was an empty cell here, near the door. The last cell, in the far back. She pushed him inside and closed the door, sealing it with her own brand of magic. Conveying by a series of gestures that he was to sit and wait, she went to go get a pad of paper to write his name down on. He'd be gone within a few days. Best get his name now.
When she came back, he began to talk to her. Biana understood most of it, but she couldn't reply, so she merely listened, scratching out a few designs on the pad of paper.
"Do you speak English?" Head shake from the Dreki. "Okay. Do you understand me?" Nod. "My name is Severus Snape. Tell him that, he'll want to know so that he can get me before the rot does. Are you one of those mythical creatures, the Dragon Folk?"
Biana looked at him—really looked at him—and saw what she'd so rarely seen in all the prisoners she'd brought through this hell hole. A spark. Just a light in the back of a pair of fathomless black eyes. And Biana knew that this man was the man she'd been waiting for. The man who still had hope. To make a difference.
Frantically she scratched her message on her notepad.
I want to stop this man. I need help. Will you help me?
Severus Snape looked at her. Stretching his pale arm through the bars and grasped her scaly hand. He moved the pen into a single word.
