Unplottable Island
Chapter 15: Roses
It was Professor Gahlapault, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was a short, built, good-humored man, but now his look was grave and he carried a cardboard box. He had been an officer in the army before retiring and going off to see things more dangerous than his fellow man. Even now, for a man of nearly sixty, he was solidly muscled and tanned darkly, his bristling white hair a sharp contrast.
"Hello, students!" he called. "If I could have your attention, please?" He stood on a table, placing his things next to him; Gahlapault jumped back up to place the things in midair then hopped down off his table to get another table for his box.
"What's he doing?" Hermione whispered.
"Tap dancing?" Harry suggested.
"I don't know," Tim replied.
"Thank you. Please give me your undivided attention for a few minutes." Gahlapault clenched his hands together in front of him. "As for Ron Weasley, the boy taken ill earlier today: he is in bed and Madam Pomfrey is optimistic. Luckily he only had a small sip of water, which, by the way, brings me to another point. You are not to drink any juice, water, tea, or coffee until further notice. We aren't sure how the poison got in, but it is in water and most beverages that contain water.
"Now, for my true purpose of coming here." Professor Gahlapault reached in his box and pulled out a tiny cube. "Can anyone lend me a quill?" Several were flung up at him, and he used one to poke a hole in the top of the box. A sort of projection appeared from the top where the hole was; a three-dimensional image of a very tall human-like creature.
"What is that?" someone asked in a hushed voice, and Tim definitely saw their point as the alien form slowly revolved about four feet above Professor Gahlapault's head.
The rugged face split into a crooked grin. "This, students, is what is known as a Dreki. This is the new and very dangerous creature the Aurors will be fighting. It is a cross between a human and a dragon"—a few students laughed—"No, not like that, you sick-minded children. Observe the human-like features." Using his wand, he pointed out the eyes, nose and mouth. "See? Facial features almost like your own. The skin, however, is a tissue closer to scales but slightly more flexible.
"See the feet? Non-retractable claws, like a dragon—the claws on the hands are retractable. This particular Dreki is a male, but notice that the hair is kept long. This male is about two thousand years old; they age very slowly. He is eight feet tall and weights approximately two hundred and fifty pounds. Now, if you were fighting this lad, what would you do? Jordan?"
Lee Jordan snorted. "I'd hit him with a good hex to immobilize those claws."
Professor Gahlapault circled the areas with his wand, leaving a glowing golden trace. "The claws, Jordan? Why do you say this?"
"Well sir, because I'd like to keep my skin on my body," Lee said.
Gahlapault nodded. "Sound logic, but that should not be your first move. What do you not know about this creature? Granger?"
Hermione jumped, for once caught off her guard. "If he was armed I would disarm him, unless he could breathe fire, sir," she said quickly. To Hermione's intense relief, Gahlapault nodded.
"Luckily for you all, nothing we have observed makes it possible that the Dreki can breathe fire, as their bodies do not possess the required gasses, enzymes, or the second stomach. Disarming a Dreki would be wise, especially with the weapons they have been known to carry." Professor Gahlapault pulled something else out of his box; something that looked impossibly long for the small box. Tim frowned and tapped the side of his glasses. Sure enough, there wasn't really a box there, just a big portable hole that led into a particular drawer of the professor's office. So that's how he was doing it.
"This, my students, is a Dreki longbow." With a quick motion, Gahlapault strung the bow. "You there—Weasley, is it? Catch." George caught the bow as it was tossed to him and staggered under the weight. "Now, Weasley, hold that out straight in your left hand. Grab the string in the middle, and pull it back to your ear." George did it, but he had some trouble despite the fact he was a strong and heavily muscled teenager.
"Is that hard, boy?"
Tim and Harry both twisted in their seats to see a slim girl with silver-gold hair snatching the bow from George Weasley's hand. "What is Lux doing?" Tim asked Harry.
Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think she gets along with Gryffindors very well."
"She doesn't get along with anyone very well. They better take that weapon away from her before she starts a massacre."
Hermione poked him with her elbow. "Lux isn't that bad. And there's no way she could shoot that thing."
For such a small girl that wasn't even as tall as the bow, Lux could draw it all the way back to her ear with very little effort. So that's why Cho wanted her for Beater, Tim thought reflectively.
"Here, Miss Ray. Shoot that." All the students instinctively ducked as Lux pulled back the bow, loaded with the arrow. Harry looked over the back of his chair, eyes wide.
Zzzzzzzipp—thud
As one body, the students all looked over the fireplace, where the arrow had neatly thudded into the roaring mouth of a wooden lion carved into the mantle. Harry poked Tim in the ribs. "Who knows? Maybe Lux will sweeten up soon, since nobody's going to bother her anymore." Tim looked at Draco to see his mouth hanging open and nodded in agreement.
"Thank you for that demonstration, Miss Ray. Now, continuing." Using his wand, Professor Gahlapault levitated a wooden pole out of the box, with a murderous-looking curved blade on the end. "This is a scythe, another popular Dreki weapon which I can guarantee none of you will even be able to lift. The blade weights twenty pounds, and the staff is weighted with lead. The whole weapon weights close to two hundred pounds."
A timer rang somewhere in Gahlapault's box, making everyone jump. "Well class," the good-natured Professor said. "I expect everyone to have read pages 396 through 415 of Mythological Monsters by tomorrow, when we will be starting self-defense out on the lawn. Anyone who cannot give basic information on these pages will be asked to hold the targets for the archers." There was a scramble for books as Professor Gahlapault made his exit.
**
BIANA RAZI! GET IN HERE NOW!!
Biana banked Lrrch inwards and upwards, to the very lair of Lord Voldemort. Her stomach turned nervously. What did he want? Would he kill her? She lifted her chin defiantly. It didn't matter. The humans would find another Dreki like herself—she hoped that Saung or Liisbar would become the next cell guard. They were both Dreki about her age, with a sympathy towards humans that was harder to find in older Dreki.
Lrrch landed on the shallow ledge, nearly overbalancing and toppling off. Biana swung off of him. Stay here please. You may need to defend me. The young Norwegian Ridgeback shuffled his wings proudly.
"My lord?" Biana called in Parseltounge, "You called?" No answer. Biana walked cautiously farther into the rich living quarters. She recognized several paintings that had belonged to her family line hanging on his walls, as well as some carpets she recognized from other families. "My Lord?"
She knocked upon a closed door, and hearing no reply from within, opened the door. Turning on one of the finely made light-globes, she turned back to the room. Biana nearly screamed in fright.
Ju, her white scales dusty-gray with death, lay sprawled on the bed. Blood, the black aged blood of an old wound was dried on her face, in drips from her nose and mouth. Her eyes were halfway open; like round blue stones in her head, dry and without moisture. Biana reached out a shaking hand and gently closed the staring eyes, her stomach trying to reject her lunch.
"So. Ju has died."
Biana wheeled. Lord Voldemort stood there, dressed in black velvet that seemed to absorb the light cast by the glowing sphere next to him. His red eyes were as hard and cold as Ju's dead ones, as he stood there looking at her. "Sir, I—I was looking for you."
"You found me—or shall I say I found you?" His eyes never left hers, and it came to Biana's notice that Voldemort was just as tall as she was. How could that be possible? She was nearly eight feet tall. "What are you doing here, Biana?"
"You called me."
"I did? Now why would I do a thing like that?" he smiled coldly, crossing the room to sit on the end of the bed. Ju's body swayed towards him. "Oh yes. I remember now. I wanted to speak to you about what job you hold in my service now." Lord Voldemort made a gesture with his hand to encourage her to speak.
"My lord, I am a cell guard in your dungeons." What was he doing? One of his hands was resting lightly on Ju's cold chest, caressing her throat as if she lived and they were lovers. As if he felt her gaze, he withdrew his hand.
"Ah, the prisoners. Now how does my kitten fare? And the traitor Severus? Please, tell me everything." His long white hands moved to a red rose that stood in a jar on the table. "Tell me all, Biana."
Biana blinked sharply, throwing off the spell of dizziness his voice had caused. "They live," she said simply.
"What do they know of you, Biana? Are you a stranger to them?" He plucked the rose and stroked it with one long finger. "Or do you grow—fond of them?"
Biana searched for a correct answer, pretending to be staring at Ju's body. "They are humans, weak-minded and constantly bickering. They annoy each other and me as well."
Voldemort plucked a petal from the rose, letting it float to the floor. "Weak minded and constantly bickering. Am I a human, Biana Razi?" One of his long-nailed fingers sliced a track down the side of the rose's stem, leaving an oozing green trail. He avoided the thorns expertly as he painstakingly carved curving tracks around the sharp arches of thorns.
She blinked sharply again, feeling the dizziness fly off as she did so. "You are indeed human, my Lord," she replied. "Though you seem most unlike other humans." Biana felt an urgent desire to be over with this scene in her life, to still be flying on Lrrch's back over the Arctic Ocean.
"My dear, I am not like other humans." Voldemort's tone of voice changed. It was warm and flattering—and almost sensual. "I am anything but another human."
"My Lord, I need to return to my dragon," Biana said innocently.
"No you don't," he said, rising. "Has anyone every told you how pretty you are?" There it was again—the rising heat in his voice that Biana found so repulsive. Voldemort came closer, causing Biana to back away. "You are beautiful, you know." He stretched out a hand—Biana couldn't back away any farther—and stroked her cheek. "Golden, like a treasure."
"My Lord, I wish to leave."
"But you won't," he said softly, taking her face in both hands, running a thumb over one of the scars he himself had inflicted months ago. "Who beat you so?" he asked in a bemused voice. "They should have taken heed to steer clear of your face." He leaned foreword and kissed her.
Biana was disgusted. His lips were cold and dry, and she felt his tongue flicking at her lips, trying to find a way inside. Frantically, she struggled, one hand reaching for a weapon, anything to make this insane human stop what he was doing. Her hand closed on the vase, and unthinkingly she brought it down and around, smashing it into one of his shoulders. Black shards went everywhere as the now-destroyed roses showered around them in flakes of red. Voldemort released her to glance at his shoulder, bleeding with black glass in it.
"Guards!" he said, softly at first, but steadily getting louder, his eyes fixed upon hers. "Guards! GUARDS!"
She didn't waste her breath stammering apologies. Biana ran, out to the ledge where Lrrch was waiting for her. But he wasn't there. Instead there stood a full complement of Dreki Warriors, armed with scythes or long curved swords. Biana halted in her tracks, a growing feeling of despair flowing coolly from her head to her limbs.
"Biana Razi?" the leader asked, a bold male with black and bronze coloring. "I've been assigned to take you into custody."
Author's Note: When the Dreki speaks in italics, then that's Parseltounge. Just for future reference.
