Book II, Chapter III
Delaia stared in surprise at the three boys in front of her, only budging from her place in the tunnel entrance after Severus gave her a less-than- gentle shove in the back. She had no time to ask the obvious question, as, at almost the same instant she stumbled into the cave, a hail of rocks came bouncing across the floor causing her to have to jump behind an outcropping of stone along the wall for protection. "Get ready! They're coming through!" It was Apollo's voice, but Delaia couldn't see him through the cloud of dust that billowed into the room along with the rocks. What she did recognize immediately was the need to get Sophicles, who was still standing in the open, out of the line of fire, as the bright red and gold streaks of a barrage of hexes began landing all around them. He seemed frozen to the spot, oblivious of the fact that he made the perfect target. Before she could decide on a course of action, however, Severus reached out, grabbed the back of the boy's robes and jerked him into the mouth of the tunnel.
"Get him out of here!" She wasn't sure Severus could hear her, with the cacophony going on all around them, but his head whipped in her direction and she gestured back the way they had come. He could not risk performing magic without allowing Augusta to possibly identify him through the thought web, and was therefore only a liability in a fight. Although she had not been caught in the web herself, Delaia would have vastly preferred not to risk magic until Severus could neutralize any possible effects back in their rooms, but she was left with little option. She was too far from the doorway to be certain of making it back, even were she willing to leave Albus and Apollo behind-which she most definitely was not. She could see the indecision on Snape's face for an instant, but whatever else he might be from time to time, he was never slow. He gave her a quick nod, then disappeared, dragging a protesting Hamlin with him.
She sincerely hoped Severus would be able to get Sophicles and himself out of the maze of tunnels before Augusta found them, but Delaia was not at all unhappy to avoid re-entering it herself. Next to meeting up with Severus' demonic aunt, a little thing like a duel seemed almost pleasurable. Dropping to one knee, she peered around the rock that partially shielded her and tried to get orientated. The dust was still thick, but she could make out Apollo nearby, trading hexes furiously with a scowling blond boy who was not holding back in the least. Delaia had no idea why the fight had broken out, but the curse Zosimus' opponent threw just as she poked her head out made her realise that her dear aunt had a serious problem.
"Adfictatio Distorqueo!" For a fraction of a second, Delaia just stared. It wasn't exactly an unforgivable, but it was close, causing extreme pain and a feeling as if one's inner organs were all being twisted in different directions. Prolonged exposure could cause serious injury or even death. Zosimus managed-just-to counter it, but the effort required obviously weakened her. Delaia no longer bothered to think, but entered the melee with relish; if that was how they played it at Durmstrang, fine with her.
"Aculeus Prurio!" She smiled as the blond barely countered the nasty hex she threw that would have left him feeling as if an entire swarm of bees had all decided to sting him at once. As it was, the force behind it caused him to drop to his knees, looking stunned. She would have petrified him then, but as she moved away from the jutting rock to get a better angle, she saw an almost unbelievable sight. Across the room, Albus was fighting THREE opponents--and holding his own.
She had never seen anything like it in her life. This had nothing to do with years of practise with dueling platforms; she had done that, and had studied with others who had spent decades perfecting their art. Her old teacher, Everard de Payens, accounted one of the best duelists in all of Europe, had put on an exhibition for them once with a visiting professor from Hogwarts. She couldn't remember the little man's name, but he had been good, and her professor had simply taken her breath away at the elegance and almost thoughtless ease with which he had countered everything the other threw at him. They had savaged each other for the better part of an hour, before finally calling a draw. She had said to a friend at the time that they should remember that day, because they would likely never see a greater display of skill.
She had been wrong.
Delaia stood with wand lowered and mouth agape as Albus somehow managed to keep up both a difficult shielding charm and to throw a volley of hexes so complex she couldn't even follow them all with her eyes. As she goggled at him, one of his opponents was caught off guard by what must have been a particularly nasty curse and fell over, clutching his side and screaming. With only two adversaries left to worry with, Albus finished the job quickly. A skinny brunette wearing what Delaia suddenly recognized as Beauxbatons colours, was stupefied and dropped like a stone. The last boy, a stocky character who Delaia thought looked slightly familiar-with that nose, he simply had to be a de Almarc--was felled by a Praestigiae Cendere hex--he let go of his wand and began running in a circle, beating himself in the head in an attempt to put out imaginary flames. As Albus' robes settled around him again, swirling in an almost balletic fashion, he once more became the man she knew. His expression, amazingly, had never altered, but was as calm as if nothing particularly unusual had occurred.
Apollo, meanwhile, had finished the blond, petrifying him with a bit more energy than was technically necessary. He fell like a log at Delaia's feet. "Thanks for the help," Apollo commented, having obviously missed Albus' little performance. "Did we get them all?" Delaia nodded numbly; she couldn't have spoken if she'd tried.
Albus, stepping carefully over one of his victims, joined them as the boy who believed himself on fire went screaming from the room and down the corridor. "It will wear off soon," Albus reassured her, apparently mistaking the reason for her dumbfounded expression.
"Who the hell cares?" Apollo remarked, kicking-there was no other word for it-the unconscious figure at her feet until it rolled over. "Dearest cousin Etienne," she mused, a dangerous glint in her cornflower blue eyes, "what shall I do with you?"
"Zosimus . . ." Albus began grimly.
"You don't know this little fils de pute, Albus. If we don't take care of him now, next time-and there will be a next time . . ."
Apollo broke off as several professors dressed in Durmstrang red strode into the room, followed by one in Hogwarts' black. McGonagall looked in disbelief from Apollo, who was still standing menacingly over the unconscious form of Etienne, to Albus and Delaia, who both still had their wands out. One of the Durmstrang professors almost stumbled over the other unconscious boy, who lay near the door where Albus had left him, while his remaining victim took that moment to let out a heartfelt groan. Staggering to his feet, a wiry brunette stumbled over to them and began a torrent of French, most of it obscene, describing a supposed ambush on their group by the Hogwarts' champions. Delaia judged from the bewildered looks everyone else was trading that she and Zosimus were the only ones able to follow his argument, and was about to respond with a few choice phrases of her own when Apollo spoke up.
"What are YOU doing here, anyway? You aren't even one of the champions!" She rounded, livid, on McGonagall and began a furious description of a vicious attack on the Hogwart's trio that Delaia had no doubt was true. Within a few minutes, McGonagall was loudly protesting the ambush of HIS champions by four Beauxbatons' students, one of whom was only supposed to be an assistant and should not have even been at the trials. Etienne, once he had been brought out of his stupor, furiously pointed out that Delaia fit this category, too, and the conversation degenerated even further thereafter, fuelled by the belated arrival of the Beauxbatons' professor, who naturally backed up his students.
Delaia, who could not have cared less if all of them were thrown out of the contest, left Apollo and McGonagall to sort it out, and edged away from the center of the by now screaming mob. Albus somehow ended up by her side. "I thought for a second back there that I saw Snape with you," he commented in a low tone.
"He left with Sophicles." Delaia had little worry of being overheard with the melee going on beside them, but she drew Albus a little way back into the cave anyway. "We ran into a thought web guarding the vaults, or at least Sev did. I don't think it touched me as I was a couple of yards down the corridor, but . . . "
"But he can't do magic without revealing his identity."
"Exactly," Delaia glanced over her shoulder. "Can you stay here and help Apollo? I need to go look for him." It was, in truth, the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn't leave him and Sophicles to face God knew what on their own.
Albus, glancing at Apollo, who was now waving her arms and making extremely rude comments about Etienne's parentage, looked amused. "I think we can leave our defense in Apollo's capable hands. I'll go with you."
Delaia had a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach rather like she'd been hit with one of the more wicked curses that had recently been flying around. Sev's voice rang in her ears, asking again what would happen if Albus ever found out what Augusta's favourite hobby happened to be. She smiled weakly and hoped she didn't look as appalled as she felt. "You're one of the champions-they'll notice if you leave. I'm just going back to our rooms, as they're probably already there and wondering what's keeping us." Please Sev, she thought fervently, please be there.
"But, Delaia, I'm sure Zosimus . . . "
"No, really, you stay here." She hoped her tone sounded appropriately unconcerned. "Sev used to play in these tunnels as a child. He knows them quite well-I'm sure he's fine. If I don't find them at the room, I'll come get you," she lied.
Albus looked like he wanted to argue the point, but Delaia didn't give him a chance. "Professor McGonagall," she called loudly, "Albus says he can clear all this up." She avoided Albus' eyes as McGonagall descended on them, demanding to know his side of things. Delaia took the opportunity to skirt the group in the direction of the door.
"What's going on?" Apollo grabbed her arm as she tried to slip past her.
"Sev and Hamlin-I'm going to go see if they're back at the room."
"Why . . . what's going on? What happened at the vault?," Apollo demanded, dragging her away from the group which had now reformed around Albus and McGonagall. Delaia made a sudden decision, based primarily on her strong desire not to have to do this alone.
"Come with me and I'll explain on the way."
* * *
Albus watched Delaia and Apollo confer briefly about something, then slip unobserved by anyone else from the room. It upset him that Delaia seemed to have no problem accepting help from Zosimus, but was unwilling to do so from him. It made no sense, as, were Sev and Sophicles in trouble, he could not believe Apollo would be better able to help them than he. He did not have time to ponder Delaia's strange behaviour, however, as he was under the necessity of trying to sort out the mess around him. After perhaps twenty minutes, the students had almost shouted themselves hoarse, McGonagall and the Beauxbatons' professor had threatened each other's positions, reputations and lives, and the Durmstrang officials had made it clear that they found the whole affair very funny. They could afford to laugh, Albus thought, considering that Delaia's prophecy of the previous night had been fulfilled and all four of Durmstrang's students had made the first cut. He wondered if they had been given a map of the maze, or if their professors had simply slipped their names into the cup before the test even began. He certainly did not remember seeing any of them in the corridors.
Ultimately, although a decision had yet to be reached when the group decided to adjourn long enough for the battered students to be looked at by the Durmstrang nurse, Albus knew what the outcome would be. McGonagall apparently reached the same conclusion, for he patted Albus' shoulder reassuringly as they made their way back up the corridor towards the upper levels of the Institute. "Don't worry, my boy, don't worry. There's ultimately nothing they can do. Rules are rules, you know, and," he looked at Albus archly, "however your names ended up in that cup, the fact remains that they are there." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "And to think- only ONE Beauxbatons' champion made it past the first cut!"
"But all four of Durmstrang's did," Albus reminded him absently, wondering how to get rid of the man so he could go sort out whatever was wrong with Delaia.
"Yes, they're going to be the problem. We need to get everyone together and plan strategy. I'll . . ."
"Shouldn't you go check on Dorien, sir? I heard he was injured in the course of the trial."
"Yes, yes," McGonagall brushed away Dorien's mishap with a wave of his hand. "Unfortunate, surely, but we still have THREE champions in the running! And we WILL win this, young Dumbledore, I do assure you." He chuckled wickedly, "Did I tell you that I was in the Triwizard Tournament myself as a boy? Did damned well, too, until Durmstrang cheated on the last test and almost got me killed. Oh yes, I have a few plans for the next trial, my boy, don't you worry."
Albus, noting the expression in McGonagall's eyes, decided he probably SHOULD worry, possibly about his teacher's sanity, but he had too much else to deal with right now. He finally managed to persuade the man to go visit Dorien, allowing him to slip away to the Hogwarts' chambers. He met Delaia and Zosimus in the common room, obviously on their way out again.
"They aren't back yet?," he surmised. Delaia and Apollo exchanged a glance that seemed to convey volumes. Albus felt irritated. What the devil was the matter with everyone today? "Well, what's going on?"
Delaia smiled at him, but it was the same sort of expression she'd worn back in the cave-almost a grimace of pain. Albus began to get seriously worried; just then, he saw out of the corner of his eye Apollo go for his wand. What the hell?
He barely had time to react, yelling Expelliarmus just before the damned man could hex him. Apollo's wand leap from his hand and Albus caught it deftly. A slight motion from behind him alerted him to another problem; when he spun around, Delaia was leveling her strange black wand at him, although she looked very unhappy about it. He didn't wait to find out what she thought she was doing.
"Expelliarmus!" The black basalt felt, as always, warm to the touch, as it joined Zosimus' wand in his left hand. Albus backed against the door to the point where he could keep both of his fellow students in sight. He had no idea what was going on in this lunatic asylum, but thought, under the circumstances, that he was justified in feeling a tad paranoid.
"Sorry." Zosimus was, he noted, not talking to him. Delaia shrugged, not taking her eyes off Albus. "You tried, it's alright."
"It is most definitely NOT alright!" Albus was bewildered, but anger and hurt were threatening to take over. "Will someone please explain why you felt it necessary to hex me? I'm on YOUR side, remember?" The two exchanged another meaningful glance. If they do that one more time . . .
"You can't go with us, Albus. I'm sorry," Delaia said, her eyes glistening. He suddenly noticed, a fraction too late, that she held another wand in her hand-one that looked strangely familiar. The three he held were ripped from his grip and went flying across the room to her, just as he registered in shock that the wand she held was his old mahogany. Which, he reminded himself, you gave her you idiot.
"Since when do you carry two wands?," he asked mildly, trying to steady his breathing as she leveled his own at him again.
"Since someone showed me how useful it could be," she almost whispered. "I'm truly sorry, Albus . . . I love you. Stupify!"
"What?!," and all went dark.
Delaia stared in surprise at the three boys in front of her, only budging from her place in the tunnel entrance after Severus gave her a less-than- gentle shove in the back. She had no time to ask the obvious question, as, at almost the same instant she stumbled into the cave, a hail of rocks came bouncing across the floor causing her to have to jump behind an outcropping of stone along the wall for protection. "Get ready! They're coming through!" It was Apollo's voice, but Delaia couldn't see him through the cloud of dust that billowed into the room along with the rocks. What she did recognize immediately was the need to get Sophicles, who was still standing in the open, out of the line of fire, as the bright red and gold streaks of a barrage of hexes began landing all around them. He seemed frozen to the spot, oblivious of the fact that he made the perfect target. Before she could decide on a course of action, however, Severus reached out, grabbed the back of the boy's robes and jerked him into the mouth of the tunnel.
"Get him out of here!" She wasn't sure Severus could hear her, with the cacophony going on all around them, but his head whipped in her direction and she gestured back the way they had come. He could not risk performing magic without allowing Augusta to possibly identify him through the thought web, and was therefore only a liability in a fight. Although she had not been caught in the web herself, Delaia would have vastly preferred not to risk magic until Severus could neutralize any possible effects back in their rooms, but she was left with little option. She was too far from the doorway to be certain of making it back, even were she willing to leave Albus and Apollo behind-which she most definitely was not. She could see the indecision on Snape's face for an instant, but whatever else he might be from time to time, he was never slow. He gave her a quick nod, then disappeared, dragging a protesting Hamlin with him.
She sincerely hoped Severus would be able to get Sophicles and himself out of the maze of tunnels before Augusta found them, but Delaia was not at all unhappy to avoid re-entering it herself. Next to meeting up with Severus' demonic aunt, a little thing like a duel seemed almost pleasurable. Dropping to one knee, she peered around the rock that partially shielded her and tried to get orientated. The dust was still thick, but she could make out Apollo nearby, trading hexes furiously with a scowling blond boy who was not holding back in the least. Delaia had no idea why the fight had broken out, but the curse Zosimus' opponent threw just as she poked her head out made her realise that her dear aunt had a serious problem.
"Adfictatio Distorqueo!" For a fraction of a second, Delaia just stared. It wasn't exactly an unforgivable, but it was close, causing extreme pain and a feeling as if one's inner organs were all being twisted in different directions. Prolonged exposure could cause serious injury or even death. Zosimus managed-just-to counter it, but the effort required obviously weakened her. Delaia no longer bothered to think, but entered the melee with relish; if that was how they played it at Durmstrang, fine with her.
"Aculeus Prurio!" She smiled as the blond barely countered the nasty hex she threw that would have left him feeling as if an entire swarm of bees had all decided to sting him at once. As it was, the force behind it caused him to drop to his knees, looking stunned. She would have petrified him then, but as she moved away from the jutting rock to get a better angle, she saw an almost unbelievable sight. Across the room, Albus was fighting THREE opponents--and holding his own.
She had never seen anything like it in her life. This had nothing to do with years of practise with dueling platforms; she had done that, and had studied with others who had spent decades perfecting their art. Her old teacher, Everard de Payens, accounted one of the best duelists in all of Europe, had put on an exhibition for them once with a visiting professor from Hogwarts. She couldn't remember the little man's name, but he had been good, and her professor had simply taken her breath away at the elegance and almost thoughtless ease with which he had countered everything the other threw at him. They had savaged each other for the better part of an hour, before finally calling a draw. She had said to a friend at the time that they should remember that day, because they would likely never see a greater display of skill.
She had been wrong.
Delaia stood with wand lowered and mouth agape as Albus somehow managed to keep up both a difficult shielding charm and to throw a volley of hexes so complex she couldn't even follow them all with her eyes. As she goggled at him, one of his opponents was caught off guard by what must have been a particularly nasty curse and fell over, clutching his side and screaming. With only two adversaries left to worry with, Albus finished the job quickly. A skinny brunette wearing what Delaia suddenly recognized as Beauxbatons colours, was stupefied and dropped like a stone. The last boy, a stocky character who Delaia thought looked slightly familiar-with that nose, he simply had to be a de Almarc--was felled by a Praestigiae Cendere hex--he let go of his wand and began running in a circle, beating himself in the head in an attempt to put out imaginary flames. As Albus' robes settled around him again, swirling in an almost balletic fashion, he once more became the man she knew. His expression, amazingly, had never altered, but was as calm as if nothing particularly unusual had occurred.
Apollo, meanwhile, had finished the blond, petrifying him with a bit more energy than was technically necessary. He fell like a log at Delaia's feet. "Thanks for the help," Apollo commented, having obviously missed Albus' little performance. "Did we get them all?" Delaia nodded numbly; she couldn't have spoken if she'd tried.
Albus, stepping carefully over one of his victims, joined them as the boy who believed himself on fire went screaming from the room and down the corridor. "It will wear off soon," Albus reassured her, apparently mistaking the reason for her dumbfounded expression.
"Who the hell cares?" Apollo remarked, kicking-there was no other word for it-the unconscious figure at her feet until it rolled over. "Dearest cousin Etienne," she mused, a dangerous glint in her cornflower blue eyes, "what shall I do with you?"
"Zosimus . . ." Albus began grimly.
"You don't know this little fils de pute, Albus. If we don't take care of him now, next time-and there will be a next time . . ."
Apollo broke off as several professors dressed in Durmstrang red strode into the room, followed by one in Hogwarts' black. McGonagall looked in disbelief from Apollo, who was still standing menacingly over the unconscious form of Etienne, to Albus and Delaia, who both still had their wands out. One of the Durmstrang professors almost stumbled over the other unconscious boy, who lay near the door where Albus had left him, while his remaining victim took that moment to let out a heartfelt groan. Staggering to his feet, a wiry brunette stumbled over to them and began a torrent of French, most of it obscene, describing a supposed ambush on their group by the Hogwarts' champions. Delaia judged from the bewildered looks everyone else was trading that she and Zosimus were the only ones able to follow his argument, and was about to respond with a few choice phrases of her own when Apollo spoke up.
"What are YOU doing here, anyway? You aren't even one of the champions!" She rounded, livid, on McGonagall and began a furious description of a vicious attack on the Hogwart's trio that Delaia had no doubt was true. Within a few minutes, McGonagall was loudly protesting the ambush of HIS champions by four Beauxbatons' students, one of whom was only supposed to be an assistant and should not have even been at the trials. Etienne, once he had been brought out of his stupor, furiously pointed out that Delaia fit this category, too, and the conversation degenerated even further thereafter, fuelled by the belated arrival of the Beauxbatons' professor, who naturally backed up his students.
Delaia, who could not have cared less if all of them were thrown out of the contest, left Apollo and McGonagall to sort it out, and edged away from the center of the by now screaming mob. Albus somehow ended up by her side. "I thought for a second back there that I saw Snape with you," he commented in a low tone.
"He left with Sophicles." Delaia had little worry of being overheard with the melee going on beside them, but she drew Albus a little way back into the cave anyway. "We ran into a thought web guarding the vaults, or at least Sev did. I don't think it touched me as I was a couple of yards down the corridor, but . . . "
"But he can't do magic without revealing his identity."
"Exactly," Delaia glanced over her shoulder. "Can you stay here and help Apollo? I need to go look for him." It was, in truth, the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn't leave him and Sophicles to face God knew what on their own.
Albus, glancing at Apollo, who was now waving her arms and making extremely rude comments about Etienne's parentage, looked amused. "I think we can leave our defense in Apollo's capable hands. I'll go with you."
Delaia had a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach rather like she'd been hit with one of the more wicked curses that had recently been flying around. Sev's voice rang in her ears, asking again what would happen if Albus ever found out what Augusta's favourite hobby happened to be. She smiled weakly and hoped she didn't look as appalled as she felt. "You're one of the champions-they'll notice if you leave. I'm just going back to our rooms, as they're probably already there and wondering what's keeping us." Please Sev, she thought fervently, please be there.
"But, Delaia, I'm sure Zosimus . . . "
"No, really, you stay here." She hoped her tone sounded appropriately unconcerned. "Sev used to play in these tunnels as a child. He knows them quite well-I'm sure he's fine. If I don't find them at the room, I'll come get you," she lied.
Albus looked like he wanted to argue the point, but Delaia didn't give him a chance. "Professor McGonagall," she called loudly, "Albus says he can clear all this up." She avoided Albus' eyes as McGonagall descended on them, demanding to know his side of things. Delaia took the opportunity to skirt the group in the direction of the door.
"What's going on?" Apollo grabbed her arm as she tried to slip past her.
"Sev and Hamlin-I'm going to go see if they're back at the room."
"Why . . . what's going on? What happened at the vault?," Apollo demanded, dragging her away from the group which had now reformed around Albus and McGonagall. Delaia made a sudden decision, based primarily on her strong desire not to have to do this alone.
"Come with me and I'll explain on the way."
* * *
Albus watched Delaia and Apollo confer briefly about something, then slip unobserved by anyone else from the room. It upset him that Delaia seemed to have no problem accepting help from Zosimus, but was unwilling to do so from him. It made no sense, as, were Sev and Sophicles in trouble, he could not believe Apollo would be better able to help them than he. He did not have time to ponder Delaia's strange behaviour, however, as he was under the necessity of trying to sort out the mess around him. After perhaps twenty minutes, the students had almost shouted themselves hoarse, McGonagall and the Beauxbatons' professor had threatened each other's positions, reputations and lives, and the Durmstrang officials had made it clear that they found the whole affair very funny. They could afford to laugh, Albus thought, considering that Delaia's prophecy of the previous night had been fulfilled and all four of Durmstrang's students had made the first cut. He wondered if they had been given a map of the maze, or if their professors had simply slipped their names into the cup before the test even began. He certainly did not remember seeing any of them in the corridors.
Ultimately, although a decision had yet to be reached when the group decided to adjourn long enough for the battered students to be looked at by the Durmstrang nurse, Albus knew what the outcome would be. McGonagall apparently reached the same conclusion, for he patted Albus' shoulder reassuringly as they made their way back up the corridor towards the upper levels of the Institute. "Don't worry, my boy, don't worry. There's ultimately nothing they can do. Rules are rules, you know, and," he looked at Albus archly, "however your names ended up in that cup, the fact remains that they are there." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "And to think- only ONE Beauxbatons' champion made it past the first cut!"
"But all four of Durmstrang's did," Albus reminded him absently, wondering how to get rid of the man so he could go sort out whatever was wrong with Delaia.
"Yes, they're going to be the problem. We need to get everyone together and plan strategy. I'll . . ."
"Shouldn't you go check on Dorien, sir? I heard he was injured in the course of the trial."
"Yes, yes," McGonagall brushed away Dorien's mishap with a wave of his hand. "Unfortunate, surely, but we still have THREE champions in the running! And we WILL win this, young Dumbledore, I do assure you." He chuckled wickedly, "Did I tell you that I was in the Triwizard Tournament myself as a boy? Did damned well, too, until Durmstrang cheated on the last test and almost got me killed. Oh yes, I have a few plans for the next trial, my boy, don't you worry."
Albus, noting the expression in McGonagall's eyes, decided he probably SHOULD worry, possibly about his teacher's sanity, but he had too much else to deal with right now. He finally managed to persuade the man to go visit Dorien, allowing him to slip away to the Hogwarts' chambers. He met Delaia and Zosimus in the common room, obviously on their way out again.
"They aren't back yet?," he surmised. Delaia and Apollo exchanged a glance that seemed to convey volumes. Albus felt irritated. What the devil was the matter with everyone today? "Well, what's going on?"
Delaia smiled at him, but it was the same sort of expression she'd worn back in the cave-almost a grimace of pain. Albus began to get seriously worried; just then, he saw out of the corner of his eye Apollo go for his wand. What the hell?
He barely had time to react, yelling Expelliarmus just before the damned man could hex him. Apollo's wand leap from his hand and Albus caught it deftly. A slight motion from behind him alerted him to another problem; when he spun around, Delaia was leveling her strange black wand at him, although she looked very unhappy about it. He didn't wait to find out what she thought she was doing.
"Expelliarmus!" The black basalt felt, as always, warm to the touch, as it joined Zosimus' wand in his left hand. Albus backed against the door to the point where he could keep both of his fellow students in sight. He had no idea what was going on in this lunatic asylum, but thought, under the circumstances, that he was justified in feeling a tad paranoid.
"Sorry." Zosimus was, he noted, not talking to him. Delaia shrugged, not taking her eyes off Albus. "You tried, it's alright."
"It is most definitely NOT alright!" Albus was bewildered, but anger and hurt were threatening to take over. "Will someone please explain why you felt it necessary to hex me? I'm on YOUR side, remember?" The two exchanged another meaningful glance. If they do that one more time . . .
"You can't go with us, Albus. I'm sorry," Delaia said, her eyes glistening. He suddenly noticed, a fraction too late, that she held another wand in her hand-one that looked strangely familiar. The three he held were ripped from his grip and went flying across the room to her, just as he registered in shock that the wand she held was his old mahogany. Which, he reminded himself, you gave her you idiot.
"Since when do you carry two wands?," he asked mildly, trying to steady his breathing as she leveled his own at him again.
"Since someone showed me how useful it could be," she almost whispered. "I'm truly sorry, Albus . . . I love you. Stupify!"
"What?!," and all went dark.