Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)
Rating: Very meek PG-13
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.
Chapter 8: Coronation
"Lyra! Lyra, dear, you must come in and wash yourself properly!" he called.
"But why, Mummy? I want to go play in the river!" The little sylph called back.
"Don't you know the coronation's today, you silly little goose?" her bearer choked back a laugh at her child's forgetfulness. Lyra's eyes got really big, and then he took in a whispering breath.
"Really? I thought it was tomorrow!"
"Yes, child, its today."
As Lyra walked away into the house, her mother distinctly heard him say, "Our new monarch had better be cute."
* * *
Quite coincidentally, the same thoughts were running through Liamh's head (only not in that order). I hope I don't have to be too attractive, he thought distractedly as he stared around his new wardrobe. Oh, it's almost noon, I should be nearly ready by now.
"What do you think, Ciaran?" Liamh said, turning to his lizard. "Green, or blue?"
As Liamh had no idea what blink-blink-stick tongue out meant, it was very hard to get a correct answer. "I've just never been royalty before, I guess." He sighed. His scattered thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he gladly took the excuse to get away from this task.
He walked wearily through his little suite and flopped into the entryway.
"Hello?" He called, before the door was opened.
"Liamh, I suppose you won't be going to the coronation wearing that, now, will you?" Caelum asked, in slight disgust.
"Oh," Liamh looked down at his free-worldian pajamas. "No, I was just deciding what to wear. What do you wear to a coronation?"
"Well, you personally should wear green. It would accent your eyes, and that's important because most sylphs have purple eyes. You will be seen as exotic." Caelum sniffed, but there was still a question in Liamh's eyes. "No, you shouldn't wear a mask. Wear a headdress. If you wear a mask, the people won't trust you."
"Oh, thank you." Liamh stuttered a bit.
"No more stuttering. You need to show that you're young but strong to your people. Remember our speech classes." Caelum stood in the doorway awkwardly for a little while then seemed to remember something. "Eldrid wishes to see you after you're ready." With that, she turned abruptly and left.
"Right. Green." Liamh went back to the void that was his wardrobe, and pulled out an elegant green . . . something. What it was, he did not know, but it looked like getting into it would be a feat that was, yes, very dangerous, but would never be shown in a circus.
The front of the top looked as though it was done in Renaissance style (which it was), for there was a sort of upside-down triangle that looped around the waist and went slightly downwards in the front. From there, there was another upside down triangle shape, this one thin, and going only to the top of the . . . whatever you'd call it . . . that was a deep, royal purple, with lavender designs in the middle. The back of the front was a corset, but when Liamh had tried it on in the shop, he had found that it was comfortable enough, and was basically just for decoration. The bottom was what made it look more like wizard's robes than a dress, because they were somewhat bulky, but at about knee-length, they slit into several different strips that hung down to Liamh's feet.
It took him a while to realize that he needed to unlace the back in order to slip it over his head. However, this did not ensure that it came over his head, necessarily. He tugged it down, fighting with it, until it fit into the curves of his body perfectly. Then he realized that he had to lace up the back. Needless to say, that whole idea eventually flopped, and he blew the hair out of his face, making sure that it sufficiently covered the lacings in the back, and set off to find Eldrid's office again.
The sunlight streamed in through the windows, the light dusting of snow on the ground glimmering in its rays. It was beautiful. The quality of sunlight in the winter is a strange thing. It is so much more crystalline pure that you could almost say that winter is the time when everything floats. It's hazy. Inside the palace, the serving sylphs were hard at work. Everywhere he went, there were sylphs working on decorations, getting everything put together just right for the coronation. It gave you a sense of busy serenity, laced with a sting of confusion. Liamh looked, but nowhere did he see Nikiatom, which probably meant that the shy sylph was off doing something else.
The palace was, to say the least, an interesting building. There were spiral staircases that just happened to appear in the middle of rooms, accenting the circular appearance of the archetecture itself. All of the doors were circular, as were the hallways and the rooms. Most of the things in the rooms were simple, yet sophisticated in a way that would suggest that the sylphs didn't care about social structure. It looked as though it were just the huge house of a regular, run-of-the-mill sylph. The floors were all polished stone, the walls a rougher stone, and the windows didn't have glass in them. Of course, there was every once in a while a door from outside where it was higher off the ground, and mostly open. Something told Liamh that these were for sylphs who flew in. If the walls weren't covered with different shapes of windows, they were covered in paintings, strange art. Most of them were so realistic that you could get completely entranced by them.
Liamh stopped to stare at one of two lovers meeting in the middle of the night. It was one of those moments when he just realized that the most important thing for him to do right now was to admire this one capture in the lives of two people. His green eyes locked on the two sylphs protrayed in a garden. After staring for a while, he could feel the cool breeze blow through his hair. He felt the worry of one of them; both tired from what they felt. The weight of a thousand years' worth of worries. Before long, he knew that they weren't supposed to be together; they were supposed to love others. One of the sylphs was comforting the other, whose face was buried in its lap. Liamh blinked. He was the one holding another, another with pale blonde hair, the other shaking with fear. He could feel it; it was almost as if he were actually sitting there, holding his love. He blinked, it was gone, he wasn't in the picture, and it had gone back to two anonymous sylphs. He shook himself, and hurried along his way.
* * *
Millicent Bulstrode rushed out of her house, bringing her scarf tighter around her neck against the cold.
Her mother had been brutal to her yet again. She had gone on and on and on about how she should really just have plastic surgery and get it over with. To quote her "A Bulstrode is not supposed to look like someone ran into her headlong with a Firebolt."
Millicent ran up to the little bench that stood hidden at the very edge of her families' land. She cried fierce tears, and screamed in frustration as they melded to her cheeks.
* * *
"You wanted to see me, Eldrid?"
"Yes, I did. First of all, there are a few things that you should know, about the ceremony, that is." Eldrid motioned for Liamh to sit down in front of his desk. "It is a ball, but split into three parts. For the first part, you're going to be in a side room that Nikiatom will show you to later. There, you'll meet the Order, or, as your home country would put it, your cabinet or Parliament. From six to six thirty, the other Sylphs will get seated for the feast. After everyone is situated, you will be shown into the ballroom, announced, people will clap, and you will sit. After the feast, dancing will resume until about midnight. Then, you will see all the sylphs out at the door, shake hands, exchange a few words, and you can turn in or whatever else you would want to do."
Liamh nodded his understanding.
"Secondly, you must know that you are to have your own nurse. Well, not really a nurse, but more of a private helper."
Liamh knitted his eyebrows. "Not like a servant, I assume?"
"No. Nikiatom is just there to look after your quarters when you're gone, and to explain about things like the culture that surrounds you." Eldrid quirked an eyebrow. "Now, off with you. If I am not very much mistaken, you still have things to prepare." Liamh didn't ask how Eldrid knew. He had a feeling that things weren't kept secret around here.
Liamh made his way back to his suite, his steps like a small lyre in a huge symphony of activity. He whistled slightly, doing a little dance within his steps. Perhaps being the monarch wouldn't be quite so bad.
* * *
Millicent had been outside for hours. She was no longer crying, but she was frigid cold, and her breath came in ragged gasps. The cold winter air had knocked the wind out of her.
It took a while before her breathing had become regular enough to hear the figure behind her raise its brutal sword.
* * *
When Liamh walked into his suite, he found Nikiatom cleaning up in his bedroom. The other sylph was silent, not complaining or anything. Liamh knew that Nikiatom had probably been doing work like this all her life. He trodded quietly, gazing upon his new 'maid' (A/N: giggle) with the same sort of curiosity that comes from hearing one's neighbor positively screaming 'Aggadoo' while sitting in the tub with the window wide open.
It was curious how the sun seemed to release the golden highlights in his hair. Nikiatom was attractive; that much was apparent. Then again, all sylphs were. They fit together so much more perfectly than mortals did. However, for all his curiosity, Liamh found he had no attraction whatsoever to the mysterious, shy sylph that was currently making his bed. He entered the room and awkwardly stood there, snapping his fingers in turn with letting his arms swing slightly.
"Oh," Nikiatom noticed him, and meekly went back to what he was doing. Liamh stood there for a few more seconds, growing more and more restless, until he just couldn't bear it any more than he already had, and nearly jogged over to help her. Nikiatom glanced up in shock at this display of equality, and immediately flushed red. "Sorry, but could you please straighten your back, mem?"
Mem? Thought Liamh. It must be used like 'sir.' Nonetheless, he did as was told, and remarked, "What?"
"It's just," Nikiatom's blush deepened into a brick red, "I could see right straight down your top." With no further ado, Liamh found his hair set (for it wasn't pushed; it was politely placed on his shoulder) away from his back, and a sudden tightness in what he was wearing as the sylph tentatively laced the small girdle in the back. When the job was done, it was far easier to stand erect like they had wanted him to.
After they had finished making the bed, Nikiatom set to fix Liamh's hair. He supposed he should get used to this kind of treatment; until he could fix things like his hair and the (Gods forbid!) things like girdles for himself, he'd need Nikiatom to do it for him. Nikiatom. Liamh pondered over his . . . well, sort of friend. It was clear that he had seen more than she let on. Why else wouldn't he speak so much? She was hiding something, and Liamh didn't yet know how to uncover it. He could feel the gentle- terrified? -hands bring his hair into an intricate working of knots that held each other up. Dazed, Liamh looked into the mirror to find that all three feet of his hair was being pulled to rest comfortably around his head, ears somewhat hanging out. Then again they were now long and pointed, and so much more elegant than they had been before, when they were mortal ears. Nikiatom had finished quickly and was finding Liamh's headdresses. Without asking, he found them hanging where Liamh had hung them just last night. She set it on Liamh's head, then delicately rearranged it so the hanging bits weren't overlapping too much. Liamh smiled at him, and she shyly quirked the edges of his mouth.
* * *
What is that strange sound above my head? Were the last thoughts of Millicent before the sword plunged into her back.
* * *
Liamh stood, hugging his arms close to his body and staring out the window. He tried to remember all that he had been taught yesterday; how to stand, how to sit, how to speak, how to dance . . . the list went on and on. Luckily, he was able to imitate the sylphs as he saw them. Right now he was waiting for the first few members of the Order to come in and speak with him. And here came one now.
It was a stuffy looking sylph, in their costume that told other sylphs that this was not a sylph to question. The hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and Liamh was reminded of his former Professor McGonagall. Mixed with Percy Weasley. This would be interesting.
"Hello there. I'm assuming that you are our next monarch." The sylph held out a hand. "I'm Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third. And, you are called . . .?"
"Liamh. If you want to hear my full name, it's Harrison Liamh Potter." Liamh felt a tone of amusement go into his voice as he took the offered hand.
"I must admit, I had my doubts, but you (he said the word like a car salesman would) will do adequately."
"Really? What were your doubts?" Liamh asked, innocently enough.
"Well, you're so young. I thought it would have been foolish to bring someone such as you, and at your age, into the court, and expect you to serve the ball. It just doesn't happen. You'll do just fine, I see." With a swish of her over-velvety cloak, Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third was gone.
Next came a bunch of hypocritical well wishers. They weren't so blunt as Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third, but Liamh could tell that they weren't as supportive of him, and were somewhat skeptical that he would be a good monarch. It was in the way they checked his handgrip when they shook, how they looked at his posture, how they tried to mark what he was thinking from his face. He had a strange feeling that the ball was much more fun outside the little room that was being used for first introductions. He almost wished he were meeting the people, not the Order. However, he supposed he'd have to meet them eventually if he didn't meet them here.
The next person to walk in was another Order member. This one looked suspicious of him, and Liamh was instantly reminded of Snape. Their cloak was all black, and billowed out behind them, and as soon as this sylph spoke, Liamh heard cynicism, with a dash of irritation fight for control of this sylph's voice.
"You. You look too young. Your name is Liamh, as I've heard. My name is Amadeus. I never want to hear that name escape your lips. You can refer to me only as mem." Amadeus eyed Liamh with contempt. "It is not wise to let you rule here. You are too naive. Do you realize what times we are in, Liamh?"
"No, mem."
"Our people are starving. We're dying out. There is not enough substantial food to go around. Yet we still remain trapped in this wretched hole. We can not go out. That would be suicide. We must remain here." Amadeus paused for dramatic effect. "We are soon to be as non-existent as the wizards think we are."
Liamh let these words sink in, his nerves trembling. Then, from somewhere he didn't know about, composure rose up in him, surfacing to create a calm façade.
"Why exactly would it be suicide to travel up to the surface?" He asked Amadeus calmly.
"As long as Voldemort reigns, we are a target for his research."
"Interesting. What have the sylphs done to stop him in the past?" Liamh crossed his arms in a gesture of mock inquisition.
"Nothing. Well, your sire did some things, but they were purely of his own independence."
"So, what you're saying, is that we can not go to the surface because of Voldemort. So we just starve down here while the Ministry of Magic upstairs flounders for help, and will eventually fail. Our people may be dying, mem, but they certainly aren't living in fear of each other." There came a light knock on the door, and Danu poked her head in, asking if Amadeus was finished. With a glare at Danu, and a quick handshake with Liamh, the pompous sylph left the room.
There was only one really encouraging Order member to walk through those doors, and the name of the sylph was Lemagne.
"You must be our new leader," Lemagne said breathlessly upon meeting Liamh. "I've heard of you, and I inquired as to what you had done before you came here. It is an honor, privilege, and a pleasure to meet you at last."
Liamh smiled at him, and shook her hand. "The pleasure is all my own. You are the first Order member to compliment me."
"Really?"
"Yes. You are different. Tell me, Lemagne, what makes you so trusting and merciful when compared against all the other Order members?" Liamh could hear just a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Well, I was the only one who was the child of an Order member. I knew that it isn't very likely that a new member, especially a young one, that didn't grow up here, was raised in the Free World, no less, would be accepted with open arms. You've just been through so much in your life already, the others don't realize . . ." The black sylph trailed off.
"They don't realize what?" Liamh asked, intrigued.
"They don't realize the real threat here. They don't realize how much He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named effects us. They don't realize that your personal problems with him are inevitably going to catch up with us all. They either know, or choose to ignore it. Eldrid doesn't ignore; he never did as a stand-in ruler. I should know. She chooses his battles; she knows when something needs to be taken care of; so do you."
Liamh stood, complimented beyond his own belief, and thanked her. After Lemagne left, he sighed. Well, he'd met all of them all right.
* * *
"What do you think they wanted, Madam?" The Auror asked Mrs. Bulstrode.
"I don't know. No one does. May I be frank with you, Mr. Macmillan?"
"Yes, of course."
"She didn't have enough brains to get anyone angry enough at her to kill her."
Mr. Macmillan nodded and jotted something down in his little notebook. He put it away, smiled at her, and went on with his inquiries. "Did she have anything of any real value?"
"Value? Oh, no, I don't think so. She had a lot of jewelry, but they were all imitations of really important jewels, all of them plastic."
He decided that perhaps it would just be wiser to keep his little notebook out.
"Like, what kind of imitations?"
"Well, there was the imitation necklace for the Hope Diamond, as you can see was around her neck at the time of her death. Ironic, isn't it?"
"Yes, very."
"Then there was the imitation earrings of the ones Mrs. Malfoy wore the night that their first son was inflicted with the vampire disease; later she killed him wearing the same pair of earrings. She also had the imitations of the famed Jewels of York, and the mythological sylph's necklace." She had her eyes raised to the sky as if she were ticking them off in her head.
"Did you say the mythological sylph's necklace?" He asked, furiously scribbling while he wrote.
"Yes. Mythological. Of course, you can't honestly still believe that sylphs are real, can you, Mr. Macmillan?"
"Oh, no, it's just that . . ."
"I'd say you were quite ridiculous."
"It's just that young Mr. Potter was expelled for being half-sylph." He added, a hint of triumph in his voice.
"Oh, well, I heard Millicent say something along those lines, but she was such a silly girl that she is not to be taken seriously."
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Well, I'd best be going."
"Yes, I suppose so."
* * *
Liamh felt as if he were on showcase. Danu had just announced him to the rest of the sylphs, and that was actually a terribly small number. There couldn't have been more than 500 sylphs all together. The food had been laid out on the tables. What the sylphs called a 'feast' was actually no more than what you would expect at Hogwarts on a regular day. Food is scarcer here, the thought whizzed through his mind, he didn't know exactly where it came from.
Well, he didn't just feel as if he was on showcase; he was on showcase. All eyes were on him. He was shown over to where all the other Order members were dining. He hesitated. Should he sit here, or with the people? With a quick judgement call, he decided that it would be safest to sit with the Order. If he sat with the people, then they'd feel jealous of whoever was at the table with him, and he couldn't have that. He made a mental note to try and meet every person in the room.
He took a seat, everyone's eyes still on him, but it was Eldrid who stood.
Raising one hand, he said, "You may dine."
Instantly, the dance hall erupted in talk. Liamh took a glance around. The tables were set up so that the dance floor was in the middle, and people could sit out if they so chose. The floor, he noticed, was polished. At least, it had the look of being polished. As was usual in the Underworld, it had two sides. Two sides to the mirror; the surface, and then the slight crevace between the mirror and the wall where things could be stashed and no one would be the wiser. Liamh laughed to himself. What lies beneath. It was a concept that had come with him through his whole life. What had lain beneath the Dursleys' bully-ish exterior was an interior made up of pure fear for Liamh. For Harry. That was what he used to be called. What had lain beneath his runtish exterior when he was younger was the ability to take on anything that swung his way. Even if that thing was so powerful that if he made one wrong move, he'd be the night's rump roast. Voldemort. What lay beneath his evil exterior was actually just anger at being a half- blood. Where had that understanding come from? Liamh shrugged it away. There were always several angles to everything. In order to make his way through this world, he'd have to look at things at all angles. This would be a perfect place for Hermione.
The talk at this table was, unfortunately, of things that Liamh couldn't try to understand yet. He'd only been here for two days, after all. Thankfully, that all ended soon. The small symphony (if that's what they were called in this world) worked its way back to the stage, amid great applause from the sylphs who had already heard them, and started to play what was the equivalent of a slow waltz in the Free World. However, this sounded a bit like a cross between Celtic rock and Within You, Without You by the Beatles. The other sylphs got up to dance, laughing as their partners (Liamh didn't know if sylphs went through wedding ceremonies yet) pulled them close, causing the younger ones to roll their eyes at the mushy- ness of it all. Liamh noticed Nikiatom was walking toward him across the dance floor. He raised his eyebrows, and Nikiatom held out a hand.
"I'm supposed to dance with you first." He blushed, as Liamh stood to meet her. They danced for a while, Liamh trying to follow as best he could. Liamh tried to break the ice for his shy dance partner.
"Who were you sitting with?" Liamh asked as it came to a part that would make it easy for talk.
"My Grandsylph."
"Oh."
So much for conversation.
The song ended, leaving a thankful Nikiatom to go and sit with his Grandsylph. Liamh had a feeling that they didn't need words to communicate. His next partner turned out to be a forward sylph, who introduced themself so quickly that Liamh eventually just ended up calling them brooch in his mind from the large piece of jewelry on their blouse.
"I honestly thought you'd be taller." Brooch commented.
"Yes, well, there's really nothing I could do about that." He laughed.
"The feast was great. I don't think I've eaten so much since the winter solstice."
"Really."
"My house is about as big as this entrance hall. Although, I wouldn't have decorated it the way it is. It doesn't go at all with the season."
"Sorry."
You can probably imagine how the rest of this dance was spent.
Next up on Liamh's dance card was a shrewd-looking sylph with a knack for finding the complete wrongness in everything surrounding them. The name of this partner was Shilee.
"Why would they spend so much on the food when there are people in our world who needed it?"
"Yeah, well, they ate here." He stuttered.
"Well, did you miss my point?"
From here, Shilee went on to describe how everyone didn't have space to breathe because they had to live in a pretend underground world and were all starving in turn. From there he started to go on and on about how most sylphs weren't seeing that they could live in a different situation. Liamh partly agreed that there were ways they could make this better, but they just hadn't gone to those lengths yet. Shilee covered the topics of politicians (all the while trying very hard not to insult Liamh), inexperienced rulers (here Liamh almost choked), and how they shouldn't be partying, but rather fasting, and drying their food so that it would last longer. Eventually, the dance had mercy and ended.
When Liamh went to find his next dance partner, he was met with a surprise. It was a parent sylph, calmly wiping the tears from his child's eyes. The bearer had mousy brownish hair, and the child was crying through eyes that looked far too pained.
"Hello, what's going on here?" He asked, looking down at the sylph who looked to be about five. The little sylph gasped, and buried his head in her bearer's bosom.
"Oh, she's just been going through these bouts of pain, and tonight he had a big one."
"Hm." Liamh bent so he was facing the five-year-old. "What's wrong?"
"Everything hurts."
"Oh, well, look at me." Liamh put his hands on her shoulders. "When I was little, I had to live with my mother's sister." The little sylph looked at him with big eyes.
"What's a mother?"
"Well, in the Free World, there are boys and girls. Girls are what you call the bearer here. Upstairs they call them mothers."
The child was starting to forget about the pain.
"Well, (I call her my aunt) they would ignore me if I had had to crawl home with two broken legs, and your bearer is trying her hardest to take away your pain. I think that you're very lucky, and that should be a reason to dry up those eyes and smile."
The little sylph smiled, started to giggle, and buried herself in his bearer's gown.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Lyra."
Liamh had a flash of the little girl he had seen at Sirius' house, only now she was running through the streets of the sylph capital. He shook this off and looked to the bearer.
"I think we were to dance next."
Once they had started to dance on the floor (the song was about halfway through), the bearer (whose name was Kitri) couldn't thank Liamh enough.
"You don't know how worried I'm starting to get about Lyra. She's been getting all of these funny pains all over the place, and-"
"Don't worry about it. I can't stand to see anyone sad." Liamh smiled at him.
"How long have you been here? I don't remember ever seeing you here before. You must not have been here long, because if you had been, trust me, I would have seen you."
"Well, I just got here yesterday."
She did a double take. "Really?"
"Yeah, I'm really sort of worried, how am I doing?"
"You're doing very well. But I must say, if I weren't so much older than you, I'd say your accent was charming." She smiled at him. It was a sad, small smile.
"Really? How did you know how old I am?" He asked.
"I was the one who told people the next monarch was born."
"Oh." The song was done. "It was very nice meeting you. Hopefully I'll see you again." They smiled at each other, and Kitri went back to attend to Lyra.
* * *
About an hour later found Liamh in the arms of a sylph that seemed positively amorous of him. She stared at him with his large eyes. Liamh, feeling extremely uncomfortable but not wanting to show it, was waiting desperately for whoever was supposed to cut in and dance with him for the second half of this song. Finally, he saw the sylph coming.
"May I cut in?" The sylph said in a smooth voice.
The sylph Liamh was currently dancing with sighed wistfully, and stepped away.
"I could tell you were a bit harrassed." The sylph who cut in said conversationally.
"Oh."
"My name is Apaik. That's what you will call me, nothing more, nothing less."
"And you may call me Liamh."
They danced for a while in silence, and then Apaik started up conversation.
"So, how different is it here as compared to upstairs?"
"Which upstairs do you mean?" The words left Liamh's mouth before he could tell what he was saying.
"Whichever is more comfortable." Apaik leered at him. Hurriedly, Liamh tried to direct the subject towards something safer that didn't have a double meaning.
"The Free World is exactly what the name implies; free. However, here I must say art is so much more of an indulgence. It's in the archetecture, the paintings, the language, everything. This world is so much deeper spiritually." He was rambling, and they both knew it.
The song came to an end, and they separated on the dance floor. Then a strange occurrence came to be; Apaik looked Liamh up and down, then winked. Reaching for the front of Liamh's top, he pulled it up, right in between where his breasts were just starting to grow.
"Wouldn't want that to fall down," he leered at Liamh, sounding as if she wished exactly the opposite.
Apaik turned on his heel and left.
* * *
Ron was sitting on his bed, reading. This, in itself was strange, but the fact that he was reading a huge book on transfiguration was even stranger. And it was not just any kind of transfiguration. No, this was glamour, the impossible in theory kind of transfiguration where you only do it halfway, so that others can't see what's real and imagination. It was extremely complex, why should the youngest Weasley brother be looking through this material?
It was a letter and loan from Hermione. He had read:
Ron,
I found this in my parent's cabin. Would you believe that we had a whole mess of Wizard books here? I was reading through this, and I thought we should study this. Doesn't it seem like a sylven thing? I wonder if this kind of magic is actually possible. Could you please check up with your dad on this? Maybe he'd know someone in magical research or something that could explain it further.
Hermione
So now he was so wrapped up in the book that he couldn't put it down until he finished it. This was so enchanting. Dimly, he wondered when he'd get a letter from Harry. It had been a long time since he had seen him. Well, it had only been three days, but still. His mind went back to the book. Maybe he'd ask Professor McGonagall for help whenever it was that they'd get back.
* * *
The ball was almost over. Somehow, Liamh had danced with almost everyone there except for the other Order members. At the moment, he was dancing with Nikiatom, who hadn't been on the floor all night. His mind, however, was elsewhere. His partner seemed to have noticed, as he didn't move his gaze from the same spot.
"Have you ever met Apaik?" Liamh asked Nikiatom. There was a flash of something in Nikiatom's eyes. Anger?
"Why?"
"Well, I just was dancing with her. So, I wondered if you'd ever met him."
"You beware of her." The conviction in Nikiatom's voice scared Liamh slightly; he had never heard this side of him. Usually she was so quiet.
"I'll take your word on that."
They danced for a while, until Nikiatom said she was going home and Liamh was left standing in the middle of the dance floor.
Suddenly, the party wasn't right anymore. It had tilted. It was mocking, the dream-like state of the laughing sylphs staring him blaringly in the face. He wanted to talk to someone who was as forward as he was used to in the Upper world. Then he didn't. Perhaps subtlety was what kept these people focusing on their tortured world where they didn't have enough space to grow food and remained stuck in a little box. Limah cautiously walked over to the drink stand, getting a friuty but bland, foamy drink. Liamh saw Lyra standing over in a corner, looking down into her own drink.
"Well, are you bored?" Liamh asked her with a smile.
"Yes, I am," Lyra took a sip of his drink. "Are you going to be leaving soon?"
"I have to leave after everyone else. It's just one of my duties as monarch." Liamh felt eyes on his back, and turned to see that Apaik was looking at him over her partner's shoulder.
"Bearer says that you dance like an angel."
Liamh smiled. "Well, I just learned yesterday, I personally don't think I'm that good. And how did you know about angels?"
"Brother Nikiatom got me books all about them."
"Really?"
"Yes. They were really good. But there were a lot of things in them that I didn't understand because it was written in the Upper World."
Liamh pondered this new information. "How did she get them?" He inquired.
"Well, he was up there, wasn't she?" The little sylph stared into her drink. Liamh saw his Bearer coming.
"We have to go home, don't we Lyra?" Kitri said to her child. He looked up to Liamh. "Thank you for looking after her. He's gotten away from me more than once."
"Any time."
They smiled, then Kitri took hold of Lyra's hand. Lyra looked back at Liamh and waved silently. Liamh waved back. He really didn't feel like dancing anymore; he supposed it was his mother's non-sylph influence, but his leg muscles had started to burn from the workout of their form of ballet-like dance. He went off onto the small balcony that would have led off into the gardens, had it not been winter.
The moonlight felt good on his skin, which was hot from the dancing. The snow had been cleared, so their feet wouldn't get cold, but it was still pretty warm for the winter. He set his drink down and stared to the heavens. What could they tell him? It was strange, to look to the clear-cut sky as if he were in the Free world. He knew that they were somewhere far beneath the grass that brushed the top of the world. It must have been the same kinds of spells and enchantments that were on the Hogwarts' Great Hall ceiling. He let a cold breeze run across his face. He shivered. Tonight something big was going to happen. Liamh started; someone had put their arm around his waist.
"What-?" He turned to face whoever-it-was.
"Hello, Liamh." Apaik crooned in his ear.
"What are you doing?" He whispered without emotion.
"Well, if you really must know, I'm going to kiss you." Apaik said, leaning closer to Liamh's face. Then she spoke in a whisper that chilled Liamh to the bone. "Whether you like it or not."
"I'm sorry, but I just met you." Liamh said, slightly wrestling to get out of Apaik's grip. He turned to go back to the safety of indoors, feeling the angry glare of the other's eyes on the back of his neck.
* * *
"Mother, do you remember the names of the people who lived here before us?" Hermione asked her mother after she had caught her on her own.
"No, not really. I just remember that they had a daughter with a Shakespearean name. I can't remember whether it was Juliet or Othello, though." Her mother said, vaguely looking up from the cleaning of the living room after the party.
"Really? Um, do you remember what they did?"
"I have no idea. The father was some sort of . . . oh, god, it's hard to remember . . . businessman, I think. Her mother was a craftswoman. The father died somehow after both his wife and daughter had. I don't know. I can't really remember. Ask me some other time, when I'm not so distracted, okay, honey?"
"All right, mum, goodnight." Hermione said warmly, and walked over to kiss her mother goodnight.
A/N- I know, I know, there's absolutely no romance yet. There won't be for another few chapters, anyway. I think that I need to get one big thing out of the way before I get the characters (other than Ron and Hermione) to act all romance-ish. Don't worry, I have it planned! You've met several very important characters in this chapter, mainly just sylphs, and a side plot of a murder mystery got started because I was getting bored. ;)
Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers, here is where I'm going to reply to your thoughts:
Clepsydra-Delphinus - I'm glad you liked it! I hope it seemed real, you know, if it came across as it happened in my imagination. I'm planning on going on to FictionAlley next, and just upload everything that's done, so that these two sites are on the same schedule. However, FictionAlley will be slower, because they send stuff back to be edited and things like that, so the version there will probably be a lot more revised and refined. About reading things on other sites, I do it too. I'm just as sad as you are.
Gia and Midnight Dragon - Soon enough? :D
Phoenix - I'm glad that you like this story enough to be excited about it! It just makes me feel like such a loved author.
nell-and-paru - Sorry, Draco doesn't get uncontrolled for a while. (
Thank you again to everyone who reads this, you don't know how happy it makes me!
Rating: Very meek PG-13
Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)
Warning: This story does include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.
Chapter 8: Coronation
"Lyra! Lyra, dear, you must come in and wash yourself properly!" he called.
"But why, Mummy? I want to go play in the river!" The little sylph called back.
"Don't you know the coronation's today, you silly little goose?" her bearer choked back a laugh at her child's forgetfulness. Lyra's eyes got really big, and then he took in a whispering breath.
"Really? I thought it was tomorrow!"
"Yes, child, its today."
As Lyra walked away into the house, her mother distinctly heard him say, "Our new monarch had better be cute."
* * *
Quite coincidentally, the same thoughts were running through Liamh's head (only not in that order). I hope I don't have to be too attractive, he thought distractedly as he stared around his new wardrobe. Oh, it's almost noon, I should be nearly ready by now.
"What do you think, Ciaran?" Liamh said, turning to his lizard. "Green, or blue?"
As Liamh had no idea what blink-blink-stick tongue out meant, it was very hard to get a correct answer. "I've just never been royalty before, I guess." He sighed. His scattered thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he gladly took the excuse to get away from this task.
He walked wearily through his little suite and flopped into the entryway.
"Hello?" He called, before the door was opened.
"Liamh, I suppose you won't be going to the coronation wearing that, now, will you?" Caelum asked, in slight disgust.
"Oh," Liamh looked down at his free-worldian pajamas. "No, I was just deciding what to wear. What do you wear to a coronation?"
"Well, you personally should wear green. It would accent your eyes, and that's important because most sylphs have purple eyes. You will be seen as exotic." Caelum sniffed, but there was still a question in Liamh's eyes. "No, you shouldn't wear a mask. Wear a headdress. If you wear a mask, the people won't trust you."
"Oh, thank you." Liamh stuttered a bit.
"No more stuttering. You need to show that you're young but strong to your people. Remember our speech classes." Caelum stood in the doorway awkwardly for a little while then seemed to remember something. "Eldrid wishes to see you after you're ready." With that, she turned abruptly and left.
"Right. Green." Liamh went back to the void that was his wardrobe, and pulled out an elegant green . . . something. What it was, he did not know, but it looked like getting into it would be a feat that was, yes, very dangerous, but would never be shown in a circus.
The front of the top looked as though it was done in Renaissance style (which it was), for there was a sort of upside-down triangle that looped around the waist and went slightly downwards in the front. From there, there was another upside down triangle shape, this one thin, and going only to the top of the . . . whatever you'd call it . . . that was a deep, royal purple, with lavender designs in the middle. The back of the front was a corset, but when Liamh had tried it on in the shop, he had found that it was comfortable enough, and was basically just for decoration. The bottom was what made it look more like wizard's robes than a dress, because they were somewhat bulky, but at about knee-length, they slit into several different strips that hung down to Liamh's feet.
It took him a while to realize that he needed to unlace the back in order to slip it over his head. However, this did not ensure that it came over his head, necessarily. He tugged it down, fighting with it, until it fit into the curves of his body perfectly. Then he realized that he had to lace up the back. Needless to say, that whole idea eventually flopped, and he blew the hair out of his face, making sure that it sufficiently covered the lacings in the back, and set off to find Eldrid's office again.
The sunlight streamed in through the windows, the light dusting of snow on the ground glimmering in its rays. It was beautiful. The quality of sunlight in the winter is a strange thing. It is so much more crystalline pure that you could almost say that winter is the time when everything floats. It's hazy. Inside the palace, the serving sylphs were hard at work. Everywhere he went, there were sylphs working on decorations, getting everything put together just right for the coronation. It gave you a sense of busy serenity, laced with a sting of confusion. Liamh looked, but nowhere did he see Nikiatom, which probably meant that the shy sylph was off doing something else.
The palace was, to say the least, an interesting building. There were spiral staircases that just happened to appear in the middle of rooms, accenting the circular appearance of the archetecture itself. All of the doors were circular, as were the hallways and the rooms. Most of the things in the rooms were simple, yet sophisticated in a way that would suggest that the sylphs didn't care about social structure. It looked as though it were just the huge house of a regular, run-of-the-mill sylph. The floors were all polished stone, the walls a rougher stone, and the windows didn't have glass in them. Of course, there was every once in a while a door from outside where it was higher off the ground, and mostly open. Something told Liamh that these were for sylphs who flew in. If the walls weren't covered with different shapes of windows, they were covered in paintings, strange art. Most of them were so realistic that you could get completely entranced by them.
Liamh stopped to stare at one of two lovers meeting in the middle of the night. It was one of those moments when he just realized that the most important thing for him to do right now was to admire this one capture in the lives of two people. His green eyes locked on the two sylphs protrayed in a garden. After staring for a while, he could feel the cool breeze blow through his hair. He felt the worry of one of them; both tired from what they felt. The weight of a thousand years' worth of worries. Before long, he knew that they weren't supposed to be together; they were supposed to love others. One of the sylphs was comforting the other, whose face was buried in its lap. Liamh blinked. He was the one holding another, another with pale blonde hair, the other shaking with fear. He could feel it; it was almost as if he were actually sitting there, holding his love. He blinked, it was gone, he wasn't in the picture, and it had gone back to two anonymous sylphs. He shook himself, and hurried along his way.
* * *
Millicent Bulstrode rushed out of her house, bringing her scarf tighter around her neck against the cold.
Her mother had been brutal to her yet again. She had gone on and on and on about how she should really just have plastic surgery and get it over with. To quote her "A Bulstrode is not supposed to look like someone ran into her headlong with a Firebolt."
Millicent ran up to the little bench that stood hidden at the very edge of her families' land. She cried fierce tears, and screamed in frustration as they melded to her cheeks.
* * *
"You wanted to see me, Eldrid?"
"Yes, I did. First of all, there are a few things that you should know, about the ceremony, that is." Eldrid motioned for Liamh to sit down in front of his desk. "It is a ball, but split into three parts. For the first part, you're going to be in a side room that Nikiatom will show you to later. There, you'll meet the Order, or, as your home country would put it, your cabinet or Parliament. From six to six thirty, the other Sylphs will get seated for the feast. After everyone is situated, you will be shown into the ballroom, announced, people will clap, and you will sit. After the feast, dancing will resume until about midnight. Then, you will see all the sylphs out at the door, shake hands, exchange a few words, and you can turn in or whatever else you would want to do."
Liamh nodded his understanding.
"Secondly, you must know that you are to have your own nurse. Well, not really a nurse, but more of a private helper."
Liamh knitted his eyebrows. "Not like a servant, I assume?"
"No. Nikiatom is just there to look after your quarters when you're gone, and to explain about things like the culture that surrounds you." Eldrid quirked an eyebrow. "Now, off with you. If I am not very much mistaken, you still have things to prepare." Liamh didn't ask how Eldrid knew. He had a feeling that things weren't kept secret around here.
Liamh made his way back to his suite, his steps like a small lyre in a huge symphony of activity. He whistled slightly, doing a little dance within his steps. Perhaps being the monarch wouldn't be quite so bad.
* * *
Millicent had been outside for hours. She was no longer crying, but she was frigid cold, and her breath came in ragged gasps. The cold winter air had knocked the wind out of her.
It took a while before her breathing had become regular enough to hear the figure behind her raise its brutal sword.
* * *
When Liamh walked into his suite, he found Nikiatom cleaning up in his bedroom. The other sylph was silent, not complaining or anything. Liamh knew that Nikiatom had probably been doing work like this all her life. He trodded quietly, gazing upon his new 'maid' (A/N: giggle) with the same sort of curiosity that comes from hearing one's neighbor positively screaming 'Aggadoo' while sitting in the tub with the window wide open.
It was curious how the sun seemed to release the golden highlights in his hair. Nikiatom was attractive; that much was apparent. Then again, all sylphs were. They fit together so much more perfectly than mortals did. However, for all his curiosity, Liamh found he had no attraction whatsoever to the mysterious, shy sylph that was currently making his bed. He entered the room and awkwardly stood there, snapping his fingers in turn with letting his arms swing slightly.
"Oh," Nikiatom noticed him, and meekly went back to what he was doing. Liamh stood there for a few more seconds, growing more and more restless, until he just couldn't bear it any more than he already had, and nearly jogged over to help her. Nikiatom glanced up in shock at this display of equality, and immediately flushed red. "Sorry, but could you please straighten your back, mem?"
Mem? Thought Liamh. It must be used like 'sir.' Nonetheless, he did as was told, and remarked, "What?"
"It's just," Nikiatom's blush deepened into a brick red, "I could see right straight down your top." With no further ado, Liamh found his hair set (for it wasn't pushed; it was politely placed on his shoulder) away from his back, and a sudden tightness in what he was wearing as the sylph tentatively laced the small girdle in the back. When the job was done, it was far easier to stand erect like they had wanted him to.
After they had finished making the bed, Nikiatom set to fix Liamh's hair. He supposed he should get used to this kind of treatment; until he could fix things like his hair and the (Gods forbid!) things like girdles for himself, he'd need Nikiatom to do it for him. Nikiatom. Liamh pondered over his . . . well, sort of friend. It was clear that he had seen more than she let on. Why else wouldn't he speak so much? She was hiding something, and Liamh didn't yet know how to uncover it. He could feel the gentle- terrified? -hands bring his hair into an intricate working of knots that held each other up. Dazed, Liamh looked into the mirror to find that all three feet of his hair was being pulled to rest comfortably around his head, ears somewhat hanging out. Then again they were now long and pointed, and so much more elegant than they had been before, when they were mortal ears. Nikiatom had finished quickly and was finding Liamh's headdresses. Without asking, he found them hanging where Liamh had hung them just last night. She set it on Liamh's head, then delicately rearranged it so the hanging bits weren't overlapping too much. Liamh smiled at him, and she shyly quirked the edges of his mouth.
* * *
What is that strange sound above my head? Were the last thoughts of Millicent before the sword plunged into her back.
* * *
Liamh stood, hugging his arms close to his body and staring out the window. He tried to remember all that he had been taught yesterday; how to stand, how to sit, how to speak, how to dance . . . the list went on and on. Luckily, he was able to imitate the sylphs as he saw them. Right now he was waiting for the first few members of the Order to come in and speak with him. And here came one now.
It was a stuffy looking sylph, in their costume that told other sylphs that this was not a sylph to question. The hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and Liamh was reminded of his former Professor McGonagall. Mixed with Percy Weasley. This would be interesting.
"Hello there. I'm assuming that you are our next monarch." The sylph held out a hand. "I'm Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third. And, you are called . . .?"
"Liamh. If you want to hear my full name, it's Harrison Liamh Potter." Liamh felt a tone of amusement go into his voice as he took the offered hand.
"I must admit, I had my doubts, but you (he said the word like a car salesman would) will do adequately."
"Really? What were your doubts?" Liamh asked, innocently enough.
"Well, you're so young. I thought it would have been foolish to bring someone such as you, and at your age, into the court, and expect you to serve the ball. It just doesn't happen. You'll do just fine, I see." With a swish of her over-velvety cloak, Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third was gone.
Next came a bunch of hypocritical well wishers. They weren't so blunt as Kiara Nikomic Shane the Third, but Liamh could tell that they weren't as supportive of him, and were somewhat skeptical that he would be a good monarch. It was in the way they checked his handgrip when they shook, how they looked at his posture, how they tried to mark what he was thinking from his face. He had a strange feeling that the ball was much more fun outside the little room that was being used for first introductions. He almost wished he were meeting the people, not the Order. However, he supposed he'd have to meet them eventually if he didn't meet them here.
The next person to walk in was another Order member. This one looked suspicious of him, and Liamh was instantly reminded of Snape. Their cloak was all black, and billowed out behind them, and as soon as this sylph spoke, Liamh heard cynicism, with a dash of irritation fight for control of this sylph's voice.
"You. You look too young. Your name is Liamh, as I've heard. My name is Amadeus. I never want to hear that name escape your lips. You can refer to me only as mem." Amadeus eyed Liamh with contempt. "It is not wise to let you rule here. You are too naive. Do you realize what times we are in, Liamh?"
"No, mem."
"Our people are starving. We're dying out. There is not enough substantial food to go around. Yet we still remain trapped in this wretched hole. We can not go out. That would be suicide. We must remain here." Amadeus paused for dramatic effect. "We are soon to be as non-existent as the wizards think we are."
Liamh let these words sink in, his nerves trembling. Then, from somewhere he didn't know about, composure rose up in him, surfacing to create a calm façade.
"Why exactly would it be suicide to travel up to the surface?" He asked Amadeus calmly.
"As long as Voldemort reigns, we are a target for his research."
"Interesting. What have the sylphs done to stop him in the past?" Liamh crossed his arms in a gesture of mock inquisition.
"Nothing. Well, your sire did some things, but they were purely of his own independence."
"So, what you're saying, is that we can not go to the surface because of Voldemort. So we just starve down here while the Ministry of Magic upstairs flounders for help, and will eventually fail. Our people may be dying, mem, but they certainly aren't living in fear of each other." There came a light knock on the door, and Danu poked her head in, asking if Amadeus was finished. With a glare at Danu, and a quick handshake with Liamh, the pompous sylph left the room.
There was only one really encouraging Order member to walk through those doors, and the name of the sylph was Lemagne.
"You must be our new leader," Lemagne said breathlessly upon meeting Liamh. "I've heard of you, and I inquired as to what you had done before you came here. It is an honor, privilege, and a pleasure to meet you at last."
Liamh smiled at him, and shook her hand. "The pleasure is all my own. You are the first Order member to compliment me."
"Really?"
"Yes. You are different. Tell me, Lemagne, what makes you so trusting and merciful when compared against all the other Order members?" Liamh could hear just a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Well, I was the only one who was the child of an Order member. I knew that it isn't very likely that a new member, especially a young one, that didn't grow up here, was raised in the Free World, no less, would be accepted with open arms. You've just been through so much in your life already, the others don't realize . . ." The black sylph trailed off.
"They don't realize what?" Liamh asked, intrigued.
"They don't realize the real threat here. They don't realize how much He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named effects us. They don't realize that your personal problems with him are inevitably going to catch up with us all. They either know, or choose to ignore it. Eldrid doesn't ignore; he never did as a stand-in ruler. I should know. She chooses his battles; she knows when something needs to be taken care of; so do you."
Liamh stood, complimented beyond his own belief, and thanked her. After Lemagne left, he sighed. Well, he'd met all of them all right.
* * *
"What do you think they wanted, Madam?" The Auror asked Mrs. Bulstrode.
"I don't know. No one does. May I be frank with you, Mr. Macmillan?"
"Yes, of course."
"She didn't have enough brains to get anyone angry enough at her to kill her."
Mr. Macmillan nodded and jotted something down in his little notebook. He put it away, smiled at her, and went on with his inquiries. "Did she have anything of any real value?"
"Value? Oh, no, I don't think so. She had a lot of jewelry, but they were all imitations of really important jewels, all of them plastic."
He decided that perhaps it would just be wiser to keep his little notebook out.
"Like, what kind of imitations?"
"Well, there was the imitation necklace for the Hope Diamond, as you can see was around her neck at the time of her death. Ironic, isn't it?"
"Yes, very."
"Then there was the imitation earrings of the ones Mrs. Malfoy wore the night that their first son was inflicted with the vampire disease; later she killed him wearing the same pair of earrings. She also had the imitations of the famed Jewels of York, and the mythological sylph's necklace." She had her eyes raised to the sky as if she were ticking them off in her head.
"Did you say the mythological sylph's necklace?" He asked, furiously scribbling while he wrote.
"Yes. Mythological. Of course, you can't honestly still believe that sylphs are real, can you, Mr. Macmillan?"
"Oh, no, it's just that . . ."
"I'd say you were quite ridiculous."
"It's just that young Mr. Potter was expelled for being half-sylph." He added, a hint of triumph in his voice.
"Oh, well, I heard Millicent say something along those lines, but she was such a silly girl that she is not to be taken seriously."
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Well, I'd best be going."
"Yes, I suppose so."
* * *
Liamh felt as if he were on showcase. Danu had just announced him to the rest of the sylphs, and that was actually a terribly small number. There couldn't have been more than 500 sylphs all together. The food had been laid out on the tables. What the sylphs called a 'feast' was actually no more than what you would expect at Hogwarts on a regular day. Food is scarcer here, the thought whizzed through his mind, he didn't know exactly where it came from.
Well, he didn't just feel as if he was on showcase; he was on showcase. All eyes were on him. He was shown over to where all the other Order members were dining. He hesitated. Should he sit here, or with the people? With a quick judgement call, he decided that it would be safest to sit with the Order. If he sat with the people, then they'd feel jealous of whoever was at the table with him, and he couldn't have that. He made a mental note to try and meet every person in the room.
He took a seat, everyone's eyes still on him, but it was Eldrid who stood.
Raising one hand, he said, "You may dine."
Instantly, the dance hall erupted in talk. Liamh took a glance around. The tables were set up so that the dance floor was in the middle, and people could sit out if they so chose. The floor, he noticed, was polished. At least, it had the look of being polished. As was usual in the Underworld, it had two sides. Two sides to the mirror; the surface, and then the slight crevace between the mirror and the wall where things could be stashed and no one would be the wiser. Liamh laughed to himself. What lies beneath. It was a concept that had come with him through his whole life. What had lain beneath the Dursleys' bully-ish exterior was an interior made up of pure fear for Liamh. For Harry. That was what he used to be called. What had lain beneath his runtish exterior when he was younger was the ability to take on anything that swung his way. Even if that thing was so powerful that if he made one wrong move, he'd be the night's rump roast. Voldemort. What lay beneath his evil exterior was actually just anger at being a half- blood. Where had that understanding come from? Liamh shrugged it away. There were always several angles to everything. In order to make his way through this world, he'd have to look at things at all angles. This would be a perfect place for Hermione.
The talk at this table was, unfortunately, of things that Liamh couldn't try to understand yet. He'd only been here for two days, after all. Thankfully, that all ended soon. The small symphony (if that's what they were called in this world) worked its way back to the stage, amid great applause from the sylphs who had already heard them, and started to play what was the equivalent of a slow waltz in the Free World. However, this sounded a bit like a cross between Celtic rock and Within You, Without You by the Beatles. The other sylphs got up to dance, laughing as their partners (Liamh didn't know if sylphs went through wedding ceremonies yet) pulled them close, causing the younger ones to roll their eyes at the mushy- ness of it all. Liamh noticed Nikiatom was walking toward him across the dance floor. He raised his eyebrows, and Nikiatom held out a hand.
"I'm supposed to dance with you first." He blushed, as Liamh stood to meet her. They danced for a while, Liamh trying to follow as best he could. Liamh tried to break the ice for his shy dance partner.
"Who were you sitting with?" Liamh asked as it came to a part that would make it easy for talk.
"My Grandsylph."
"Oh."
So much for conversation.
The song ended, leaving a thankful Nikiatom to go and sit with his Grandsylph. Liamh had a feeling that they didn't need words to communicate. His next partner turned out to be a forward sylph, who introduced themself so quickly that Liamh eventually just ended up calling them brooch in his mind from the large piece of jewelry on their blouse.
"I honestly thought you'd be taller." Brooch commented.
"Yes, well, there's really nothing I could do about that." He laughed.
"The feast was great. I don't think I've eaten so much since the winter solstice."
"Really."
"My house is about as big as this entrance hall. Although, I wouldn't have decorated it the way it is. It doesn't go at all with the season."
"Sorry."
You can probably imagine how the rest of this dance was spent.
Next up on Liamh's dance card was a shrewd-looking sylph with a knack for finding the complete wrongness in everything surrounding them. The name of this partner was Shilee.
"Why would they spend so much on the food when there are people in our world who needed it?"
"Yeah, well, they ate here." He stuttered.
"Well, did you miss my point?"
From here, Shilee went on to describe how everyone didn't have space to breathe because they had to live in a pretend underground world and were all starving in turn. From there he started to go on and on about how most sylphs weren't seeing that they could live in a different situation. Liamh partly agreed that there were ways they could make this better, but they just hadn't gone to those lengths yet. Shilee covered the topics of politicians (all the while trying very hard not to insult Liamh), inexperienced rulers (here Liamh almost choked), and how they shouldn't be partying, but rather fasting, and drying their food so that it would last longer. Eventually, the dance had mercy and ended.
When Liamh went to find his next dance partner, he was met with a surprise. It was a parent sylph, calmly wiping the tears from his child's eyes. The bearer had mousy brownish hair, and the child was crying through eyes that looked far too pained.
"Hello, what's going on here?" He asked, looking down at the sylph who looked to be about five. The little sylph gasped, and buried his head in her bearer's bosom.
"Oh, she's just been going through these bouts of pain, and tonight he had a big one."
"Hm." Liamh bent so he was facing the five-year-old. "What's wrong?"
"Everything hurts."
"Oh, well, look at me." Liamh put his hands on her shoulders. "When I was little, I had to live with my mother's sister." The little sylph looked at him with big eyes.
"What's a mother?"
"Well, in the Free World, there are boys and girls. Girls are what you call the bearer here. Upstairs they call them mothers."
The child was starting to forget about the pain.
"Well, (I call her my aunt) they would ignore me if I had had to crawl home with two broken legs, and your bearer is trying her hardest to take away your pain. I think that you're very lucky, and that should be a reason to dry up those eyes and smile."
The little sylph smiled, started to giggle, and buried herself in his bearer's gown.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Lyra."
Liamh had a flash of the little girl he had seen at Sirius' house, only now she was running through the streets of the sylph capital. He shook this off and looked to the bearer.
"I think we were to dance next."
Once they had started to dance on the floor (the song was about halfway through), the bearer (whose name was Kitri) couldn't thank Liamh enough.
"You don't know how worried I'm starting to get about Lyra. She's been getting all of these funny pains all over the place, and-"
"Don't worry about it. I can't stand to see anyone sad." Liamh smiled at him.
"How long have you been here? I don't remember ever seeing you here before. You must not have been here long, because if you had been, trust me, I would have seen you."
"Well, I just got here yesterday."
She did a double take. "Really?"
"Yeah, I'm really sort of worried, how am I doing?"
"You're doing very well. But I must say, if I weren't so much older than you, I'd say your accent was charming." She smiled at him. It was a sad, small smile.
"Really? How did you know how old I am?" He asked.
"I was the one who told people the next monarch was born."
"Oh." The song was done. "It was very nice meeting you. Hopefully I'll see you again." They smiled at each other, and Kitri went back to attend to Lyra.
* * *
About an hour later found Liamh in the arms of a sylph that seemed positively amorous of him. She stared at him with his large eyes. Liamh, feeling extremely uncomfortable but not wanting to show it, was waiting desperately for whoever was supposed to cut in and dance with him for the second half of this song. Finally, he saw the sylph coming.
"May I cut in?" The sylph said in a smooth voice.
The sylph Liamh was currently dancing with sighed wistfully, and stepped away.
"I could tell you were a bit harrassed." The sylph who cut in said conversationally.
"Oh."
"My name is Apaik. That's what you will call me, nothing more, nothing less."
"And you may call me Liamh."
They danced for a while in silence, and then Apaik started up conversation.
"So, how different is it here as compared to upstairs?"
"Which upstairs do you mean?" The words left Liamh's mouth before he could tell what he was saying.
"Whichever is more comfortable." Apaik leered at him. Hurriedly, Liamh tried to direct the subject towards something safer that didn't have a double meaning.
"The Free World is exactly what the name implies; free. However, here I must say art is so much more of an indulgence. It's in the archetecture, the paintings, the language, everything. This world is so much deeper spiritually." He was rambling, and they both knew it.
The song came to an end, and they separated on the dance floor. Then a strange occurrence came to be; Apaik looked Liamh up and down, then winked. Reaching for the front of Liamh's top, he pulled it up, right in between where his breasts were just starting to grow.
"Wouldn't want that to fall down," he leered at Liamh, sounding as if she wished exactly the opposite.
Apaik turned on his heel and left.
* * *
Ron was sitting on his bed, reading. This, in itself was strange, but the fact that he was reading a huge book on transfiguration was even stranger. And it was not just any kind of transfiguration. No, this was glamour, the impossible in theory kind of transfiguration where you only do it halfway, so that others can't see what's real and imagination. It was extremely complex, why should the youngest Weasley brother be looking through this material?
It was a letter and loan from Hermione. He had read:
Ron,
I found this in my parent's cabin. Would you believe that we had a whole mess of Wizard books here? I was reading through this, and I thought we should study this. Doesn't it seem like a sylven thing? I wonder if this kind of magic is actually possible. Could you please check up with your dad on this? Maybe he'd know someone in magical research or something that could explain it further.
Hermione
So now he was so wrapped up in the book that he couldn't put it down until he finished it. This was so enchanting. Dimly, he wondered when he'd get a letter from Harry. It had been a long time since he had seen him. Well, it had only been three days, but still. His mind went back to the book. Maybe he'd ask Professor McGonagall for help whenever it was that they'd get back.
* * *
The ball was almost over. Somehow, Liamh had danced with almost everyone there except for the other Order members. At the moment, he was dancing with Nikiatom, who hadn't been on the floor all night. His mind, however, was elsewhere. His partner seemed to have noticed, as he didn't move his gaze from the same spot.
"Have you ever met Apaik?" Liamh asked Nikiatom. There was a flash of something in Nikiatom's eyes. Anger?
"Why?"
"Well, I just was dancing with her. So, I wondered if you'd ever met him."
"You beware of her." The conviction in Nikiatom's voice scared Liamh slightly; he had never heard this side of him. Usually she was so quiet.
"I'll take your word on that."
They danced for a while, until Nikiatom said she was going home and Liamh was left standing in the middle of the dance floor.
Suddenly, the party wasn't right anymore. It had tilted. It was mocking, the dream-like state of the laughing sylphs staring him blaringly in the face. He wanted to talk to someone who was as forward as he was used to in the Upper world. Then he didn't. Perhaps subtlety was what kept these people focusing on their tortured world where they didn't have enough space to grow food and remained stuck in a little box. Limah cautiously walked over to the drink stand, getting a friuty but bland, foamy drink. Liamh saw Lyra standing over in a corner, looking down into her own drink.
"Well, are you bored?" Liamh asked her with a smile.
"Yes, I am," Lyra took a sip of his drink. "Are you going to be leaving soon?"
"I have to leave after everyone else. It's just one of my duties as monarch." Liamh felt eyes on his back, and turned to see that Apaik was looking at him over her partner's shoulder.
"Bearer says that you dance like an angel."
Liamh smiled. "Well, I just learned yesterday, I personally don't think I'm that good. And how did you know about angels?"
"Brother Nikiatom got me books all about them."
"Really?"
"Yes. They were really good. But there were a lot of things in them that I didn't understand because it was written in the Upper World."
Liamh pondered this new information. "How did she get them?" He inquired.
"Well, he was up there, wasn't she?" The little sylph stared into her drink. Liamh saw his Bearer coming.
"We have to go home, don't we Lyra?" Kitri said to her child. He looked up to Liamh. "Thank you for looking after her. He's gotten away from me more than once."
"Any time."
They smiled, then Kitri took hold of Lyra's hand. Lyra looked back at Liamh and waved silently. Liamh waved back. He really didn't feel like dancing anymore; he supposed it was his mother's non-sylph influence, but his leg muscles had started to burn from the workout of their form of ballet-like dance. He went off onto the small balcony that would have led off into the gardens, had it not been winter.
The moonlight felt good on his skin, which was hot from the dancing. The snow had been cleared, so their feet wouldn't get cold, but it was still pretty warm for the winter. He set his drink down and stared to the heavens. What could they tell him? It was strange, to look to the clear-cut sky as if he were in the Free world. He knew that they were somewhere far beneath the grass that brushed the top of the world. It must have been the same kinds of spells and enchantments that were on the Hogwarts' Great Hall ceiling. He let a cold breeze run across his face. He shivered. Tonight something big was going to happen. Liamh started; someone had put their arm around his waist.
"What-?" He turned to face whoever-it-was.
"Hello, Liamh." Apaik crooned in his ear.
"What are you doing?" He whispered without emotion.
"Well, if you really must know, I'm going to kiss you." Apaik said, leaning closer to Liamh's face. Then she spoke in a whisper that chilled Liamh to the bone. "Whether you like it or not."
"I'm sorry, but I just met you." Liamh said, slightly wrestling to get out of Apaik's grip. He turned to go back to the safety of indoors, feeling the angry glare of the other's eyes on the back of his neck.
* * *
"Mother, do you remember the names of the people who lived here before us?" Hermione asked her mother after she had caught her on her own.
"No, not really. I just remember that they had a daughter with a Shakespearean name. I can't remember whether it was Juliet or Othello, though." Her mother said, vaguely looking up from the cleaning of the living room after the party.
"Really? Um, do you remember what they did?"
"I have no idea. The father was some sort of . . . oh, god, it's hard to remember . . . businessman, I think. Her mother was a craftswoman. The father died somehow after both his wife and daughter had. I don't know. I can't really remember. Ask me some other time, when I'm not so distracted, okay, honey?"
"All right, mum, goodnight." Hermione said warmly, and walked over to kiss her mother goodnight.
A/N- I know, I know, there's absolutely no romance yet. There won't be for another few chapters, anyway. I think that I need to get one big thing out of the way before I get the characters (other than Ron and Hermione) to act all romance-ish. Don't worry, I have it planned! You've met several very important characters in this chapter, mainly just sylphs, and a side plot of a murder mystery got started because I was getting bored. ;)
Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers, here is where I'm going to reply to your thoughts:
Clepsydra-Delphinus - I'm glad you liked it! I hope it seemed real, you know, if it came across as it happened in my imagination. I'm planning on going on to FictionAlley next, and just upload everything that's done, so that these two sites are on the same schedule. However, FictionAlley will be slower, because they send stuff back to be edited and things like that, so the version there will probably be a lot more revised and refined. About reading things on other sites, I do it too. I'm just as sad as you are.
Gia and Midnight Dragon - Soon enough? :D
Phoenix - I'm glad that you like this story enough to be excited about it! It just makes me feel like such a loved author.
nell-and-paru - Sorry, Draco doesn't get uncontrolled for a while. (
Thank you again to everyone who reads this, you don't know how happy it makes me!
