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 10: Preparations
It was summer. By all standards, it was summer, and the sylphs were celebrating. They had enough air to go around, they had plentiful food, and they were carefree for the time being. Liamh smiled as he went out into the square, watching as they performed for each other. Everyone was wearing colorful clothing, no one had to wear shoes, and their life was good.
He had found out from Nikiatom that, much like the fairies in Free World folklore, sylphs are festive all summer. Most everyone joined in, unless for reasons unknown they didn't want to, and smiled and carried on as if they were partaking in a giant Renaissance festival. There was dancing, eating, laughter, performance art, fine art hanging on the walls, theatre productions performed every day, and basic eccentricity that followed you wherever you might go. Liamh had just been walking through the crowded street when someone suddenly grabbed him and he was whirled around.
"Liamh, I-I, well, will, will you come with me?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh had never seen him like this. She had big, bright eyes just like an older sylph sibling who was about to do something to their little sylph-brother.
"What are you going to do?" Liamh asked, suspicious.
"You need to do something, now could you please come with me?" Nikiatom murmured.
"Okay, I wasn't really doing anything right now anyway."
Nikiatom led him through the busy streets, weaving through the crowds of people and up to a small stand toward the open grass by the edge of the buildings. There, a solitary sylph stood, letting the summer air breeze through its long black hair. This person looked as if they could have been Spanish, had this been the Free world. The sylph's loose pants billowed in the wind, and it immediately looked over to see them approaching. Behind the sylph, their destination had turned out to be . . . a little tent made completely out of different colored chenile scarves. Standing before this billowing wall was a very high chair.
"Hello," the crafts sylph greeted them, glancing in their direction. "I'm in the middle of another client at the moment, so if you could please wait out here, I'll only be a minute."
Liamh, who was absolutely bewildered as to what this sylph could possibly be busy with, stopped dead and looked over to Nikiatom. Who was blushing madly. Liamh shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. So he decided to wait for the apparantly very busy person to get done with whatever was so time consuming. The proverbial lightbulb seemed to go off, and the sylph stormed back into the little screened in area, shouting something about having the right design.
Nikiatom looked down at the ground, kicking at it with his bare foot. Liamh finally made the connection. Nikiatom had a crush on the sylph who they had just spoken to. He looked incredulously at the older sylph. The older sylph who now looked like a stricken teenage girl who just met her favorite actor. Before he could say anything, however, his eyes were drawn to something else. Danu was coming by. Only he was not alone, oh no, she had Eamonn with him (if you don't remember, this was the salesperson that helped Liamh to buy clothes).
Eamonn was looking much less wintry toward Danu than she had last winter when Liamh had first met him. Much to the surprise of many (Nikiatom among them), she had his arms around Danu, a smile spreading her face. Liamh waved at them, and Danu finally spotted them from his conversation with Eamonn.
"Hello, Liamh, Nikiatom." Danu said joyfully.
"Danu! You and Eamonn are on . . . speaking terms. Last I knew, you couldn't stand to be in the same room." Liamh exclaimed.
"Yes, how did this lovely turn of events come about?" Nikiatom asked quietly.
"Well, I think it helped that I proposed," Danu was splitting her face he was so happy.
"And that you had the nerve to. I was starting to get just a bit impatient," Eamonn joked from his position on Danu's hip.
"I hadn't expected to see you today Nikiatom. What brings you here?" Danu asked. Eamonn just slapped his side.
"Don't you know where we are, you twat? Why does anyone come here?" she rolled his eyes at the apparent stupidity of the partner she had chosen for life.
"Oh right. That would be some good business. Sorry I asked. We'll just leave you two be," Danu winked at Liamh and Nikiatom, whose blush deepened. Liamh waved good-bye to them, and looked over at the person who had brought him here.
"So, what are we doing? You have to tell me eventually."
"It's a surprise."
Liamh had the feeling that he'd never understand his guide. He shook his head, and watched as the flap of scarves on the tent was pushed aside. Lyra came running out of it, giggling madly all the way. She looked happier than he had at the coronation. Behind her came the sylph who was working with him and Kitri, both talking animatedly. Suddenly, Lyra noticed him and clapped her hands.
"Liamh! Liamh, Liamh, Liamh!" He ran into Liamh's legs and hugged him wildly, smiling and babbling some strange sort of thing that was unintelligible.
"Hello, Lyra! What are you doing here?" Liamh asked, bending at the middle and speaking to the child as though they were the same height.
"Bearer? Can I tell him?" Lyra screamed back at Kitri, who seemed to be talking to the older sylph.
"Well, I'll just have to ask Nikiatom that, won't I? Excuse me," Kitri politely said to the sylph. He went over and spoke with Nikiatom in a quiet whisper, then shook her head at Lyra. Lyra pouted.
"I guess I can't. But I really want to! I really do!" Lyra whined adorably. Kitri, sensing that something would be given away, rushed up to the sylph child.
"We have really got to be going, we are meeting someone for lunch." She smiled at Liamh, and winked, then spoke to his child. "Say goodbye to Liamh, dear."
"Goodbye, Liamh," Lyra said, smiling impishly.
"Bye, Lyra, bye, Kitri," Liamh answered, and watched as the two walked off, Lyra skipping beside her Bearer.
"Liamh, I presume?" A sweet voice behind him made Liamh turn and nod to the craftsylph.
"I'm Cifar. If you'd please take a seat on the high chair, we can get this done quickly."
Liamh did as he was told, edging around nervously on his seat. Cifar was turning his face this way and that, obviously making small comments to herself as he did so.
"You may be wondering what all this is about. Well, all sylphs are born incomplete. That is what I do. I make them complete. I mark them, figuring what kind of magic they have, then finding the one place where their skin doesn't really seem to fit to their bodies. When I've figured it out, I think of what colors would be the best suited for them, and paint on the rest of their powers. Until a sylph is brought to me, they can not perform to their fullest abilities. And even after, they have to find someone who will love them, and then and only then are they complete. But with this sort of magical tatoo, they are as complete as they could be as an individual. That is why you are here now, you were never marked." Cifar said all this while studying and turning his head this way and that. "I can just paint it on your face right now, the only reason that I have a tent is so that I can paint it on in some sylphs' places, like on their back and other places. Luckily, yours is on your face, so I can paint it on out here."
Liamh nodded, and tried to hold still as the paint brush was brought closer to his face, and green paint was dabbed onto his nose. Soon, his nose was covered in the green paint, and at its bridge Cifar narrowed it and swept an elegantly thin line onto his forehead, going toward his scar. Gently, he felt his face being lifted, and green was drawn between his nostrils to curl under his lips. Then, the painter dipped the brush in the green paint again and swept it up and out to his left eye.
"Close your eye," Cifar commanded, and Liamh complied, and felt the brush go over his eye. Then it traveled back and out the right side and down to the left side of his jaw. A little tweaking with this layer was done; Cifar picked up a much smaller instrument, this one pointed, but soft on the end, and dipped it into a gold paint. After blowing on the paint on his face, the gold was brought down on the green and spidered out to form some sort of lining on the tatoo of sorts. Next, the second end was brought down into black, and some more detail was drawn, then scarlet and more tweaking, then a white, and one solitary dot was made. It was done. It was over. Cifar admired his work, and stepped away so he could hand Liamh a mirror.
He took it, trembling, shaking as he wondered what it could possibly be. What was it, which was the thing that would complete him as a separate item from everyone else? He lifted the mirror, and gasped.
It was a phoenix.
A beautiful, green, scarlet, gold, and black phoenix was what was covering his face. Its head was facing his scar, the white dot its eye. One wing came up to cover his eye, the other went down to trace his jaw. The body was on his nose, and narrowed at its bridge. The tail was a line that came down between his nostrils and curled to the left under his lips. It was beautiful.
"Strange."
Liamh looked up from the mirror.
"The colors that suit you are so dark, while the phoenix is such a light creature."
"What do they mean?" Liamh asked, going back to look at the colors.
"Scarlet means pain, gold means the stalked, black, of course, means death, and green means sadness. While the phoenix means to come back," Cifar said as he was putting back the paint set.
Liamh was uncomfortable as Nikiatom walked with him back to the palace. People were staring at him slightly, then they turned away as they figured he had just had the tatoo put on. He squirmed under their gaze, and turned to Nikiatom.
"Will they always see the phoenix?" He asked, uncertainly.
"Sylphs will, but in the Free world no one would be able to see it, they'd just see flawless skin. You can always try to block it from sight if you want, but it looks good on you." Nikiatom blushed slightly and looked away from Liamh, who smiled to himself.
* * *
That night, Liamh went into bed, considering what Nikiatom had told and showed him that day. After the tatooing, he had said that she thought that Liamh was ready to fly for the first time tomorrow. So here he found himself, turning to the flying chapter of his one and only book. He ran a hand through his hair as he flipped it open, past the sections on transfiguration and other things. Finally, it fell open to the first page of the chapter he was looking for.
Chapter 9: Flying
Flying is a talent that is highly favored but not common among the magical beings. Sylphs are among the only human creatures that posses it, the only other being wizards and witches with broomsticks.
The chapter went on to describe in detail the mechanics that you had to know before you could even get your wings out.
Apparantly, sylphs' wings were in their backs, and the first time they were ever let out would be extremely painful and bloody. After that, before a sylph could ever fly, they had to practice until no blood was spilled and the pain was eased away. If they started to fly too late, their wings would burst forth unbidden from their hide and hurt the sylph more than help it. There were a lot of things for him to remember, such as the spell sung to unleash them, then the spell sung backwards to put them back, and just how exactly it was supposed to feel.
He wasn't worried about the pain, he'd been through so much of that already, he'd been through the Cruciatus Curse, so he shouldn't be worried about his back splitting, but he didn't want to bleed to death, so he wanted Nikiatom to be there. He'd do it first thing tomorrow morning.
* * *
Veronica Synell, a Slytherin seventh year, was worried.
There was only one girl left in her dorm, beside herself, and she had no idea when another of the sporadic and terrible attacks would take place. She worried her bottom lip down to the bone. It was no small joke that all the Slytherins were related. That's what most purebloods were. Oh, there was the occasional second wife that happened to be half-blood, but they were never talked about. It was wrong. They were supposed to be completely pure, and the records of families and events dated all the way back to 1400 (before then, they hadn't had spells to proof a building against fire.) All this special care was to be taken to ensure that nothing impure entered their families. And her mother was already dead.
This, in itself, was nothing important to her. Her mother had been shrewd and vulgar, and was no great loss to the world. She would have liked it if her father had kept the woman in a tower like she was a lovely damsel in distress. That is, if she would have let him. She had only married him for his money, and found him to be annoying and idiotic. She had never even gotten to know Veronica, her own daughter. In fact, she had only had a daughter because her husband had made her. "For the good of the family," he'd said. Now she was dead. But that wasn't what bothered her.
Her mother had always been a collector of fine antique jewelry. After they had found the body, they had found that her room was ransacked, and her expensive pearls were ripped and all over the floor. Literally. The diamonds were torn in half by whatever it was that killed her.
And she had left some jewelry for Veronica.
* * *
It was a crisp morning. The crispness in the air made you know that autumn was on the way, but wasn't there yet. Liamh could see the little puffs of air that shooted from his mouth as he grabbed his sweater to wear in the castle, and went over to Nikiatom's chambers. His bare feet didn't want to be on the floor, and he ended up pumping from one foot to the next as he waited for the sylph to answer him. There were graceful shuffling noises from inside the door, and Liamh smiled as Nikiatom answered, bleary-eyed but silent. They had already talked about this before, and Nikiatom stepped out of the door, still saying nothing but tugging her sylvan bathrobe around his body pointedly.
"Tired?" Liamh asked briskly.
"I shouldn't be. You'd told me earlier that we were going to do this today. It just didn't register." Nikiatom murmured.
They made the rest of the way in silence, curving their way up winding stairways, making their paths through the twisted labyrinth that was the sylvan castle. Finally, they reached the top.
Liamh had never been here before during the day. Perhaps now wasn't the best time, it being grey and overcast, but still, the sight of the sylvan city was breath taking. It was one of those places that seemed to melt together, not to have everything the same, but instead, rather, to have the differences be so strange that it seemed to be one large building. It was also a place that never lacked in beauty, with the airy homes and buildings and the stonework that delicately laced its way in and out of the otherwise Tudor style places. It was a myriad of life, and deeply compelling. On a sunny day, you would see the beautiful people that populated this world.
"I'm sure that by now you know the drill?" Nikiatom asked of him gently.
"Yes, I'm to take my shirt off and try to get my wings out, with that one spell."
"Do you know the spell?"
"I don't really know how to pronounce it," Liamh admitted, blushing slightly.
"I'll demonstrate."
Nikiatom quickly took off her shirt and started massaging his temples. Then she got up on a rather convienient ledge and seemed to prepare himself for what was to come. From here came more massaging of the temples. Liamh watched all this carefully, taking note of everything. Then, she spoke.
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" And the spell was said.
Liamh watched in horror as rips started to come open in Nikiatom's back, spreading rapidly like someone were tearing cloth. There was no blood whatsoever. Instead, what horrified him the most was that he could see the wings rising from within his - friend's? - back. As they came out, they spread, little bits of extra feather and string-like tendons coming off. Nikiatom stretched his wings, then beat them silently and rose a few feet off the ground. They spread golden, like the absent sun against the sky. Nikiatom landed again and muttered the spell backwards, put her shirt on, and gestured for Liamh to say the spell as well.
Liamh sucked in his breath. This was it. He tried to think of all that he had read and studied in preparation for today. He supposed that, since his wings wouldn't come out the first time, he should stay away from ledges. Liamh stripped himself of his shirt; then delicately set it away on the far side of the roof. He tried to remember exactly how Nikiatom had said the spell, and imitated her movements of preparation. Finally, with a clear head, Liamh spoke:
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" He enunciated, and immediately, his back erupted in flames.
He crumbled to the ground, body convulsing in the pain that coursed its way through his veins. His blood was liquid fire, the vessels ice. Slowly and meticulously, his back was tearing itself apart, ripping the flesh as the wings forced their way out, and he knelt in pain, holding his arms close to his body. Then came the wings, bits of feather lodging themselves, trying to spread the fledgling wings, but finding it impossible. He felt gentle hands resting on his back, and through the blood pounding in his ears he could almost hear Nikiatom muttering soothing nothings to him. He looked over to the older sylph, and was terrified to see a worried look residing there. Then, it doubled, as the wings were flexing inside him in contorted pain. He screamed, thinking that it was okay to do so at this point. With that, he collapsed unconscious in the pool of his own blood that was spilt in the sylph tradition of the first flight.
* * *
Liamh awoke, eyes blurry for the first time in ages. His head spun, and he could vaguely hear voices surrounding him.
"His back's too small."
"Well, we should have suspected something like this to happen, he's half human. We should have thought about shortcomings."
A third voice joined them.
"Between the teaching and the training, there wasn't time to think of what he wouldn't be able to do."
"Will you stop being so sarcastic for once in your life Amadeus?"
Amadeus was sticking up for him?
"He should have come to us."
That's more like it.
"He's awake." A fourth voice. It was quiet, a bit too quiet, but it sounded full of shame, as if this person had done something wrong.
There was a silence. Liamh heard footsteps, and four heads were directly above his. He started, then tried to back away from them. He just wanted to rest in peace. A dull aching and throbbing went through his back, as if he were still losing blood.
"Are you feeling okay?" Eldrid asked him, concerned.
"I . . . guess," he managed to croak.
"You're lucky you aren't bleeding anymore. You lost quite a lot of blood, you did." Eldrid continued. He looked thoughtfully at the part-sylph, and Liamh felt a small intrusion in his mind. "We should probably leave you, now that we know you are quite alive. Come, Danu, Nikiatom, and Amadeus. We have other work to attend to."
As the others were exiting, Nikiatom held back slightly, until a very annoyed Amadeus pulled her out of the room.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Liamh finally felt good enough to sit up in bed, and he called his book to him. He was saddened to find that, as he opened it, there was nothing left to read. He'd finished it, and far too soon.
He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. So he sat, expectant, not really thinking, when the door opened and Eldrid walked into the room.
"That's a very fine phoenix you bear, Liamh." He said in a way of greeting.
"I didn't really choose it."
"Do you know what the phoenix stands for among our people?" Eldrid asked calmly.
"Well, all I know is that the phoenix is a symbol of resurrection, but that is fairly normal." Liamh leaned back against the headboard, groaning as it touched the more sensitive parts of his back.
"There are three Orders of sylphs. They are called the Order of the Unicorn, the Order of the Dragon, and the Order of the Phoenix.
"There are different personalities and roles that go with being any one of these special Orders. The sylphs of the Order of the Dragon are fiery people, they tend to be passionate with their opinions and personal life, highly strung, grab attention, demanding, and, overall, impulsive to the point where they know exactly what they have to do as the moment comes. They therefore don't really need to plan ahead, but sometimes their impulses can get them into trouble.
"The Order of the Unicorn contains sylphs that are meeker, a little bit more graceful than the dominant Dragon sylphs, they are very smart but their knowledge is trained with books, not impulse. They are magnificent when they want to be, unnoticed when they choose to be, and loyal to a fault. The Order of the Unicorn is a very noble Order to be a member of, but they tend not to have strong control over their surroundings and what they want done.
"The last Order, the Order of the Phoenix, is the balance of the two. As a phoenix is reborn from the ashes of the fire that consumed it, they carry the qualities of a dragon. As a phoenix is also mournfully elegant and sorrowfully beautiful, it carries the qualities of a unicorn. The Order of the Phoenix is the perfect combination of unicorn and dragon. They are fiery and opinionated, but also open-minded and free enough to listen to other people and value their opinion. They are the ideal leader."
There was a slight pause as Eldrid let this sink in.
"The last time we had a member of the Order of the Phoenix as a monarch was around five hundred years ago, when we were forced into hiding.
"We have only had two monarchs since that time; the one who brought us into hiding died shortly after of unknown causes. They were both of the Order of the Unicorn. I can already tell that you are the next great monarch; not only have you already had the life experience to have you impressioned upon at your early age, but you have the courage to keep taking on responsibilities. I will admit, you really aren't sure how to control the other Order members, but you'll learn. Everyone gets off to a rocky start at some time or another." Eldrid smiled a sad little smile.
They sat companionably for a while, until Eldrid got up to leave, claiming that Liamh would get the hang of flying. Liamh smiled slightly to himself; he really had a life complicated by far too many things.
* * *
Professor Dumbledore was a gracious host for what had been once in a long time. Professor McGonagall hadn't had tea with him since well before Voldemort rose. That was partially her job as Head of House. You'd be surprised how idiotic some younger Gryffindors could be! Just last week, she had dealt with a girl who had enlarged . . . that's off subject, let's just say that it wasn't very pretty.
They used to be able to get together once a month to discuss the rest of the teachers. However, once Voldemort rose, their tea sessions had been replaced with staff meetings, and now was the first time in a long time that they had found the time to sit together. Dumbledore was glad for this; he was starting to lose his edge as to what went on in the school. Most of the information came from the Heads of Houses; Professor Minerva McGonagall just happened to be one of his closest friends.
"What kind of tea would you like?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, whatever you're having is fine." She waved him off, eager to get past the formalities.
"Okay, right then." He swiftly sent the teapot brewing, and pulled out two cups just as the water was boiling. He added the leaves, and handed a cup and saucer to McGonagall.
"Thank you, Albus," she said briskly. "Now, what is our topic for the day?" She delightedly had gotten it out in the open, and folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward.
"Ah yes, that. I have a proposition to make, and I need advice. I think that we should get a group together to defend Hogwarts. We know from Severus that the Death Eaters have long since been preparing a seige of this castle, and it should not go unprotected." Dumbledore took a sip of his tea before continuing. "But I also think that we should get an army together to fight the Death Eaters. Both would be extremely dangerous, but both would have their rewards."
"Wouldn't it be expensive? Getting all the fighting materials made and everything? We must be reasonable. If You-Know-Who was destroyed, the Death Eaters would fall apart. Can't we just get a spy to do it?"
"Minerva, the Death Eaters are far too comitted at this point. They think their cause is worth carrying over after Voldemort has passed. He is, after all, in his sixties; he can't be around for that much longer if he is to rely on the Dark Arts. They have to be stopped now, and not just some of them, all of them."
"What does Arthur Weasley say about all of this?" Minerva asked, still not sure as to what her opinion on the matter was.
"He says that I should think over the details, because our numbers are fading fast. The killers of the Slytherin girls have taken to wiping out entire households. Voldemort is planning to take over the world; he has started to gather a following in Spain and Portugal, and from there he plans to take over France, then some of his growing troops would travel to Africa, while the other half would go further into Europe and Asia. This is getting big. If he wants to put his all in the attack against Hogwarts, he'll call in the international forces. We need an army here."
"There must be some way to combine the two ideas."
"Well," Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, contemplating his tea leaves, "I had thought about teaching the seventh and sixth year students how to fight, but that might be a risky business. We'd need more backing than students who aren't even allowed to Apparate."
* * *
Two days had passed since the first flying attempt was taken, and Liamh was bored. He had been issued bed rest and hadn't been allowed out of his rooms to do anything. Nikiatom had become something of a mother hen; he seemed to think that it was his fault that Liamh had almost died. At the moment, he was currently flitting about outside the doorway, trying to decide whether ten times a day for a visit was too much. Liamh had written to Ron and Hermione, and Ron had just sort of ignored him because he had no idea what he was talking about. Hermione, on the other hand, actually did go to check if anything about this was written in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. It wasn't. She panicked. It was funny. He laughed.
His back was still bleeding slightly, and his sheets had turned a lovely crimson color and smelled of dried blood and crusty, old mothballs. He really couldn't care less. He had missed one Order meeting, and he didn't know whether or not it was rescheduled. If it wasn't, Eldrid would have taken over.
Liamh was pulled from his thoughts by Nikiatom coming in. Again.
"Do you need anything?" The sylph asked frantically.
"No, not really. It's just, oh, I don't know," Liamh couldn't decide whether to confide in his tentative friend or not. Nikiatom looked at him shyly for a moment.
"What is it?" The sylph said quietly, an expression of openness on his face. She slowly slithered into a seat next to the expansive bed that held Liamh.
"I got this letter from Dumbledore, you know, my old Headmaster," Nikiatom nodded faintly, "and he is trying to set up an army, but there aren't enough wizards, and he wants our help with military tactics to try and bring down the dark lord that has risen up there. I want to do this, get an alliance with the wizards. But I know that Amadeus and some other Order members will have something to say against this. I have no idea what to do, I think that the future of our people would really be helped if we were to do this, but then again, we really don't have that many people here that can do it. I mean, our population isn't even over four hundred, and it would really hurt us to lose lives. If we were to do this, that is."
Nikiatom sat in silence, something fleeting running through her eyes. Was that sadness? It was. How could it be? Did Nikiatom know more than everyone thought?
"Do it. Voldemort must be brought down." Nikiatom hissed through his teeth, and stood abruptly, not giving Liamh a chance to think over the words. Before leaving, she fluffed Liamh's pillow once.
Liamh sat back, laying down to rest for the day, his back aching at the stress it took to move. He grimaced, wondering how foolish he was to think that he could lead an entire race in a battle against Lord Voldemort if he couldn't even fly yet. He was pretty sure that his people would follow him; at the ball the only problem that they had had was his age, but by now they had gotten over that. Why was it that he felt so small? It wasn't his height, but a lot of the time he felt thin. Slight, like he was still too young to be taken seriously. Perhaps he was, but that couldn't be what kept him from being the ruler he was supposed to be. He wasn't told things, but maybe that was how the sylphs always acted; maybe, if you were supposed to know something, you stumbled onto it yourself, you saw it in a vision, or a dream, or it just came to you. He had found out most of the stuff he knew now on his own. He decided not to worry too much for right now, and closed his eyes, body ready to sleep.
His eyes snapped open. How did Nikiatom know the name of the Free World's dark lord?
* * *
As a captive in his own bedchambers, Liamh had as much time as needed to ponder his latest realization. He didn't want to confront his timid confidante right away, that could be disastrous. Neither did he want to wait for the answer to come to him. So he had to tread carefully around the subject, trying not to break the ice. Nikiatom was just as worried as she usually was, fussing over his pillows and how cold his drink was and how often he was hungry. The older sylph had been glad to take on the job of rubbing a healing ointment over Liamh's back, and slowly, the injury was being healed.
Nikiatom said that it was coming along nicely, healing itself, and it wouldn't bleed so much the next time they tried to fly. This had taken Liamh by surprise; he hadn't known there would be a next time. After a day of observation, he could tell that Nikiatom had been told to keep him trying to fly, but the sylph had other ideas.
As it turned out, the next time came quickly, with a little less blood, and Liamh didn't pass out, since he knew what was coming. However, there was still enough blood to wash clothes with, and it took a week afterwards to heal from that. He had written to both Ron and Hermione, and they had started a frantic letter writing to keep Liamh occupied. He was playing a small game with them; they didn't know he was the monarch. When he saw them again, he was planning on giving them a huge surprise. He couldn't wait to see the looks upon their faces as he calmly told them he was the monarch of the sylphs.
Nikiatom was grudgingly making him fly more and more, with fewer days to rest in between, until finally, there was only the amount of blood that a hangnail would produce. With Liamh being able to walk, he slowly made it so he could go to Order meetings regularly and before long, the idea of going to the Free World to assist the wizards and witches was out in the open. After several days of deep thought and careful persuasion on Liamh's part, the Order decided that they were ready to take action in the affairs above.
* * *
Liamh stole away from his chambers early one morning, wearing his flying clothes and eagerly anticipating what he was planning. Nikiatom had given the way for him, and he was smiling broadly from the delight that he was about to embark upon.
As with the first horrid time that he had ever taken out his wings, the morning was crisp. It was almost scary how much they were the same, almost as if something bad should have been happening, but Liamh knew that wasn't the case. It seemed right, this morning. It seemed right that something wonderful would be the mirror of something terrible, and unexpected. Today would be different; he was determined to make it so. With no further ado, he took off the warmer cloak that covered his riding shirt.
He uttered the strange spell, a ghost of something forming on his lips. It was repeated so much that he needn't remember the words, they were engrained upon memory. He felt the large ebony wings fall out of his back, stretching on their way, sending everything above his waist to relief. A strange thought overcame his senses; I'm free this way. There was no blood to speak of. What a strange feeling, to not bleed. He had come to expect the blood, but now he felt nothing, no trace of pain. There was only the feeling of rightness.
He went over to the edge of the roof. It seemed to be a long way down, but he knew that he would instantly start flying as soon as he was over the edge of the ledge. He took a deep breath, hoping that his idea was correct, and he jumped.
At first he was free falling, then his wings spread, and they became sails, holding him in the air. He flapped them experimentally, and they propelled him forward. He was somewhat surprised at the speed of his flight; he had never really thought that his wings would be able to go as fast as a Nimbus Two Thousand without trying. He soared leisurely over the forest constructed for the sylphs. An overwhelming feeling of joy overtook him, and he took off at the speed of a Firebolt, wind whipping his long hair back away from his face as he smiled, happy to be flying again.
In all the commotion of his coronation and lessons and everything, the one thing that had been lacking was flying. He had missed Quidditch, he had missed flying leisurely to clear his head. Sure, he had known that sylphs could fly, but he had never been able to do it before. Now, it was like this part of his life was nearly mirroring the last, both being one and the same, and suddenly, he missed his friends terribly. That is, more so than he usually did.
But soon, he was caught up in the vigorous feeling of flying. He flew all day, observing the land that he was to call his and his peoples'. He soared for the whole day through, over hills, dales, forests, and waters. When he finally landed at dusk, it was with a slightly triumphant and very happy grin.
* * *
"Will the meeting please come to order? Amadeus, please find a seat, we have only small things to figure out now." Liamh was standing, trying to make it so that the (much taller) sylphs could see him as they found their seats.
"What such things are there left to do? You have apparantly been planning this for a while, and you have filled us in on the basics. There will only be a few of us going, the only thing we'll do is come up with a plan of action, then, if need be, call in all those willing to help with the cause. You've got it all covered. Why must we be here at all?" Amadeus sputtered angrily.
"Well, for one thing, how many of you speak and understand English perfectly? How many of you have ever had to breathe in air so rich that as you re-enter this world, you choke from the sheer breathlessness that goes on here? How many of you have ever even been outside of this one little section of world, here and above? For those of you who haven't, these are all hard tasks that are to be handled with grace and precision. It is harder than you may think; harder than you can comprehend. Really Amadeus, I thought you had more intelligence than to think that I, at my age, could possibly pull this off. I am smarter than I used to be; don't treat me as a child, for that which I am is not my age to you. Who volunteers to be first?" Liamh blankly stated, words rolling off his tongue with irony and bitterness.
"Oh, and Nikiatom, do come out of the shadows, you're starting to bother me." Liamh didn't even glance in his direction and stifled a yawn with his hand. "If you are to come uninvited to a meeting, then show yourself with pride."
Nikiatom slipped from the shadows, eyes downcast, mumbling curses under her breath.
"I will go, if only to show support for you." Lemagne stuttered after the awkward silence that followed Nikiatom's meek entrance.
Eldrid looked up from where he was looking down at his notes. "So will I; you must have someone for . . . guidance." Several of the sylphs nodded their consent.
Liamh muttered to himself, then looked around at them. "Well, that's two, not including myself. And, Amadeus, I want you to come too."
There was yet another awkward pause as everyone who had foreseen this turn of events delighted in the looks on the others' face.
"E-excuse me?" Lemagne asked tentatively.
"Yes, there must be someone there to challenge me and my ideas." Liamh waved off all questions. "Now, all we need are a few guides. I've already recruited Danu, as I know that he's been there before. We should only need one more person, so that the balance will be three to three. Nikiatom, do you have anything to say?"
"Um, well, can I talk to you later?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh gave the barest of nods.
"If so, can we move on to other matters?" Everyone nodded, as Tyrist motioned that he had something to say.
"If we are to help in a war, we will need someone to get the sylphs into shape for an army. We do not have many people, but our tactics and technique is strong, and unpredictable. We could be of use, not to mention with our healing powers. But we are rusty. Most sylphs know how to use their skills in battle, but have never been called upon to do so. I vote that as you and the other . . . will there be royalty at the meeting?" Tyrist looked to Eldrid, then back to Liamh.
"Yes, there will be the Dwarf lord and lady, the Minister of Magic (a wizard), the High Chieftan of the Merpeople, the Veela Countess, a representative for the giants, and the Queen of the Fairies. Continue." Liamh nodded to his fellow Order member.
"Right. Anyway, my point is that while there will be others there, we still need to be able to fight adequately. I suggest that we start a training regime. That cuts us down to around 350 because the children shouldn't have to fight." Tyrist looked as if she were searching for something.
"Then what shall we do with them if we do go to war? We can bring them with us, I suppose, but we'll need to use all the invisibility cloaks we can." Lemagne joined in, helping the serious sylph.
"Right, well, every family has one, and mine has about ten, so we can give you some." Kiara Nikomik Shane the Third boasted.
"Oh, shut up!" Tyrist bursted.
"I was just adding to the conversation!"
"Maybe you shouldn't be here! These matters are too great for you to understand!"
Liamh massaged his temples as the ongoing war waged in front of his eyes. This was not really what he had expected. Honestly, they called him immature!
"Will you all be quiet!" He screamed in English.
That did it.
"We still have more to work out. While around the other meeting members, no one is to speak in sylvish. If you have something to say, and don't know how, transfer your thought to me and I'll say it for you. No one is to belittle any of the other leaders, it is the first time that they will have encountered us since around zero BC, we want to make a good impression if we are ever to gain an alliance with them. We will answer all other questions on the way, meeting adjourned."
* * *
"Nikiatom? You wanted to talk to me?" Liamh approached him carefully, as if he were a scared cat.
"Yes." She nodded. There was a silence, while Liamh patiently waited for Nikiatom to talk with him.
"I know that you know that I've been to the Free World before, but my experience hadn't been good, and I need y-someone - there to sort of . . . I don't know, encourage me." He looked down as her feet scuffed at the ground. A blush rose to his cheeks, and Liamh gently touched Nikiatom's chin and guided her to look at him.
"If you want me to help you through it, all you have to do is ask." He stated, quietly so no one else who may have been approaching could hear. Nikiatom opted to speak through telepathy.
Will you help me when we go to the Free World? I was traumatized and don't know if I can handle it.
Of course I will. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?
* * *
"Oh my god! Ron! Ron! Get out here quickly!" Hermione squealed, clutching the letter from Harry in her hand.
"What is it?" He asked irritably. Draco Malfoy had given him a hard time again that day.
"Harry's coming! Harry's coming! Harry's coming!"
"Wha?"
"Harry's coming! Are you deaf?" Hermione thrust the letter into Ron's hands. He read it quickly, muttering incoherently as he always did when reading quickly. He let out a shriek, and it caught the attention of his roommates.
"Ron, we've been over this, you sound like a girl when you do that." Seamus said grumpily.
"Ron, you've interrupted our very important business." Dean grumbled.
"Yeah, really." Ron rolled his eyes.
"No! It really was important!" defended Seamus.
"Really. We were being very useful." Dean grumbled.
"You were staring into the fire." Neville pointed out.
"Well, um, it could have gotten out of hand." Seamus mumbled.
"Guys, listen to me! Harry's coming back! He's gonna be here!" Hermione explained.
"What! He's coming! Now? Why?" Neville asked.
"He's gotten the other sylphs to agree that they should help us in the war against you-know-who!"
That night, there was a small party in Gryffindor, in which all those old enough to have known the charming Harry Potter well celebrated his re- arrival into their lives.
A/N: Here it is, the painful chapter 10! I was tempted to skip on to chapter 11, but here it is! Ha! It's finally done! After a month's worth of writer's block, here it is, short, but nonetheless DONE! The plot can finally start to come together from here, thank god, but, sadly, there's the sad news that I'm gaining on halfway through with this one.
A/N 2: Is this better than the last version?
To the reviewers:
Angael: From when you wrote the review, I think this wasn't that long to wait!
Usa Yui and Usa Ku: Don't worry, I'm not about to get fed up! I had to suffer through this chapter, so the worst for me is over.
Princess Sparkle: I did my best to keep it as original as possible, and your review told me that I succeeded in that. Your hope is correct, this is all my own writing. Draco is coming up, don't worry! He has an important role to play yet!
Zeynel: Harry will be in the Free World in the next chapter, don't worry! Oh, and your questions will be answered later.
Prophetess of Hearts: I'm wondering when the Order will come around too . . . that's right, I should probably plan that . . .
Clepsydra-Delphinus: You might be sorry to hear this, but I don't know if Harry and Draco are going to get together or not. There's another pairing that I'm really thinking of, but even if I do change the pairing, I'll keep Draco as an important asset to the story. You know how to spell my name? I feel so special and loved! Most people spell it Sakiapa, and that kinda irritates me. I only hope that this chapter lived up to all the others, I really hated writing it.
Phoenix: The next chapter should take less time to get up, I'll be having fun with that one! Hehehehehehe . . .
Asurahime: I don't know what to say! I love reading your reviews! They make me feel important. I'm sorry this took so long, it was a really hard chapter for me to write . . . The next should be amusing and MUCH longer, as well as finished quickly. What did you expect it to be when you first read it? I'm just curious, I might just have to change my summary a bit.
Silver Lightning: I'm glad that it came across the way I wanted it to! I was relieved when I read your review, I didn't have to go back and change a whole bunch of stuff.
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 10: Preparations
It was summer. By all standards, it was summer, and the sylphs were celebrating. They had enough air to go around, they had plentiful food, and they were carefree for the time being. Liamh smiled as he went out into the square, watching as they performed for each other. Everyone was wearing colorful clothing, no one had to wear shoes, and their life was good.
He had found out from Nikiatom that, much like the fairies in Free World folklore, sylphs are festive all summer. Most everyone joined in, unless for reasons unknown they didn't want to, and smiled and carried on as if they were partaking in a giant Renaissance festival. There was dancing, eating, laughter, performance art, fine art hanging on the walls, theatre productions performed every day, and basic eccentricity that followed you wherever you might go. Liamh had just been walking through the crowded street when someone suddenly grabbed him and he was whirled around.
"Liamh, I-I, well, will, will you come with me?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh had never seen him like this. She had big, bright eyes just like an older sylph sibling who was about to do something to their little sylph-brother.
"What are you going to do?" Liamh asked, suspicious.
"You need to do something, now could you please come with me?" Nikiatom murmured.
"Okay, I wasn't really doing anything right now anyway."
Nikiatom led him through the busy streets, weaving through the crowds of people and up to a small stand toward the open grass by the edge of the buildings. There, a solitary sylph stood, letting the summer air breeze through its long black hair. This person looked as if they could have been Spanish, had this been the Free world. The sylph's loose pants billowed in the wind, and it immediately looked over to see them approaching. Behind the sylph, their destination had turned out to be . . . a little tent made completely out of different colored chenile scarves. Standing before this billowing wall was a very high chair.
"Hello," the crafts sylph greeted them, glancing in their direction. "I'm in the middle of another client at the moment, so if you could please wait out here, I'll only be a minute."
Liamh, who was absolutely bewildered as to what this sylph could possibly be busy with, stopped dead and looked over to Nikiatom. Who was blushing madly. Liamh shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. So he decided to wait for the apparantly very busy person to get done with whatever was so time consuming. The proverbial lightbulb seemed to go off, and the sylph stormed back into the little screened in area, shouting something about having the right design.
Nikiatom looked down at the ground, kicking at it with his bare foot. Liamh finally made the connection. Nikiatom had a crush on the sylph who they had just spoken to. He looked incredulously at the older sylph. The older sylph who now looked like a stricken teenage girl who just met her favorite actor. Before he could say anything, however, his eyes were drawn to something else. Danu was coming by. Only he was not alone, oh no, she had Eamonn with him (if you don't remember, this was the salesperson that helped Liamh to buy clothes).
Eamonn was looking much less wintry toward Danu than she had last winter when Liamh had first met him. Much to the surprise of many (Nikiatom among them), she had his arms around Danu, a smile spreading her face. Liamh waved at them, and Danu finally spotted them from his conversation with Eamonn.
"Hello, Liamh, Nikiatom." Danu said joyfully.
"Danu! You and Eamonn are on . . . speaking terms. Last I knew, you couldn't stand to be in the same room." Liamh exclaimed.
"Yes, how did this lovely turn of events come about?" Nikiatom asked quietly.
"Well, I think it helped that I proposed," Danu was splitting her face he was so happy.
"And that you had the nerve to. I was starting to get just a bit impatient," Eamonn joked from his position on Danu's hip.
"I hadn't expected to see you today Nikiatom. What brings you here?" Danu asked. Eamonn just slapped his side.
"Don't you know where we are, you twat? Why does anyone come here?" she rolled his eyes at the apparent stupidity of the partner she had chosen for life.
"Oh right. That would be some good business. Sorry I asked. We'll just leave you two be," Danu winked at Liamh and Nikiatom, whose blush deepened. Liamh waved good-bye to them, and looked over at the person who had brought him here.
"So, what are we doing? You have to tell me eventually."
"It's a surprise."
Liamh had the feeling that he'd never understand his guide. He shook his head, and watched as the flap of scarves on the tent was pushed aside. Lyra came running out of it, giggling madly all the way. She looked happier than he had at the coronation. Behind her came the sylph who was working with him and Kitri, both talking animatedly. Suddenly, Lyra noticed him and clapped her hands.
"Liamh! Liamh, Liamh, Liamh!" He ran into Liamh's legs and hugged him wildly, smiling and babbling some strange sort of thing that was unintelligible.
"Hello, Lyra! What are you doing here?" Liamh asked, bending at the middle and speaking to the child as though they were the same height.
"Bearer? Can I tell him?" Lyra screamed back at Kitri, who seemed to be talking to the older sylph.
"Well, I'll just have to ask Nikiatom that, won't I? Excuse me," Kitri politely said to the sylph. He went over and spoke with Nikiatom in a quiet whisper, then shook her head at Lyra. Lyra pouted.
"I guess I can't. But I really want to! I really do!" Lyra whined adorably. Kitri, sensing that something would be given away, rushed up to the sylph child.
"We have really got to be going, we are meeting someone for lunch." She smiled at Liamh, and winked, then spoke to his child. "Say goodbye to Liamh, dear."
"Goodbye, Liamh," Lyra said, smiling impishly.
"Bye, Lyra, bye, Kitri," Liamh answered, and watched as the two walked off, Lyra skipping beside her Bearer.
"Liamh, I presume?" A sweet voice behind him made Liamh turn and nod to the craftsylph.
"I'm Cifar. If you'd please take a seat on the high chair, we can get this done quickly."
Liamh did as he was told, edging around nervously on his seat. Cifar was turning his face this way and that, obviously making small comments to herself as he did so.
"You may be wondering what all this is about. Well, all sylphs are born incomplete. That is what I do. I make them complete. I mark them, figuring what kind of magic they have, then finding the one place where their skin doesn't really seem to fit to their bodies. When I've figured it out, I think of what colors would be the best suited for them, and paint on the rest of their powers. Until a sylph is brought to me, they can not perform to their fullest abilities. And even after, they have to find someone who will love them, and then and only then are they complete. But with this sort of magical tatoo, they are as complete as they could be as an individual. That is why you are here now, you were never marked." Cifar said all this while studying and turning his head this way and that. "I can just paint it on your face right now, the only reason that I have a tent is so that I can paint it on in some sylphs' places, like on their back and other places. Luckily, yours is on your face, so I can paint it on out here."
Liamh nodded, and tried to hold still as the paint brush was brought closer to his face, and green paint was dabbed onto his nose. Soon, his nose was covered in the green paint, and at its bridge Cifar narrowed it and swept an elegantly thin line onto his forehead, going toward his scar. Gently, he felt his face being lifted, and green was drawn between his nostrils to curl under his lips. Then, the painter dipped the brush in the green paint again and swept it up and out to his left eye.
"Close your eye," Cifar commanded, and Liamh complied, and felt the brush go over his eye. Then it traveled back and out the right side and down to the left side of his jaw. A little tweaking with this layer was done; Cifar picked up a much smaller instrument, this one pointed, but soft on the end, and dipped it into a gold paint. After blowing on the paint on his face, the gold was brought down on the green and spidered out to form some sort of lining on the tatoo of sorts. Next, the second end was brought down into black, and some more detail was drawn, then scarlet and more tweaking, then a white, and one solitary dot was made. It was done. It was over. Cifar admired his work, and stepped away so he could hand Liamh a mirror.
He took it, trembling, shaking as he wondered what it could possibly be. What was it, which was the thing that would complete him as a separate item from everyone else? He lifted the mirror, and gasped.
It was a phoenix.
A beautiful, green, scarlet, gold, and black phoenix was what was covering his face. Its head was facing his scar, the white dot its eye. One wing came up to cover his eye, the other went down to trace his jaw. The body was on his nose, and narrowed at its bridge. The tail was a line that came down between his nostrils and curled to the left under his lips. It was beautiful.
"Strange."
Liamh looked up from the mirror.
"The colors that suit you are so dark, while the phoenix is such a light creature."
"What do they mean?" Liamh asked, going back to look at the colors.
"Scarlet means pain, gold means the stalked, black, of course, means death, and green means sadness. While the phoenix means to come back," Cifar said as he was putting back the paint set.
Liamh was uncomfortable as Nikiatom walked with him back to the palace. People were staring at him slightly, then they turned away as they figured he had just had the tatoo put on. He squirmed under their gaze, and turned to Nikiatom.
"Will they always see the phoenix?" He asked, uncertainly.
"Sylphs will, but in the Free world no one would be able to see it, they'd just see flawless skin. You can always try to block it from sight if you want, but it looks good on you." Nikiatom blushed slightly and looked away from Liamh, who smiled to himself.
* * *
That night, Liamh went into bed, considering what Nikiatom had told and showed him that day. After the tatooing, he had said that she thought that Liamh was ready to fly for the first time tomorrow. So here he found himself, turning to the flying chapter of his one and only book. He ran a hand through his hair as he flipped it open, past the sections on transfiguration and other things. Finally, it fell open to the first page of the chapter he was looking for.
Chapter 9: Flying
Flying is a talent that is highly favored but not common among the magical beings. Sylphs are among the only human creatures that posses it, the only other being wizards and witches with broomsticks.
The chapter went on to describe in detail the mechanics that you had to know before you could even get your wings out.
Apparantly, sylphs' wings were in their backs, and the first time they were ever let out would be extremely painful and bloody. After that, before a sylph could ever fly, they had to practice until no blood was spilled and the pain was eased away. If they started to fly too late, their wings would burst forth unbidden from their hide and hurt the sylph more than help it. There were a lot of things for him to remember, such as the spell sung to unleash them, then the spell sung backwards to put them back, and just how exactly it was supposed to feel.
He wasn't worried about the pain, he'd been through so much of that already, he'd been through the Cruciatus Curse, so he shouldn't be worried about his back splitting, but he didn't want to bleed to death, so he wanted Nikiatom to be there. He'd do it first thing tomorrow morning.
* * *
Veronica Synell, a Slytherin seventh year, was worried.
There was only one girl left in her dorm, beside herself, and she had no idea when another of the sporadic and terrible attacks would take place. She worried her bottom lip down to the bone. It was no small joke that all the Slytherins were related. That's what most purebloods were. Oh, there was the occasional second wife that happened to be half-blood, but they were never talked about. It was wrong. They were supposed to be completely pure, and the records of families and events dated all the way back to 1400 (before then, they hadn't had spells to proof a building against fire.) All this special care was to be taken to ensure that nothing impure entered their families. And her mother was already dead.
This, in itself, was nothing important to her. Her mother had been shrewd and vulgar, and was no great loss to the world. She would have liked it if her father had kept the woman in a tower like she was a lovely damsel in distress. That is, if she would have let him. She had only married him for his money, and found him to be annoying and idiotic. She had never even gotten to know Veronica, her own daughter. In fact, she had only had a daughter because her husband had made her. "For the good of the family," he'd said. Now she was dead. But that wasn't what bothered her.
Her mother had always been a collector of fine antique jewelry. After they had found the body, they had found that her room was ransacked, and her expensive pearls were ripped and all over the floor. Literally. The diamonds were torn in half by whatever it was that killed her.
And she had left some jewelry for Veronica.
* * *
It was a crisp morning. The crispness in the air made you know that autumn was on the way, but wasn't there yet. Liamh could see the little puffs of air that shooted from his mouth as he grabbed his sweater to wear in the castle, and went over to Nikiatom's chambers. His bare feet didn't want to be on the floor, and he ended up pumping from one foot to the next as he waited for the sylph to answer him. There were graceful shuffling noises from inside the door, and Liamh smiled as Nikiatom answered, bleary-eyed but silent. They had already talked about this before, and Nikiatom stepped out of the door, still saying nothing but tugging her sylvan bathrobe around his body pointedly.
"Tired?" Liamh asked briskly.
"I shouldn't be. You'd told me earlier that we were going to do this today. It just didn't register." Nikiatom murmured.
They made the rest of the way in silence, curving their way up winding stairways, making their paths through the twisted labyrinth that was the sylvan castle. Finally, they reached the top.
Liamh had never been here before during the day. Perhaps now wasn't the best time, it being grey and overcast, but still, the sight of the sylvan city was breath taking. It was one of those places that seemed to melt together, not to have everything the same, but instead, rather, to have the differences be so strange that it seemed to be one large building. It was also a place that never lacked in beauty, with the airy homes and buildings and the stonework that delicately laced its way in and out of the otherwise Tudor style places. It was a myriad of life, and deeply compelling. On a sunny day, you would see the beautiful people that populated this world.
"I'm sure that by now you know the drill?" Nikiatom asked of him gently.
"Yes, I'm to take my shirt off and try to get my wings out, with that one spell."
"Do you know the spell?"
"I don't really know how to pronounce it," Liamh admitted, blushing slightly.
"I'll demonstrate."
Nikiatom quickly took off her shirt and started massaging his temples. Then she got up on a rather convienient ledge and seemed to prepare himself for what was to come. From here came more massaging of the temples. Liamh watched all this carefully, taking note of everything. Then, she spoke.
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" And the spell was said.
Liamh watched in horror as rips started to come open in Nikiatom's back, spreading rapidly like someone were tearing cloth. There was no blood whatsoever. Instead, what horrified him the most was that he could see the wings rising from within his - friend's? - back. As they came out, they spread, little bits of extra feather and string-like tendons coming off. Nikiatom stretched his wings, then beat them silently and rose a few feet off the ground. They spread golden, like the absent sun against the sky. Nikiatom landed again and muttered the spell backwards, put her shirt on, and gestured for Liamh to say the spell as well.
Liamh sucked in his breath. This was it. He tried to think of all that he had read and studied in preparation for today. He supposed that, since his wings wouldn't come out the first time, he should stay away from ledges. Liamh stripped himself of his shirt; then delicately set it away on the far side of the roof. He tried to remember exactly how Nikiatom had said the spell, and imitated her movements of preparation. Finally, with a clear head, Liamh spoke:
"Uruk nialai wishyne krumle ara TIGRELLES!" He enunciated, and immediately, his back erupted in flames.
He crumbled to the ground, body convulsing in the pain that coursed its way through his veins. His blood was liquid fire, the vessels ice. Slowly and meticulously, his back was tearing itself apart, ripping the flesh as the wings forced their way out, and he knelt in pain, holding his arms close to his body. Then came the wings, bits of feather lodging themselves, trying to spread the fledgling wings, but finding it impossible. He felt gentle hands resting on his back, and through the blood pounding in his ears he could almost hear Nikiatom muttering soothing nothings to him. He looked over to the older sylph, and was terrified to see a worried look residing there. Then, it doubled, as the wings were flexing inside him in contorted pain. He screamed, thinking that it was okay to do so at this point. With that, he collapsed unconscious in the pool of his own blood that was spilt in the sylph tradition of the first flight.
* * *
Liamh awoke, eyes blurry for the first time in ages. His head spun, and he could vaguely hear voices surrounding him.
"His back's too small."
"Well, we should have suspected something like this to happen, he's half human. We should have thought about shortcomings."
A third voice joined them.
"Between the teaching and the training, there wasn't time to think of what he wouldn't be able to do."
"Will you stop being so sarcastic for once in your life Amadeus?"
Amadeus was sticking up for him?
"He should have come to us."
That's more like it.
"He's awake." A fourth voice. It was quiet, a bit too quiet, but it sounded full of shame, as if this person had done something wrong.
There was a silence. Liamh heard footsteps, and four heads were directly above his. He started, then tried to back away from them. He just wanted to rest in peace. A dull aching and throbbing went through his back, as if he were still losing blood.
"Are you feeling okay?" Eldrid asked him, concerned.
"I . . . guess," he managed to croak.
"You're lucky you aren't bleeding anymore. You lost quite a lot of blood, you did." Eldrid continued. He looked thoughtfully at the part-sylph, and Liamh felt a small intrusion in his mind. "We should probably leave you, now that we know you are quite alive. Come, Danu, Nikiatom, and Amadeus. We have other work to attend to."
As the others were exiting, Nikiatom held back slightly, until a very annoyed Amadeus pulled her out of the room.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Liamh finally felt good enough to sit up in bed, and he called his book to him. He was saddened to find that, as he opened it, there was nothing left to read. He'd finished it, and far too soon.
He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. So he sat, expectant, not really thinking, when the door opened and Eldrid walked into the room.
"That's a very fine phoenix you bear, Liamh." He said in a way of greeting.
"I didn't really choose it."
"Do you know what the phoenix stands for among our people?" Eldrid asked calmly.
"Well, all I know is that the phoenix is a symbol of resurrection, but that is fairly normal." Liamh leaned back against the headboard, groaning as it touched the more sensitive parts of his back.
"There are three Orders of sylphs. They are called the Order of the Unicorn, the Order of the Dragon, and the Order of the Phoenix.
"There are different personalities and roles that go with being any one of these special Orders. The sylphs of the Order of the Dragon are fiery people, they tend to be passionate with their opinions and personal life, highly strung, grab attention, demanding, and, overall, impulsive to the point where they know exactly what they have to do as the moment comes. They therefore don't really need to plan ahead, but sometimes their impulses can get them into trouble.
"The Order of the Unicorn contains sylphs that are meeker, a little bit more graceful than the dominant Dragon sylphs, they are very smart but their knowledge is trained with books, not impulse. They are magnificent when they want to be, unnoticed when they choose to be, and loyal to a fault. The Order of the Unicorn is a very noble Order to be a member of, but they tend not to have strong control over their surroundings and what they want done.
"The last Order, the Order of the Phoenix, is the balance of the two. As a phoenix is reborn from the ashes of the fire that consumed it, they carry the qualities of a dragon. As a phoenix is also mournfully elegant and sorrowfully beautiful, it carries the qualities of a unicorn. The Order of the Phoenix is the perfect combination of unicorn and dragon. They are fiery and opinionated, but also open-minded and free enough to listen to other people and value their opinion. They are the ideal leader."
There was a slight pause as Eldrid let this sink in.
"The last time we had a member of the Order of the Phoenix as a monarch was around five hundred years ago, when we were forced into hiding.
"We have only had two monarchs since that time; the one who brought us into hiding died shortly after of unknown causes. They were both of the Order of the Unicorn. I can already tell that you are the next great monarch; not only have you already had the life experience to have you impressioned upon at your early age, but you have the courage to keep taking on responsibilities. I will admit, you really aren't sure how to control the other Order members, but you'll learn. Everyone gets off to a rocky start at some time or another." Eldrid smiled a sad little smile.
They sat companionably for a while, until Eldrid got up to leave, claiming that Liamh would get the hang of flying. Liamh smiled slightly to himself; he really had a life complicated by far too many things.
* * *
Professor Dumbledore was a gracious host for what had been once in a long time. Professor McGonagall hadn't had tea with him since well before Voldemort rose. That was partially her job as Head of House. You'd be surprised how idiotic some younger Gryffindors could be! Just last week, she had dealt with a girl who had enlarged . . . that's off subject, let's just say that it wasn't very pretty.
They used to be able to get together once a month to discuss the rest of the teachers. However, once Voldemort rose, their tea sessions had been replaced with staff meetings, and now was the first time in a long time that they had found the time to sit together. Dumbledore was glad for this; he was starting to lose his edge as to what went on in the school. Most of the information came from the Heads of Houses; Professor Minerva McGonagall just happened to be one of his closest friends.
"What kind of tea would you like?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, whatever you're having is fine." She waved him off, eager to get past the formalities.
"Okay, right then." He swiftly sent the teapot brewing, and pulled out two cups just as the water was boiling. He added the leaves, and handed a cup and saucer to McGonagall.
"Thank you, Albus," she said briskly. "Now, what is our topic for the day?" She delightedly had gotten it out in the open, and folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward.
"Ah yes, that. I have a proposition to make, and I need advice. I think that we should get a group together to defend Hogwarts. We know from Severus that the Death Eaters have long since been preparing a seige of this castle, and it should not go unprotected." Dumbledore took a sip of his tea before continuing. "But I also think that we should get an army together to fight the Death Eaters. Both would be extremely dangerous, but both would have their rewards."
"Wouldn't it be expensive? Getting all the fighting materials made and everything? We must be reasonable. If You-Know-Who was destroyed, the Death Eaters would fall apart. Can't we just get a spy to do it?"
"Minerva, the Death Eaters are far too comitted at this point. They think their cause is worth carrying over after Voldemort has passed. He is, after all, in his sixties; he can't be around for that much longer if he is to rely on the Dark Arts. They have to be stopped now, and not just some of them, all of them."
"What does Arthur Weasley say about all of this?" Minerva asked, still not sure as to what her opinion on the matter was.
"He says that I should think over the details, because our numbers are fading fast. The killers of the Slytherin girls have taken to wiping out entire households. Voldemort is planning to take over the world; he has started to gather a following in Spain and Portugal, and from there he plans to take over France, then some of his growing troops would travel to Africa, while the other half would go further into Europe and Asia. This is getting big. If he wants to put his all in the attack against Hogwarts, he'll call in the international forces. We need an army here."
"There must be some way to combine the two ideas."
"Well," Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, contemplating his tea leaves, "I had thought about teaching the seventh and sixth year students how to fight, but that might be a risky business. We'd need more backing than students who aren't even allowed to Apparate."
* * *
Two days had passed since the first flying attempt was taken, and Liamh was bored. He had been issued bed rest and hadn't been allowed out of his rooms to do anything. Nikiatom had become something of a mother hen; he seemed to think that it was his fault that Liamh had almost died. At the moment, he was currently flitting about outside the doorway, trying to decide whether ten times a day for a visit was too much. Liamh had written to Ron and Hermione, and Ron had just sort of ignored him because he had no idea what he was talking about. Hermione, on the other hand, actually did go to check if anything about this was written in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. It wasn't. She panicked. It was funny. He laughed.
His back was still bleeding slightly, and his sheets had turned a lovely crimson color and smelled of dried blood and crusty, old mothballs. He really couldn't care less. He had missed one Order meeting, and he didn't know whether or not it was rescheduled. If it wasn't, Eldrid would have taken over.
Liamh was pulled from his thoughts by Nikiatom coming in. Again.
"Do you need anything?" The sylph asked frantically.
"No, not really. It's just, oh, I don't know," Liamh couldn't decide whether to confide in his tentative friend or not. Nikiatom looked at him shyly for a moment.
"What is it?" The sylph said quietly, an expression of openness on his face. She slowly slithered into a seat next to the expansive bed that held Liamh.
"I got this letter from Dumbledore, you know, my old Headmaster," Nikiatom nodded faintly, "and he is trying to set up an army, but there aren't enough wizards, and he wants our help with military tactics to try and bring down the dark lord that has risen up there. I want to do this, get an alliance with the wizards. But I know that Amadeus and some other Order members will have something to say against this. I have no idea what to do, I think that the future of our people would really be helped if we were to do this, but then again, we really don't have that many people here that can do it. I mean, our population isn't even over four hundred, and it would really hurt us to lose lives. If we were to do this, that is."
Nikiatom sat in silence, something fleeting running through her eyes. Was that sadness? It was. How could it be? Did Nikiatom know more than everyone thought?
"Do it. Voldemort must be brought down." Nikiatom hissed through his teeth, and stood abruptly, not giving Liamh a chance to think over the words. Before leaving, she fluffed Liamh's pillow once.
Liamh sat back, laying down to rest for the day, his back aching at the stress it took to move. He grimaced, wondering how foolish he was to think that he could lead an entire race in a battle against Lord Voldemort if he couldn't even fly yet. He was pretty sure that his people would follow him; at the ball the only problem that they had had was his age, but by now they had gotten over that. Why was it that he felt so small? It wasn't his height, but a lot of the time he felt thin. Slight, like he was still too young to be taken seriously. Perhaps he was, but that couldn't be what kept him from being the ruler he was supposed to be. He wasn't told things, but maybe that was how the sylphs always acted; maybe, if you were supposed to know something, you stumbled onto it yourself, you saw it in a vision, or a dream, or it just came to you. He had found out most of the stuff he knew now on his own. He decided not to worry too much for right now, and closed his eyes, body ready to sleep.
His eyes snapped open. How did Nikiatom know the name of the Free World's dark lord?
* * *
As a captive in his own bedchambers, Liamh had as much time as needed to ponder his latest realization. He didn't want to confront his timid confidante right away, that could be disastrous. Neither did he want to wait for the answer to come to him. So he had to tread carefully around the subject, trying not to break the ice. Nikiatom was just as worried as she usually was, fussing over his pillows and how cold his drink was and how often he was hungry. The older sylph had been glad to take on the job of rubbing a healing ointment over Liamh's back, and slowly, the injury was being healed.
Nikiatom said that it was coming along nicely, healing itself, and it wouldn't bleed so much the next time they tried to fly. This had taken Liamh by surprise; he hadn't known there would be a next time. After a day of observation, he could tell that Nikiatom had been told to keep him trying to fly, but the sylph had other ideas.
As it turned out, the next time came quickly, with a little less blood, and Liamh didn't pass out, since he knew what was coming. However, there was still enough blood to wash clothes with, and it took a week afterwards to heal from that. He had written to both Ron and Hermione, and they had started a frantic letter writing to keep Liamh occupied. He was playing a small game with them; they didn't know he was the monarch. When he saw them again, he was planning on giving them a huge surprise. He couldn't wait to see the looks upon their faces as he calmly told them he was the monarch of the sylphs.
Nikiatom was grudgingly making him fly more and more, with fewer days to rest in between, until finally, there was only the amount of blood that a hangnail would produce. With Liamh being able to walk, he slowly made it so he could go to Order meetings regularly and before long, the idea of going to the Free World to assist the wizards and witches was out in the open. After several days of deep thought and careful persuasion on Liamh's part, the Order decided that they were ready to take action in the affairs above.
* * *
Liamh stole away from his chambers early one morning, wearing his flying clothes and eagerly anticipating what he was planning. Nikiatom had given the way for him, and he was smiling broadly from the delight that he was about to embark upon.
As with the first horrid time that he had ever taken out his wings, the morning was crisp. It was almost scary how much they were the same, almost as if something bad should have been happening, but Liamh knew that wasn't the case. It seemed right, this morning. It seemed right that something wonderful would be the mirror of something terrible, and unexpected. Today would be different; he was determined to make it so. With no further ado, he took off the warmer cloak that covered his riding shirt.
He uttered the strange spell, a ghost of something forming on his lips. It was repeated so much that he needn't remember the words, they were engrained upon memory. He felt the large ebony wings fall out of his back, stretching on their way, sending everything above his waist to relief. A strange thought overcame his senses; I'm free this way. There was no blood to speak of. What a strange feeling, to not bleed. He had come to expect the blood, but now he felt nothing, no trace of pain. There was only the feeling of rightness.
He went over to the edge of the roof. It seemed to be a long way down, but he knew that he would instantly start flying as soon as he was over the edge of the ledge. He took a deep breath, hoping that his idea was correct, and he jumped.
At first he was free falling, then his wings spread, and they became sails, holding him in the air. He flapped them experimentally, and they propelled him forward. He was somewhat surprised at the speed of his flight; he had never really thought that his wings would be able to go as fast as a Nimbus Two Thousand without trying. He soared leisurely over the forest constructed for the sylphs. An overwhelming feeling of joy overtook him, and he took off at the speed of a Firebolt, wind whipping his long hair back away from his face as he smiled, happy to be flying again.
In all the commotion of his coronation and lessons and everything, the one thing that had been lacking was flying. He had missed Quidditch, he had missed flying leisurely to clear his head. Sure, he had known that sylphs could fly, but he had never been able to do it before. Now, it was like this part of his life was nearly mirroring the last, both being one and the same, and suddenly, he missed his friends terribly. That is, more so than he usually did.
But soon, he was caught up in the vigorous feeling of flying. He flew all day, observing the land that he was to call his and his peoples'. He soared for the whole day through, over hills, dales, forests, and waters. When he finally landed at dusk, it was with a slightly triumphant and very happy grin.
* * *
"Will the meeting please come to order? Amadeus, please find a seat, we have only small things to figure out now." Liamh was standing, trying to make it so that the (much taller) sylphs could see him as they found their seats.
"What such things are there left to do? You have apparantly been planning this for a while, and you have filled us in on the basics. There will only be a few of us going, the only thing we'll do is come up with a plan of action, then, if need be, call in all those willing to help with the cause. You've got it all covered. Why must we be here at all?" Amadeus sputtered angrily.
"Well, for one thing, how many of you speak and understand English perfectly? How many of you have ever had to breathe in air so rich that as you re-enter this world, you choke from the sheer breathlessness that goes on here? How many of you have ever even been outside of this one little section of world, here and above? For those of you who haven't, these are all hard tasks that are to be handled with grace and precision. It is harder than you may think; harder than you can comprehend. Really Amadeus, I thought you had more intelligence than to think that I, at my age, could possibly pull this off. I am smarter than I used to be; don't treat me as a child, for that which I am is not my age to you. Who volunteers to be first?" Liamh blankly stated, words rolling off his tongue with irony and bitterness.
"Oh, and Nikiatom, do come out of the shadows, you're starting to bother me." Liamh didn't even glance in his direction and stifled a yawn with his hand. "If you are to come uninvited to a meeting, then show yourself with pride."
Nikiatom slipped from the shadows, eyes downcast, mumbling curses under her breath.
"I will go, if only to show support for you." Lemagne stuttered after the awkward silence that followed Nikiatom's meek entrance.
Eldrid looked up from where he was looking down at his notes. "So will I; you must have someone for . . . guidance." Several of the sylphs nodded their consent.
Liamh muttered to himself, then looked around at them. "Well, that's two, not including myself. And, Amadeus, I want you to come too."
There was yet another awkward pause as everyone who had foreseen this turn of events delighted in the looks on the others' face.
"E-excuse me?" Lemagne asked tentatively.
"Yes, there must be someone there to challenge me and my ideas." Liamh waved off all questions. "Now, all we need are a few guides. I've already recruited Danu, as I know that he's been there before. We should only need one more person, so that the balance will be three to three. Nikiatom, do you have anything to say?"
"Um, well, can I talk to you later?" Nikiatom stuttered. Liamh gave the barest of nods.
"If so, can we move on to other matters?" Everyone nodded, as Tyrist motioned that he had something to say.
"If we are to help in a war, we will need someone to get the sylphs into shape for an army. We do not have many people, but our tactics and technique is strong, and unpredictable. We could be of use, not to mention with our healing powers. But we are rusty. Most sylphs know how to use their skills in battle, but have never been called upon to do so. I vote that as you and the other . . . will there be royalty at the meeting?" Tyrist looked to Eldrid, then back to Liamh.
"Yes, there will be the Dwarf lord and lady, the Minister of Magic (a wizard), the High Chieftan of the Merpeople, the Veela Countess, a representative for the giants, and the Queen of the Fairies. Continue." Liamh nodded to his fellow Order member.
"Right. Anyway, my point is that while there will be others there, we still need to be able to fight adequately. I suggest that we start a training regime. That cuts us down to around 350 because the children shouldn't have to fight." Tyrist looked as if she were searching for something.
"Then what shall we do with them if we do go to war? We can bring them with us, I suppose, but we'll need to use all the invisibility cloaks we can." Lemagne joined in, helping the serious sylph.
"Right, well, every family has one, and mine has about ten, so we can give you some." Kiara Nikomik Shane the Third boasted.
"Oh, shut up!" Tyrist bursted.
"I was just adding to the conversation!"
"Maybe you shouldn't be here! These matters are too great for you to understand!"
Liamh massaged his temples as the ongoing war waged in front of his eyes. This was not really what he had expected. Honestly, they called him immature!
"Will you all be quiet!" He screamed in English.
That did it.
"We still have more to work out. While around the other meeting members, no one is to speak in sylvish. If you have something to say, and don't know how, transfer your thought to me and I'll say it for you. No one is to belittle any of the other leaders, it is the first time that they will have encountered us since around zero BC, we want to make a good impression if we are ever to gain an alliance with them. We will answer all other questions on the way, meeting adjourned."
* * *
"Nikiatom? You wanted to talk to me?" Liamh approached him carefully, as if he were a scared cat.
"Yes." She nodded. There was a silence, while Liamh patiently waited for Nikiatom to talk with him.
"I know that you know that I've been to the Free World before, but my experience hadn't been good, and I need y-someone - there to sort of . . . I don't know, encourage me." He looked down as her feet scuffed at the ground. A blush rose to his cheeks, and Liamh gently touched Nikiatom's chin and guided her to look at him.
"If you want me to help you through it, all you have to do is ask." He stated, quietly so no one else who may have been approaching could hear. Nikiatom opted to speak through telepathy.
Will you help me when we go to the Free World? I was traumatized and don't know if I can handle it.
Of course I will. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?
* * *
"Oh my god! Ron! Ron! Get out here quickly!" Hermione squealed, clutching the letter from Harry in her hand.
"What is it?" He asked irritably. Draco Malfoy had given him a hard time again that day.
"Harry's coming! Harry's coming! Harry's coming!"
"Wha?"
"Harry's coming! Are you deaf?" Hermione thrust the letter into Ron's hands. He read it quickly, muttering incoherently as he always did when reading quickly. He let out a shriek, and it caught the attention of his roommates.
"Ron, we've been over this, you sound like a girl when you do that." Seamus said grumpily.
"Ron, you've interrupted our very important business." Dean grumbled.
"Yeah, really." Ron rolled his eyes.
"No! It really was important!" defended Seamus.
"Really. We were being very useful." Dean grumbled.
"You were staring into the fire." Neville pointed out.
"Well, um, it could have gotten out of hand." Seamus mumbled.
"Guys, listen to me! Harry's coming back! He's gonna be here!" Hermione explained.
"What! He's coming! Now? Why?" Neville asked.
"He's gotten the other sylphs to agree that they should help us in the war against you-know-who!"
That night, there was a small party in Gryffindor, in which all those old enough to have known the charming Harry Potter well celebrated his re- arrival into their lives.
A/N: Here it is, the painful chapter 10! I was tempted to skip on to chapter 11, but here it is! Ha! It's finally done! After a month's worth of writer's block, here it is, short, but nonetheless DONE! The plot can finally start to come together from here, thank god, but, sadly, there's the sad news that I'm gaining on halfway through with this one.
A/N 2: Is this better than the last version?
To the reviewers:
Angael: From when you wrote the review, I think this wasn't that long to wait!
Usa Yui and Usa Ku: Don't worry, I'm not about to get fed up! I had to suffer through this chapter, so the worst for me is over.
Princess Sparkle: I did my best to keep it as original as possible, and your review told me that I succeeded in that. Your hope is correct, this is all my own writing. Draco is coming up, don't worry! He has an important role to play yet!
Zeynel: Harry will be in the Free World in the next chapter, don't worry! Oh, and your questions will be answered later.
Prophetess of Hearts: I'm wondering when the Order will come around too . . . that's right, I should probably plan that . . .
Clepsydra-Delphinus: You might be sorry to hear this, but I don't know if Harry and Draco are going to get together or not. There's another pairing that I'm really thinking of, but even if I do change the pairing, I'll keep Draco as an important asset to the story. You know how to spell my name? I feel so special and loved! Most people spell it Sakiapa, and that kinda irritates me. I only hope that this chapter lived up to all the others, I really hated writing it.
Phoenix: The next chapter should take less time to get up, I'll be having fun with that one! Hehehehehehe . . .
Asurahime: I don't know what to say! I love reading your reviews! They make me feel important. I'm sorry this took so long, it was a really hard chapter for me to write . . . The next should be amusing and MUCH longer, as well as finished quickly. What did you expect it to be when you first read it? I'm just curious, I might just have to change my summary a bit.
Silver Lightning: I'm glad that it came across the way I wanted it to! I was relieved when I read your review, I didn't have to go back and change a whole bunch of stuff.
