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 Twelve: Of Dreams and Dragontamers
Harry sat up in bed, gasping and thrusting the untamed hair from his sweaty face. Oh, what a plague of a dream! He knew whom it was that brought it on. He knew that it was the look Severus Snape had given him last night at the ball. The ball . . . it had been a night of great mixture, some of it not so great, however. What had the professor been thinking as he saw Harry walk toward them? A curse to the unyielding emotions of the mortal! There had been so much confusion that he had not been able to make out who was thinking what. Oh well, he thought to himself, perhaps I should ready myself for the day. Perhaps something will come to me in the shower.
It was morning, and the light from outside shone so brightly that he had to squint. He got his shampoo and soap together, as well as a towel, and walked to the shower. Cedric had once told him that hot water helped to relax him, and helped him think. Harry took this advice seriously, and he couldn't help but wonder whether it was in respect for Cedric or out of guilt for the fact that he hadn't believed Cedric at first. Nevertheless, he just grew more worried as he thought over the dream.
Sylphs were proud of their prophetic nature. The correct sylvan prophets went all the way back to Synelliargh, the very first sylvan leader. It was something that was rarely granted to anyone but a sylph, and no one who was not of magical standards. Not only that, but sylvan memory was nearly perfect. They were famous (among certain circles) for Remembering things that hadn't even happened in their lifetime. This was a somewhat rarer gift. The bearers of this gift were the members of the Order; there was not one sylvan monarch who did not feel the force of someone else's burdens. They had the best memory of all sylphs, and the best Memory.
He supposed that the dream itself wasn't what was really scaring him; it was the fact that he didn't remember it.
* * *
The Great Hall was never very full on Saturday mornings, and that was why Harry (who met up with Ron and Hermione on the way) chose to dine at the usual hour that breakfast is served. They were currently in an argument over whom exactly it was that was the scariest teacher at Hogwarts.
"Oh, honestly Ron! Professor Binns is not that frightening!" Hermione huffed.
"He's a ghost! He scared the crap out of me when I was a first year!"
"Yes, but you're also terrified of small, itty bitty spiders." Harry looked at him plaintively.
"Really, does he still scare you?" Hermione queried. This was a possible embarrassment for Ron. As well as a good reason to turn the trademarked Weasley shade of vermillion.
"Yes." He mumbled.
Harry and Hermione laughed themselves into peals of tears.
"What's he going to do? Bore you to death?" Hermione giggled.
"Uh, er, well, when I was little, the ghoul in the attic would come after me while I was sleeping." Ron tried to defend himself.
"Ron, the ghoul in your attic was so pathetic that he used to sit around all day trying to peal the paint from the walls with his fingernails." Harry 'helpfully' pointed out.
"That only made him scarier! He was trying to open up a secret doorway into the twins' and my room so that they could attack me from the air!"
"Oh, come off it, you know that he never got very far because his fingernails weren't solid enough to actually touch the boards much less peal them." Hermione argued.
"How would you like it if you were sitting on your bed, looking up at the ceiling, and this hand just kept dipping into your ceiling?"
"You're pathetic."
"Well, who do you think is the scariest teacher?" Ron asked, on a roll now.
"Professor Snape." Harry and Hermione said at the same time.
There was silence from Ron.
"You're creepy, but right." He sighed in defeat.
There was a sudden squeal as all three heads turned to the door. There, in the most misshapen clothes Harry had ever seen him wear, was Dobby the House-Elf. The strangely garbed elf launched himself like a torpedo toward the now monarch and sobbed into his tunic.
"Dobby thought Mister Harry Potter sir was not coming back! Mister Harry Potter was too great, too proud, too noble to want to come back and see poor poor Dobby! But he has! Mister Harry Potter has come back to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy, he could cry! He is crying! Oh, Mister Harry Potter, you're back!" Dobby shrieked loudly as he blew his nose on the orange and purple plaid vest he was wearing.
"How have you been, Dobby?" Harry asked, smiling at the tiny Elf's enthusiasm.
"Oh, Dobby has been working really hard in order to help Master Dumbledore, sir. Mr. Potter's Wheezy has been giving Dobby news of Mr. Potter. But sir," Dobby said, eyes growing wide in confusion, "why didn't you ever tell Dobby that you were his King?"
"What do you mean, Dobby?" Hermione asked, suspicious of Elf rights again.
"Well, Mr. Harry Potter is an Elve, and Elves rule over the Elfs." Dobby touched the tip of Harry's very pointed ear in astonishment. "Dobby and the House Elfs all thought that the Elves had gone into the ground, never to be seen again. What is Mister Harry Potter doing here, Dobby asks?"
"The Elves have come to help the wizards in the war against Voldemort." Harry explained.
"Oh, so you came with the others."
"What others?" Ron asked.
"Mister Wheezy, the others that came last night. Dobby has seen them. They dress really fancy and talk to each others only. There are some that are really small and fat, and others that are beautiful, but never as beautiful as the high Elves. They weren't as nice to Dobby as Mister Potter is. Mister Potter is too kind, too good, too noble, too-"
"Dobby, I'm not as good as you think I am."
"Mister Harry Potter is also modest!"
Hermione and Ron were smiling in amusement as Dobby said goodbye to Harry, hugged him, and went back to the kitchens.
"Ron, when is your father getting here? As Minister of Magic he's supposed to come to this meeting." Harry asked, turning to his friends.
"Oh, they had this huge Death Eater raid! They caught about ten in the same house. Someone tipped the ministry off that there was going to be a meeting to pass information within their circle, and the Aurors caught them all. He had to oversee their trial yesterday, and so he'll be coming sometime today." Ron explained.
"Really? Did your dad say who the Death Eaters were?" Harry asked.
"No, and that's the weird thing. He said that it was 'confidential information' that he couldn't tell the public about. Normally he would come right out and tell everyone, or at least everyone in the family who was caught so he could get feedback on them."
"That's odd. Do you have any ideas whatsoever?" Hermione asked.
"No, he wouldn't say anything in the letter."
"What about Charlie?"
"I don't know." Ron sighed.
There was a slight pause. "I am getting the feeling that there's something I have not been told yet." Harry said, looking from one of his friends to the other.
"Oh, that's right! I had completely forgotten that we didn't tell him yet!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Oh, yeah! He was travelling when we found out, and so we couldn't send a letter to him!" Ron looked at Harry, eyes wide and mouth agape.
"What recent development have I missed?" Harry's inquiry was becoming ever the more urgent.
"Charlie, my brother Charlie, while he was in Romania, was approached by the Grey Wizards." Ron explained. "They wanted him to train to be one of them, because at a dragon camp that he had held to teach little witches and wizards about dragons, one of the Grey Witches had seen him and asked after him. When they found his magical record, they decided that they would like him in their clan, and so they came to him and asked him if he would join them. He said yes, but didn't tell Mum and Dad. Two days ago he told them, and dad got so mad at him that he won't even speak with him. Mum doesn't really care, and I don't know what's gotten into Dad, but it's not good."
"Mrs. Weasley wrote to Ron after his Dad had and said that he wouldn't even let Charlie into the house, and burned all letters of apology. This is really weird. I've never seen Mr. Weasley act this way before." Hermione continued where Ron had left off.
"Really?"
After they were done debating this matter, they sat at the Gryffindor table, discussing miscellaneous matters, Harry getting caught up in all that had happened while he was gone and they asked him everything about the sylvan underworld.
* * *
Eventually, Harry, Ron and Hermione made it outside in the cold fall weather, to wander peacefully around the lake. Harry listened to Ron and Hermione argue about most everything, and they watched him as he walked, their eyes fascinated that he was so different. It was nice to be back together, just that, comfortable, as if most things hadn't changed. Soon, they fell to silence, listening to the cold breeze on the grass.
The edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed ever nearer, the trees calling to Harry as he tried to ignore them. All time seemed to stop; Ron and Hermione were looking at him strangely, but he didn't notice. His eyes flashed purple, his ears alerted themselves to the sounds of this natural land. And he was gone.
Ron and Hermione could not keep up with him, his speed and agility unnatural to the human wizard and witch. They had not had long practice with running through the trees; they had never had to before. And now their otherworldly friend had taken off like a madman. What could they possibly do other than follow him?
And still he plunged into the depths of the forest. There was little light, and what small ration was given them was made musty by the trees and the smell of old death. He ran and ran, the voices of the forest laughing at him, their mystery surging him on. There was no sound to be heard from the feet of the leader of the sylphs, but all around them the trees rustled, the underbrush was disturbed, and the deadness of the old and partially angry forest was not lost.
And as suddenly as he had started, he stopped.
Ron and Hermione finally caught up to him, but it was not their friend that they found.
There was a person so intimate with the forest that one could almost not tell him apart from the branches of the ages old watchmen and women of the wood. He was so concealed that it was hard to tell whether he was shadow or flame, water or acid, and everything stilled with his ceased energy. Eyes closed in concentration, hands flitting to hang limply by his side, the child of light stood, all things poised to hear his first words on the breath of a wind, whither they came.
"The trees are speaking to one another."
The voice was not his own.
* * *
Voldemort stood at the high end of the tower in his citadel; where is their eye? The riddle plauged him, it tormented him. He had no psychic connection with Harry Potter, despite what the other could get through him. He knew nothing of his actions, or even where he was at the moment, and even if he had been able to somehow reach through to the sylph, his mind was so closely guarded that no one would ever get in. Oh, he had no idea of how he was supposed to go about bringing the child ruler to the ground, and, by all means, how to get him six feet under it. There was definitely something that was not to be expected here. There were definitely no words to be used to bring him to his knees. He was far too valiant and loved for that.
And that was his problem. There were so many people to help the boy in his quest to rid the world of Voldemort and smear the blood of his followers across the wall that it was so very nearly impossible to do any harm to him without actually having to gather up the energy to do it himself. Oh, what he wouldn't do for a little tiny bit of empathy from anyone with half a mind! Of course, his Death Eaters could never understand it; they were far too scared of him to make worthy servants. There was only one in their number that carried the dignity and the courage to think of Lord Voldemort as, if possible, more than a snake and more than a figure of sheer evil. And that, the old and power-hungry man had to believe, was at least something.
Voldemort picked idly at his nails, wondering where the dirt had come from. It had been so long since he'd ventured from these halls; it was almost an alien sight to him. Where could he have acquired the dirt as an ingrown nail polish? He surely hadn't done anything with the stuff since that night in the graveyard over a year ago. There were some whispers that he grew lazy, but they were quickly magnified into the pleading and screams of those tortured. It was enough fun for him to wait it out in his dark castle, watching on his scale model of the earth what his distruction had caused.
Pandemonium was rampant in South America; the muggles were finding it hard to run. There were no Death Eaters in either Australia or Africa; it was much too elementary to take down for his liking. Asia was to be slaughtered from within, for it was where his citadel was. After all, it would be foolish to begin a war in the jungle. And that was why he had built his citadel in the middle of the jungles. Anyone would be foolish to even try to wage open war when they could never know the terrain beneath their feet. When his ranks were strong enough, he would descend upon the Asians by air, killing many innocents was just one of his dark incentives. North America would be hard to take out; especially the United States. They were far too arrogant for their own good, let alone his good. Europe would eventually crumble to his power, and with it, he would have a basis for building an army of Death Eaters so strong they would have made Rome crumble had both powers been crossing the same span of years. He already had most of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland in the palm of his hand. The only ministry to fight him had been led by Arthur Weasley. What a pity it was that they didn't have England crumpled. Surely he would cave soon. There was gossip among the Death Eaters that he was acting more irrational than was usual. His strong emotional defenses were starting to crumble again; it wouldn't be long before . . .
"My Lord," a voice interrupted his musings.
"Yes, what is it, Grima?" Voldemort asked as he turned to Wormtail.
"I have a present for you my lord. I think you're going to like it." This was strange. Wormtail was acting completely out of character. Was he really that excited?
"Well, bring it in then."
Voldemort, slightly interested, turned away from his musings and into the present. He waited a short while, and soon the doors were thrown open. A trio of Death Eaters walked in, and he noticed that they were only his most trusted. They slowly disintegrated to the side of the steepled hall, and he found what had to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen gazing at him from behind its cloak.
"Hello, Tom."
* * *
It had been a long while since Harry had run off into the forest, and just stopped, and quite frankly, Ron and Hermione were just starting to get a little bit edgy. The only thing he had said was that the trees were talking to one another, and when he had spoken his strange voice had taken on a different tone. Almost as though . . . it wasn't his voice.
They stood waiting, and the sun seemed to have passed by the sky, but when Harry turned to them, the sun seemed to come back from its long wander. His eyes had gone back to green, and he smiled at them.
"Ron, we should go meet your father. He's here, by the lake."
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and followed their friend back into the sunlight. And, as sure as it was afternoon, there stood Arthur Weasley. His red hair glinted in the sunlight, and there was a smile upon his face as he held a short conversation with the house elf that had taken his bags. He looked their way, and came walking briskly to meet his son and Hermione.
"Hello, Ron."
"Hi, dad." They shook hands, a far more masculine and adult thing to do than hug.
Hermione smiled and took Mr. Weasley into a hug, knowing that it wasn't as embarrassing if she was the one who instigated it. He hugged her back, then finally noticed the black-haired angel standing in the shadows.
"Ron, who's your new friend, and what is her name?" He asked, brows drawn together in confusion.
"That's funny, Mr. Weasley, I thought that you already knew who I am." Harry said, laughter all through his voice.
Mr. Weasley looked taken aback for a moment, taking in the decorated blue leggings and navy tunic of the person, then looking to the bare feet and decorative fringe and slight flair at the ankle. The figure before him had long ebony hair, mostly hanging down, except for the top half of her head, which was pulled back to twine into the headdress. The figure smiled, striking emerald eyes twinkling out at him. It was then that he noticed the scar.
"Oh my god! Harry! It's you!" He laughed at his foolish mistake, blushing slightly as he realized that he really wanted to hug this person.
"Yes Mr. Weasley, it is me. I don't think I'll tire of this game easily. Everyone so far has not recognized me. Ron's reaction to me was quite amusing, and I must say that for once not one person gawkes at me for who I am, but rather for who I am not." Harry smiled, his bright eyes flashing purple for a millisecond.
"I had almost forgotten the implications that go with being a sylph. For some reason, I had pictured you exactly the same as you had been before you left." Mr. Weasley apologized, not taking his eyes off the figure before him.
"We don't really mind. Even when we were here in this world before we lived in secrecy, and the wizards and witches didn't bother to learn of our ways, so our culture is very misunderstood. We are used to it."
"So, I have quite a bit of time to spare, would you mind explaining it to me?" Mr. Weasley said, glancing from Ron, Hermione and Harry to Hogwarts.
"Not at all."
They spent all of that afternoon discussing what had happened while Harry was gone, and all that Harry had learned on his journeys. The sun grew weary of his high position in the sky, and was soon to be replaced by the moon. As they were heading in to dinner, Harry was stopped by Lemagne, who pulled him aside and spoke in rapid sylvan with him.
"You must come with me. The other Order members are getting a little angry and confused, particularly Amadeus, and I need your help in calming them."
"What seems to have triggered this?"
"Amadeus was talking with a man, I can't recall his name right off the bat, but I think it was Severus Snape, and when the man mentioned war, he realized that if our people are involved at all, it just might be the end of our race."
"Oh, no! I knew that something like this would happen! Where are they?"
"They are in our corridor, I think we should hurry, they may be demanding to go home."
Harry turned to the two Weasley men and Hermione. "There has been a small crisis while I was away that I have now to deal with, if you will excuse me."
They nodded dumbly, having never heard the flowing language of the sylphs before and turned to go back into the hall.
Harry sped down the corridors after Lemagne, praying that it was not out of control yet, and when they finally reached the Order members, it was a scene to remember.
Amadeus stood in the middle of the sylphs, bellowing something or another, while Eldrid stood with them, trying to call it to order, and Triskele was shouting angrily back at Amadeus that he had no right to say whatever it was that he was saying because no plans had been finalized yet. Nikiatom stood out of the way and in the shadows, listening intently to them argue.
"Will everybody please stop shouting and calm down!" Harry yelled into the angry mob.
There was silence in the corridor.
"Nikiatom, would you mind explaining to me the different sides of the argument?"
"Of course not, Liamh." It took him a moment to compose herself, and when he spoke it was in a low, raspy voice. "Amadeus came back shouting about how you were crazy to get us involved in such an endeavor, and that we should just go back home. That got us all out of our rooms. When Triskele confronted her calmly, he just started shouting even more about how we were all blind to what you were doing to us. They eventually got into a bellowing contest that eventually got so bad that Lemagne had to go and find you."
After Nikiatom had shrunk back into her corner, Harry looked at them all.
"Did I ever say we were going to get involved in a war? Did I ever say that it was my aim to bring our entire race to ruin so we could march into battle with the other people that are here? Our plans have not been finalized, and I would never send our people into something that they would not come back from. In order for us to be able to work together, you have to trust me." There was a pain in the young sylph's voice that most had not heard there before. It dismayed them, and made them ashamed of themselves for their quarrel.
"What is it you would have me do? Would you rather I die so that someone else can take the position? Is that what you want? Somehow, I don't think so. I have not read as much of that through your minds and actions. We are all in this together; what we decide is right for our populations is what we are all going to do, but not before we look at all sides. War is a terrible thing; it kills allys just as quickly as it kills enemies. You know that you would be careful in the situation I am in, why don't you think I would have the common sense to be just as careful if not more?"
The sylphs looked at each other. It was a rare thing when they fought, and usually it was brought on by two Dragons. Most of the sylphs were looking meekly at their young leader, but there was a tension in the air. Something was going to happen. Something big. The silence hung among them, as would a wraith, feeding off their guilt. The raw emotions that had been brought forth from the argument were as traceable as fevered flesh on a heat detector.
Harry smiled at them slightly, his eyes losing focus a bit, and when they rolled back in his head, the whisper came from his mouth as the voice of a dead wind.
"They're coming for us."
It was Nikiatom who caught him as he fell to the floor.
* * *
When Harry woke up the next day, his head throbbed and it hurt him to move too quickly. It felt as though someone had taken a bat to his head, and his voice strained with the effort to speak sylvan. The bed he lay in was not a comfort, for it was not his own, and it felt as though it knew someone else was supposed to be sleeping in it. The daylight streamed in through the window; a cold autumn morning greeted him. The wind was cold and cruel, but for some reason whoever it was that slept in this room kept the window open. Harry groaned and tried to pull the covers over his face, curling into a little ball in the midst of the creamy covers. His senses told him that someone had entered the room. He had no urge to seem awake, well- rested, or cheerful this morning, so he groaned and rolled over under the covers.
"Your morning grace astounds me," came the sarcastic reply to the uneasy lump in the bed.
"Nikiatom?"
"Yes, Nikiatom."
"You're different this morning." Harry groaned, shifting the covers slightly to uncover his forehead smeared with black hair.
"Of course I'm different. I'm always different when looking after the sick; or, rather, confused. You were not a pretty picture last night, and you're even less in beauty this morning. I have to get you up; the meeting still won't start for several hours, and you'll need all that time to ready yourself." Nikiatom was moving around the room as he spoke, Harry could sense it. What she was doing was rather fuzzy, and through the pounding headache roaring at his temples, Harry found it hard to remember anything.
"What happened last night?" He asked.
"You were taken by something, but whether it was force or willingness, I do not know." Nikiatom explained, and Harry felt his weight on the bed again.
"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" Harry asked, uncovering his eyes for the other.
"I mean exactly what I say; I do not know." Harry focused on Nikiatom as he saw her stirring something with a pestel. "Eat this. It is a fine breakfast for the plagued. It will help you to get up."
"Thank you." Harry said as he took it from Nikiatom. He tasted it, and it tasted of Bavarian cream and donuts. A typical, surprising sylvan medicene.
Nikiatom got up and went to his section of the rooms. What was being done in there, he could not tell, but it sounded as though the older sylph was cooking. The morning was far too light to be considered legal. The overcast skies outside belied the cheeriness of the southern wind. At least it was warm. Though, perhaps Harry would not have preferred it in that way. Perhaps he wanted it to be cold. Nikiatom came back into the room, carrying a chelace of the sylvan milk.
"I see you're looking slightly more awake." She commented, sitting once again on the bed.
"Yes, I am."
"That is well, for you have to be up very soon. Since you are in my rooms, I will fetch you the clothes you wish to wear so you won't have to move." He stood, and, turning to look back at Harry, left.
When Harry was done getting dressed and Nikiatom was ready for the day as well, they went out to meet the other sylphs so they could file to the meeting together. It was an unspoken law that they wouldn't speak at this particular parley; they needed to know what the other races would figure for first. It was not of their design to create an army of sylvan warriors, nor did they want to sit passively throughout the entire process. Today, they would gather information. Tomorrow, they would start. Tomorrow, they could plan. Tomorrow, they would save the people of this world. But for today, they would listen, and they would learn.
So they set out to find the conference room, and passed a hurrying Professor McGonagal on their way. She took no notice of them as she blustered off to find the rulers and representatives who didn't know their way. They met no one else as they wandered the dank corridors, making their way ever toward the great library that Hogwarts contained. The halls were dark in these hours of the morning, the lanterns lit to make the visitor feel as though the place was something more than what it really was.
When they found the library, they walked determinedly back to the deserted row of books on banishing spells and the history thereof, and when they found it, they searched the titles. They looked to the middle row, and, their keen eyes seeing the small hollow book that didn't have a title that was legible, they hastily pushed it in while Nikiatom kept the prying eyes of Madame Pince away with an unsaid spell. There they found a long, twisting staircase that was to lead them up to the conference room. They started their ascent, all the while thinking idly to themselves about the craftsmanship of the place and what would have been done differently had they been the ones to build this haven. Their thoughts were mingling because they were so common to one another that by the time they reached the top of the stairs, they had had quite enough of each other for one morning. Such a pity we'll have to be in the same room together after this, Nikiatom, Harry jested, we've already invaded each other enough. Harry smiled at Nikiatom, who gave a small halfsmile back. The other sylphs laughed in their minds, the joke not private. When the end to the cursed stairs drew near, they walked in through a rather chipped and plain wooden door to the brightest room they had been in, other, of course, than their own rooms.
The office where the meeting was to be held was richly furnished, with red, green, yellow and blue prints on the walls. The printwork detailed the ancient story of Belerine and Utumbo, the two tragic lovers. Harry remembered reading their story when he was younger, and how it had moved him. It told of the French lord Belerine, who, while on a safari to Africa, met the black maiden Utumbo, and how they fell in love only to be ripped apart by prejudice and fate. Poor Utumbo was sold by a jealous advisor of Belerine and forced into slavery in the House of the Dying Star, or so it was called after their story was found and published. There was far more to it than that, but Harry was distracted at the moment. He saw, much to his amusement, a round table, beset with chairs that were of the same rich cherry color as the table. They didn't look remotely comfortable, but at least there was a fading purple cushion to make it a bit more welcoming to anyone of human stature. They varied in size, one large enough to fit a giant, one small enough to suit the fairy queen (it was seated on the table, rather than at it.) The sylphs knew where they were meant to sit, and quietly found their seats.
They were not the first ones to enter the conference room, not by a long shot. The wizards were there, but none of the grey ones. Somehow, they had not been invited to this gathering. The veela countess sat in her chair, looking gracefully bored. The dwarf lord and lordess were having a rather hushed argument, and were not to be bothered. Dumbledore smiled brightly at Harry as he took his seat along with the rest of the sylphs. Arthur Weasley was staring at them, for he had only seen Harry yesterday, not the rest of the sylphs, and he would need some time to get used to them. The veela countess looked at them with something akin to contempt in her gaze, and Triskele smiled at her. She huffed and turned away. Lemagne smiled at the display, turning to the others that were slowly filing in. Mr. Weasley blinked and looked away, having finally gotten used to the sight of the company of sylphs. He turned to watch the others file in to the room, joining Lemagne in his perusal of them.
In flitted the queen of the fairies, followed closely by several rather unfortunate House Elves who had the job of carrying a tub with the Cheiftan of the Merpeople in it, and setting it at the table.
Harry had never seen a real merman before; well, at least, not one of this race. He had ever only seen freshwater merpeople, and this was one of the great mermen of the seas. His beard was black, as was his hair. Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he noticed that his eyes were pitch black, like a seal's. They had never seen light to tint them, and without the light, there was no way they would have to have white in his eyes. He had lean muscle, the muscle of one who swims to get it, not the muscle of one who lifts heavy weight all day. His brow and cheekbones were high, yet his eyes had a slightly Asian tilt to them, and his nose was flat and narrow. He had seen many things in his long lifetime, but most of them were not things that people who walked upon the land would understand. He had seen great sea wars; he had seen the catching of his people in fish nets; he had seen the wars between the different races of oceanic peoples, and he took it all in stride. His bathtub was really more of a pensieve bowl, with strange lettering on the side that was not readable to anyone who did not read sylvan. Engraved upon it were these words:
Do not get lost in your own minds, For your mind is not ours to see Your thoughts are a gift, the words that bind You to the great utopian seas Do not forgive, do not forget, But do not hold your grudges there For taxing times will come yet And you'll need more time inside the lair Of your mind
It was a shining silver, bound with gold, and held far more than just the Chieftan that lay there, but what else was not for them to know.
Next came the two people that Harry had not known would be coming, but had met at the welcoming ball. They were the Korean Emperer and Emperess of Magic, and they had come for unclarified reasons; for as much as the sylphs could guess using logic and each other, they still did not know everything. But, perhaps if they had lived here and not in the Underworld, they would know more in the affairs of Mankind and Witchkind. They had seemed agreeable people, and some of the sort that had made the ball exotic. He was dressed in a plain black tuxedo and she wore a purple kimono eccentrically. Harry had taken a close liking to them, and smiled now as they found their seats.
At this point Harry was distracted when Hagrid bowed his head to enter through the door that was meant only for people of a more allowing size. He smiled brightly, and waved, and Hagrid smiled back. He quickly took his seat, the rather overlarge one beside the Veela countess. She looked at him rather disdainfully, and turned her nose to someone else.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and signalled that they were ready to begin by standing and addressing the council of different races.
"You have all been called here to partake in the decision making that may begin the war, and may not. All here are present, and we must get to work quickly."
"Eighteen places are set but only seventeen are here. Where is Dunhall of the Grey Wizards? I wish to see him." Eldrid asked during a slight pause.
"He has been delayed by great powers." Harry answered, looking to his fellow order member.
"He will be coming sometime next week." Lemagne added as an afterthought.
Dumbledore looked as though he had been about to answer the question, but he shook his head as it was answered for him. He was a bit flustered as he continued, but only the sylphs knew what it was he felt at the time.
"We have a great many things to discuss today, but I fear that I have no order in which we will go, only that I will start by saying a few words and from there we'll . . . just have to wing it." His eyes sparkled as he looked at the rest of the council, and, taking a deep breath, continued his speech.
"The Dark Lord's citadel is as of yet unknown to us, but there is evidence that he has travelled far and wide from it. The Peruvian governments have contacted me to complain of the wild men that kill their villiages; the dwarf nation of Canada is growing uneasy at the thing that might just sound like Dark Spells in their land. The whispers of the Death Eaters' evil blow across their lands with the force of many crossing winds. Here in England the land is already being tarnished to nothing of a wasteland; we are the place where the Death Eaters go to have fun while torturing innocents. Our news comes mostly from cloaked informants that may or may not be just trying to make us believe something that isn't true and may be a trap. I feel the losses of our people every day; it weighs heavy on our minds. Before we can separate truth from falsehood we must know the rumors of other peoples as well as our own." He finally sat, and looked to the other representatives for grace.
"There are rumors in our mines, there is no doubt about that. There is talk of strange . . . things that could hardly be called people traveling in our lands. They never come to the mines, but they travel the wide territories of the north. There is talk that they don't rest, and they never stop, and if they do, it is only to converse together in a dark tongue." The Dwarf lady spoke before the lord could get a word in. "We fear for our people, although these creatures don't seem to want our iron or nickel. Nor do they really seem to be interested in our actions. They are looking for something, but what they would want with our people is beyond us."
"Thank you, Lady Gretel." Mr. Weasley said, and the dwarf lady smiled a hideous smile through her slight beard.
"That is odd, for we have found strange things searching our country as well. They have never come down from the skies, but everyone fears the day that they might. They are nothing but a shadow on our lands, but we still fear them." The Korean empress of magic added.
"We have at least one thing that appears true, for we have seen their shadow come and go as well." Mr. Weasley confirmed.
There was a slight pause in which everyone looked a bit uncomfortable.
"Are they the only travelors you've noticed? We see far more than you do in our small country of France." The Veela Countess spoke up.
"And what is of so great importance that you cannot name it without a pause?" Draelf, the dwarf lord, interjected.
"Pray tell, do these strangers that you speak of, the Hands of Fear, wear grey cloaks to cover their features?" She asked, irritated.
"No. They wear black."
"Then we are not speaking of the same people." She paused, creating a dramatic effect. "The people who haunt our villages are clothed in grey, and they keep their hoods up to cover their features. We ignored them at first, but it was unnerving how they melted completely into the background. We never could tell if they were there or not. They were sent as spies to our lands, and listened in on a conversation between two of my most trusted advisors. The next week, the entire Veela guard was slaughtered. We have no army, not one of them survived the purging of lives. They devastated our families, and they let loose strange omens to the air. We go no where without first looking with a mirror to see if it falls over a shrouded figure crouching in the corner. Our families are terrified, and refuse to go to work. Our economy has crashed into the ground, and our former gaiety is squandered to our feet. No music plays, and no children laugh without being shushed by their mothers."
"You say these people were cloaked in grey?" Mr. Weasley asked keenly.
"Yes, and held nothing to set them up as being of their true wealth and magic. For they would have had to have used means both magical and seductive."
"This is a strange predicament. They sound rather like the grey wizards do, but why would they be after Veelan lands? And if not their lands, what do they want?" Mr. Weasley wondered aloud.
"It is not within our bounds to know." The Veela Countess let her words drift.
"Surely they cannot have fallen to darkness! The leader of the Grey Wizards is going to be here tomorrow!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople exclaimed in shock.
"It is not entirely impossible. These are dangerous times; and in dangerous times, you can never be too sure of who your allies are." The Fairy Queen predicted in a voice that was far too low to come from a person of her stature.
"There is nothing we can do until Dunhall arrives tomorrow. It is imperative that we watch him closely." The Lady Gretel said.
"What a riddle our lives have turned out to be!" The Empress of Magic from Korea said.
"The riddle here thickens; two nights ago we found a ship to be newly sunken in the depths of the ocean just off the eastern coast of Africa. When we inspected it, we found it to have no crew, and no load. We searched the waters surrounding it, and there was no tell tale oil leak, and no rust on any of the ship's engines. I sent a selkie to investigate the shores of South America, for the only thing we had found was a sea route to Alexandria, Egypt from Brazil. She searched through all records of sea deportations from the year, and not one had been going to Egypt. We found no magical items of any kind, but the ship reeked of the stuff; it was far too suspicious not to remember!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople added to the discussion.
"Are you absolutely sure you weren't hallucinating?" The Veela Countess asked cheekily.
"You didn't see it, so you couldn't have known of its reality!"
"You don't sound very sure, do you? I am afraid that this claim is too radical to take seriously."
"I brought the map knowing you'd be here, o goddess of impertinence." He reached into his pensieve to bring out the watered paper. He set it in the center of the table, for all to observe.
The Veela Countess sucked in an exasperated breath and said; "I can not read it."
"You may not be able to read it, but I can." The Fairy Queen snorted, walking daintily over to it and staring down at it. She looked up at Mr. Weasley. "What news do you bring us from South America?"
"Grave news. They too complain of a strange folk walking among them, though they are not clad in grey. They say that families are being hunted down one by one; that the wizards and witches of their land are the first to die, and second to go are the Muggles and their children. They were never very rich and stable in their countries to begin with, but now they are suffering more. They are being pressured to support You-Know-Who, and when they refuse, more people die. We need to do something to help them, though it would not be wise to just spring into action. We must offer the hand of friendship, and advice, and only then can we help them."
"Had they been invited to these meetings?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time.
"Yes, they had, but it was too risky for them to leave their homelands at the time that we scheduled this meeting. They should be arriving sometime in early winter." Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry, and several people in the room jumped, having forgotten that the sylphs had even been there.
"Sometime in early winter? They shall all be dead by then!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople pronounced.
"That is what they wished, nothing sooner." Mr. Weasley said. "Fairy Queen, you have not yet spoken on behalf of your people."
The tiny woman looked startled for a moment, then gathered her breath to speak.
"We are a tiny people, and these affairs are so large; in the search for power we are often forgotten. I did not come to seek counsel or reassurance, I merely came to give it."
"What about you, emperor of Korea? What news do you bring us?" Mr. Weasley turned to his Asian counterpart.
"We have come only to speak of what hasn't happened, rather than what has. We haven't had any Death Eater attacks, and that is strange to us. Normally, we'd have been the first victims. We are powerful by far, and knowledgeable. Most experiments are researched in our laboratories. Of course You-Know-Who would want to take us out, but he hasn't made a move to. We are always wary, and we feel his presence, but never have we seen it." The emperor explained, a troubled look crossing his features.
"Well, except for the dark wind riders, as I mentioned before." The empress interrupted.
"Oh, yes, except for them." The emperor absentmindedly added.
There was silence as everyone took this in. They looked shocked, to say the least, but soon got over it. Dumbledore was the first to speak.
"This is strange news to us. You say you can feel his presence, how so?"
"There is always a dark wind brewing from the near west; we do not know what it is that he has planned for us, but we only know its coming." The empress said.
"Is it as if he is close?" Eldrid asked.
"Yes." The emperor agreed.
"Then we have found Voldemort's citadel." Harry said with a strange gleam in his eye.
"How can you be sure?" The Veela Countess questioned, suspicious.
"Think of it this way. Most of Asia is jungle, and Europe is not. Therefore, we don't know how to go about fighting in a jungle, and we get easily wiped out. We could never bring an army with us on a mission to destroy him, because we'd need to destroy the jungle slowly as we went. And besides, if his citadel were there, he would have the upper hand, knowing the terrain better than we. It would be foolish to attack him, so we can't, and he doesn't have to worry about us attacking it from the inside. He has chosen the best possible place to set up his lair, simply because it is so hard to get to. It is ideal to him.
"But he is not ignorant, and it was not by chance that he built it there. He knows that attacking your people would be foolish, for they know the ground even better than he does. It is impossible to say that he would go after you now; oh, no, he'll wait until he has the help of the South Americans, for they have long had to deal with the rainforest that is there. If he succeeds in breaking them, you are done for. We must help the South Americans as much as they need, for it is them that holds the balancing act together." Harry's eyes definitely had a light violet tint to them by now.
Again there was silence in the room as the people took time to process these words. Mr. Weasley looked as though everything made sense now, and the Korean emperor and empress stared ahead, doom alight in their eyes. There was silence, and Harry's eyes shifted slightly back to the greener shades.
"This is a lot to stew over, so I say that we should leave here, and save the rest for tomorrow." Dumbledore finally said. "When the new day comes, we shall see Dunhall of the grey people and we can demand of him what his motives and true alliances are. We have discovered much that was once a mystery to us, and whenever that happens, you must have time to think over it. Go back to your rooms and other lives, and in the new day we will meet again at the eleventh hour. This meeting is adjourned."
* * *
Harry stood at the portrait of the Gryffindor Common Room, staring up at the overlarge woman wearing a pink satin dress. She had refused him entrance, and he now stared at her.
"Well, I didn't really want to get in the Common Room, I just came to see how you were doing." Harry smiled up at her, straight teeth gleaming in the corridors.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's not everyday that you get to meet talking portraits, that I must say, since I grew up with muggles, but you were always one of the most noble." Harry hated himself for doing this, but if he must he must. "I know that when the people are students here they don't take you seriously, and that is a pity, but then again I did so myself, and am now quite ashamed of it."
"You're just saying that." The large woman smiled to herself.
"No, no, I mean it, you really left an impression on me. Of course, I never thought of it when I was here, but in the sylvan underworld we do not have talking portraits, and I rather missed you. It just wasn't the same.
"But there is one thing I've always wondered about you."
"What is that?" The slightly-weightier-than-thin woman giggled slightly.
"How do you do your job?"
"Oh, but I'm not much. All I do all day is think up passwords, and then tell the prefects, and then the prefects are the ones that tell everyone else. Then I just sit here all day and wait for people to tell me the passwords. It is a rather simple job." She said, looking down meekly.
"You do much more than you're given credit for." Harry said, reassuring her that she was worth something. "In fact, I bet you could tell me next week's password right now if I asked!"
She smiled a watery smile at him, and said; "Yes, I suppose I could do that."
"Yeah, see? So, can you tell me next week's password?" He tried not to look too innocent, he knew she would not tell him if he did.
"Yes, why, I can! It's silver stool." She smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back.
"See? You're worth a lot more than your students make known to you!" he repeated, but at that moment she swung forward to let Ron and Hermione out.
"Harry! We didn't expect to see you here." Ron said, but Hermione had a question in her eyes.
"Were you just talking to yourself?" She asked, and Harry shook his head.
"No, I was having a much needed conversation with the guardian of Gryffindor." He couldn't help but smile at the muffled giggles emitting from the portrait.
"Would you like to come in to the Common Room? We had just left to look for you." Ron's invitation did sound rather enjoyable, so Harry nodded his head and followed his two friends into the Common Room.
As the portrait swung shut behind them, Harry looked around the Common Room in awe at all the changes that had come over it.
They had rearranged the furniture so that there were clusters and groupings of chairs throughout the room, and they weren't just hectically arranged around the fire. There was a small hanging candelabra floating down from the ceiling, and several decorative objects lining the mantelpiece. This was not the only great change that had come about. Directly to his left there was . . . a kitchen?
"That was installed by Dumbledore during the Easter holiday last year, just in case Hogwarts is ever under siege." Ron quickly explained, seeing Harry's raised eyebrow. "It is also supposed to make it so that we are not that tempted to wander the halls at night, as it is far more dangerous now than it ever was before You-Know-Who returned."
There weren't very many students in the Common Room, in fact it was really just Colin and Ginny talking in a corner and Dean and Seamus playing an idle game of Exploding Snap. When Dean looked up from their game, he spotted Ron's red hair and quickly came to join them.
"Oi, Ron, Hermione have you seen Harry yet? I tried to find him at the ball last night and wasn't able to." He looked genuinely interested, and when Seamus came over he slapped him on the back of the head.
"Dean, that's a load of half-said shit. The real reason why he couldn't find him last night was that he was too dazzled by the other sylphs that on sight of them he completely forgot about our once-classmate in a fit of teenage boyhood randyness." Seamus explained in his usual tactless way.
"Well, you certainly don't have far to look, he's right there." Hermione said, rolling her eyes and pointing at Harry, who was laughing silently to himself. Dean and Seamus turned wide eyes to the person they had thought was just the leader of the sylphs and not their old friend.
"Harry?" Dean asked, wonderment in his eyes.
Seamus turned to his friend. "Oh my god Dean! Do you know how many Harrys there are in the world? That is no safe question!" He looked at Harry. "Harry Potter?"
"Yes, it's me." Harry managed to say through his laughter.
"Why didn't you tell Ron and Hermione that you were the leader of the sylphs?" Dean asked, still amazed.
"And have them tell you and miss the looks on your faces? Never!"
Dean and Seamus pouted, making Harry laugh some more. Eventually, Dean and Seamus joined in with the laughter of Ron and Hermione. When they finally calmed themselves, Seamus wiped at his eyes and spoke.
"Seriously, now I have to ask a serious question."
"Anything, what is it?" Harry asked, looking at the Irishman.
"When did you become a transvestite?"
* * *
Dear Father,
I know that you are angry with me for being recruited into the Clan of the Grey Wizards. I understand completely your suspicion and estrangement from me, but this is not another letter pleading for forgiveness, nor is it written in rage toward you. This letter is strictly of business, and since I am the one closest to you, I was chosen among our people to write it.
I have the sorry job of telling you that our leader, Mr. Dunhall, will not be arriving. There has been a crisis among our ranks, and, to make a long story much less complicated, he was killed while fighting for the side of light. We have not yet taken up a new leader, and so can not attend the Meeting of Many Peoples, but wish to be kept informed of your plans and movements so we can help in any way possible.
Apologetically,
Charlie Weasley
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Well, didn't I just take my time on this one! I went through writers' block all through January, and the last ¾ of this was written this week. I have a new system for writing, so I will definitely be updating more often.
The next time I update, I'm changing the categories this is under to Fantasy/Mystery, because, well, the romance is VERY undecided and therefore irrelevant to the plot.
Also, I have finally figured out why I only take signed reviews, have fixed it, just so you know for all of you who read this but don't have an account.
Which brings me to your reviews:
Clepsydra-Delphinus- Well, I think I made up for last chapter's strangeness- without-transvestite-comments with this one! And anyway, about the dwarf lord, Draelf, well . . . I guess that was me being American. So far I've really been trying to stay in a British form of mind, but I was having so much fun with that scene that I guess it kinda just slipped a little. Oh, yeah, and he's Canadian, so I think that helps . . .
Kitty- 3days!!!!!!!???????? Wow, I didn't know that this story was long enough to be read over that span of time. It's just freakin' me out a little . . . yeah, I should really stop typing.
mistykasumi- I started this as a Harry/Draco fic, but then that died, so I don't know what's going to happen there, and yes, sometimes I try to be confusing, but it will (or at least it should) clear itself up by the end of this . . . if there is one . . .
Shades- Again, I really don't know who Harry's going to end up falling in love with. Sorry!
Grey Malfoy- Ginny is going to get veeeery interesting . . . I can't tell you just how interesting, that would be cheating! I know I'm evil, I relish in my sadistic-ness.
tima-Thank you so much!
Dhracian-Celestine- I had fun writing Ron, Harry, and Hermione's get- together. Tee hee . . . That was veeeery fun.
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 Twelve: Of Dreams and Dragontamers
Harry sat up in bed, gasping and thrusting the untamed hair from his sweaty face. Oh, what a plague of a dream! He knew whom it was that brought it on. He knew that it was the look Severus Snape had given him last night at the ball. The ball . . . it had been a night of great mixture, some of it not so great, however. What had the professor been thinking as he saw Harry walk toward them? A curse to the unyielding emotions of the mortal! There had been so much confusion that he had not been able to make out who was thinking what. Oh well, he thought to himself, perhaps I should ready myself for the day. Perhaps something will come to me in the shower.
It was morning, and the light from outside shone so brightly that he had to squint. He got his shampoo and soap together, as well as a towel, and walked to the shower. Cedric had once told him that hot water helped to relax him, and helped him think. Harry took this advice seriously, and he couldn't help but wonder whether it was in respect for Cedric or out of guilt for the fact that he hadn't believed Cedric at first. Nevertheless, he just grew more worried as he thought over the dream.
Sylphs were proud of their prophetic nature. The correct sylvan prophets went all the way back to Synelliargh, the very first sylvan leader. It was something that was rarely granted to anyone but a sylph, and no one who was not of magical standards. Not only that, but sylvan memory was nearly perfect. They were famous (among certain circles) for Remembering things that hadn't even happened in their lifetime. This was a somewhat rarer gift. The bearers of this gift were the members of the Order; there was not one sylvan monarch who did not feel the force of someone else's burdens. They had the best memory of all sylphs, and the best Memory.
He supposed that the dream itself wasn't what was really scaring him; it was the fact that he didn't remember it.
* * *
The Great Hall was never very full on Saturday mornings, and that was why Harry (who met up with Ron and Hermione on the way) chose to dine at the usual hour that breakfast is served. They were currently in an argument over whom exactly it was that was the scariest teacher at Hogwarts.
"Oh, honestly Ron! Professor Binns is not that frightening!" Hermione huffed.
"He's a ghost! He scared the crap out of me when I was a first year!"
"Yes, but you're also terrified of small, itty bitty spiders." Harry looked at him plaintively.
"Really, does he still scare you?" Hermione queried. This was a possible embarrassment for Ron. As well as a good reason to turn the trademarked Weasley shade of vermillion.
"Yes." He mumbled.
Harry and Hermione laughed themselves into peals of tears.
"What's he going to do? Bore you to death?" Hermione giggled.
"Uh, er, well, when I was little, the ghoul in the attic would come after me while I was sleeping." Ron tried to defend himself.
"Ron, the ghoul in your attic was so pathetic that he used to sit around all day trying to peal the paint from the walls with his fingernails." Harry 'helpfully' pointed out.
"That only made him scarier! He was trying to open up a secret doorway into the twins' and my room so that they could attack me from the air!"
"Oh, come off it, you know that he never got very far because his fingernails weren't solid enough to actually touch the boards much less peal them." Hermione argued.
"How would you like it if you were sitting on your bed, looking up at the ceiling, and this hand just kept dipping into your ceiling?"
"You're pathetic."
"Well, who do you think is the scariest teacher?" Ron asked, on a roll now.
"Professor Snape." Harry and Hermione said at the same time.
There was silence from Ron.
"You're creepy, but right." He sighed in defeat.
There was a sudden squeal as all three heads turned to the door. There, in the most misshapen clothes Harry had ever seen him wear, was Dobby the House-Elf. The strangely garbed elf launched himself like a torpedo toward the now monarch and sobbed into his tunic.
"Dobby thought Mister Harry Potter sir was not coming back! Mister Harry Potter was too great, too proud, too noble to want to come back and see poor poor Dobby! But he has! Mister Harry Potter has come back to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy, he could cry! He is crying! Oh, Mister Harry Potter, you're back!" Dobby shrieked loudly as he blew his nose on the orange and purple plaid vest he was wearing.
"How have you been, Dobby?" Harry asked, smiling at the tiny Elf's enthusiasm.
"Oh, Dobby has been working really hard in order to help Master Dumbledore, sir. Mr. Potter's Wheezy has been giving Dobby news of Mr. Potter. But sir," Dobby said, eyes growing wide in confusion, "why didn't you ever tell Dobby that you were his King?"
"What do you mean, Dobby?" Hermione asked, suspicious of Elf rights again.
"Well, Mr. Harry Potter is an Elve, and Elves rule over the Elfs." Dobby touched the tip of Harry's very pointed ear in astonishment. "Dobby and the House Elfs all thought that the Elves had gone into the ground, never to be seen again. What is Mister Harry Potter doing here, Dobby asks?"
"The Elves have come to help the wizards in the war against Voldemort." Harry explained.
"Oh, so you came with the others."
"What others?" Ron asked.
"Mister Wheezy, the others that came last night. Dobby has seen them. They dress really fancy and talk to each others only. There are some that are really small and fat, and others that are beautiful, but never as beautiful as the high Elves. They weren't as nice to Dobby as Mister Potter is. Mister Potter is too kind, too good, too noble, too-"
"Dobby, I'm not as good as you think I am."
"Mister Harry Potter is also modest!"
Hermione and Ron were smiling in amusement as Dobby said goodbye to Harry, hugged him, and went back to the kitchens.
"Ron, when is your father getting here? As Minister of Magic he's supposed to come to this meeting." Harry asked, turning to his friends.
"Oh, they had this huge Death Eater raid! They caught about ten in the same house. Someone tipped the ministry off that there was going to be a meeting to pass information within their circle, and the Aurors caught them all. He had to oversee their trial yesterday, and so he'll be coming sometime today." Ron explained.
"Really? Did your dad say who the Death Eaters were?" Harry asked.
"No, and that's the weird thing. He said that it was 'confidential information' that he couldn't tell the public about. Normally he would come right out and tell everyone, or at least everyone in the family who was caught so he could get feedback on them."
"That's odd. Do you have any ideas whatsoever?" Hermione asked.
"No, he wouldn't say anything in the letter."
"What about Charlie?"
"I don't know." Ron sighed.
There was a slight pause. "I am getting the feeling that there's something I have not been told yet." Harry said, looking from one of his friends to the other.
"Oh, that's right! I had completely forgotten that we didn't tell him yet!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Oh, yeah! He was travelling when we found out, and so we couldn't send a letter to him!" Ron looked at Harry, eyes wide and mouth agape.
"What recent development have I missed?" Harry's inquiry was becoming ever the more urgent.
"Charlie, my brother Charlie, while he was in Romania, was approached by the Grey Wizards." Ron explained. "They wanted him to train to be one of them, because at a dragon camp that he had held to teach little witches and wizards about dragons, one of the Grey Witches had seen him and asked after him. When they found his magical record, they decided that they would like him in their clan, and so they came to him and asked him if he would join them. He said yes, but didn't tell Mum and Dad. Two days ago he told them, and dad got so mad at him that he won't even speak with him. Mum doesn't really care, and I don't know what's gotten into Dad, but it's not good."
"Mrs. Weasley wrote to Ron after his Dad had and said that he wouldn't even let Charlie into the house, and burned all letters of apology. This is really weird. I've never seen Mr. Weasley act this way before." Hermione continued where Ron had left off.
"Really?"
After they were done debating this matter, they sat at the Gryffindor table, discussing miscellaneous matters, Harry getting caught up in all that had happened while he was gone and they asked him everything about the sylvan underworld.
* * *
Eventually, Harry, Ron and Hermione made it outside in the cold fall weather, to wander peacefully around the lake. Harry listened to Ron and Hermione argue about most everything, and they watched him as he walked, their eyes fascinated that he was so different. It was nice to be back together, just that, comfortable, as if most things hadn't changed. Soon, they fell to silence, listening to the cold breeze on the grass.
The edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed ever nearer, the trees calling to Harry as he tried to ignore them. All time seemed to stop; Ron and Hermione were looking at him strangely, but he didn't notice. His eyes flashed purple, his ears alerted themselves to the sounds of this natural land. And he was gone.
Ron and Hermione could not keep up with him, his speed and agility unnatural to the human wizard and witch. They had not had long practice with running through the trees; they had never had to before. And now their otherworldly friend had taken off like a madman. What could they possibly do other than follow him?
And still he plunged into the depths of the forest. There was little light, and what small ration was given them was made musty by the trees and the smell of old death. He ran and ran, the voices of the forest laughing at him, their mystery surging him on. There was no sound to be heard from the feet of the leader of the sylphs, but all around them the trees rustled, the underbrush was disturbed, and the deadness of the old and partially angry forest was not lost.
And as suddenly as he had started, he stopped.
Ron and Hermione finally caught up to him, but it was not their friend that they found.
There was a person so intimate with the forest that one could almost not tell him apart from the branches of the ages old watchmen and women of the wood. He was so concealed that it was hard to tell whether he was shadow or flame, water or acid, and everything stilled with his ceased energy. Eyes closed in concentration, hands flitting to hang limply by his side, the child of light stood, all things poised to hear his first words on the breath of a wind, whither they came.
"The trees are speaking to one another."
The voice was not his own.
* * *
Voldemort stood at the high end of the tower in his citadel; where is their eye? The riddle plauged him, it tormented him. He had no psychic connection with Harry Potter, despite what the other could get through him. He knew nothing of his actions, or even where he was at the moment, and even if he had been able to somehow reach through to the sylph, his mind was so closely guarded that no one would ever get in. Oh, he had no idea of how he was supposed to go about bringing the child ruler to the ground, and, by all means, how to get him six feet under it. There was definitely something that was not to be expected here. There were definitely no words to be used to bring him to his knees. He was far too valiant and loved for that.
And that was his problem. There were so many people to help the boy in his quest to rid the world of Voldemort and smear the blood of his followers across the wall that it was so very nearly impossible to do any harm to him without actually having to gather up the energy to do it himself. Oh, what he wouldn't do for a little tiny bit of empathy from anyone with half a mind! Of course, his Death Eaters could never understand it; they were far too scared of him to make worthy servants. There was only one in their number that carried the dignity and the courage to think of Lord Voldemort as, if possible, more than a snake and more than a figure of sheer evil. And that, the old and power-hungry man had to believe, was at least something.
Voldemort picked idly at his nails, wondering where the dirt had come from. It had been so long since he'd ventured from these halls; it was almost an alien sight to him. Where could he have acquired the dirt as an ingrown nail polish? He surely hadn't done anything with the stuff since that night in the graveyard over a year ago. There were some whispers that he grew lazy, but they were quickly magnified into the pleading and screams of those tortured. It was enough fun for him to wait it out in his dark castle, watching on his scale model of the earth what his distruction had caused.
Pandemonium was rampant in South America; the muggles were finding it hard to run. There were no Death Eaters in either Australia or Africa; it was much too elementary to take down for his liking. Asia was to be slaughtered from within, for it was where his citadel was. After all, it would be foolish to begin a war in the jungle. And that was why he had built his citadel in the middle of the jungles. Anyone would be foolish to even try to wage open war when they could never know the terrain beneath their feet. When his ranks were strong enough, he would descend upon the Asians by air, killing many innocents was just one of his dark incentives. North America would be hard to take out; especially the United States. They were far too arrogant for their own good, let alone his good. Europe would eventually crumble to his power, and with it, he would have a basis for building an army of Death Eaters so strong they would have made Rome crumble had both powers been crossing the same span of years. He already had most of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland in the palm of his hand. The only ministry to fight him had been led by Arthur Weasley. What a pity it was that they didn't have England crumpled. Surely he would cave soon. There was gossip among the Death Eaters that he was acting more irrational than was usual. His strong emotional defenses were starting to crumble again; it wouldn't be long before . . .
"My Lord," a voice interrupted his musings.
"Yes, what is it, Grima?" Voldemort asked as he turned to Wormtail.
"I have a present for you my lord. I think you're going to like it." This was strange. Wormtail was acting completely out of character. Was he really that excited?
"Well, bring it in then."
Voldemort, slightly interested, turned away from his musings and into the present. He waited a short while, and soon the doors were thrown open. A trio of Death Eaters walked in, and he noticed that they were only his most trusted. They slowly disintegrated to the side of the steepled hall, and he found what had to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen gazing at him from behind its cloak.
"Hello, Tom."
* * *
It had been a long while since Harry had run off into the forest, and just stopped, and quite frankly, Ron and Hermione were just starting to get a little bit edgy. The only thing he had said was that the trees were talking to one another, and when he had spoken his strange voice had taken on a different tone. Almost as though . . . it wasn't his voice.
They stood waiting, and the sun seemed to have passed by the sky, but when Harry turned to them, the sun seemed to come back from its long wander. His eyes had gone back to green, and he smiled at them.
"Ron, we should go meet your father. He's here, by the lake."
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and followed their friend back into the sunlight. And, as sure as it was afternoon, there stood Arthur Weasley. His red hair glinted in the sunlight, and there was a smile upon his face as he held a short conversation with the house elf that had taken his bags. He looked their way, and came walking briskly to meet his son and Hermione.
"Hello, Ron."
"Hi, dad." They shook hands, a far more masculine and adult thing to do than hug.
Hermione smiled and took Mr. Weasley into a hug, knowing that it wasn't as embarrassing if she was the one who instigated it. He hugged her back, then finally noticed the black-haired angel standing in the shadows.
"Ron, who's your new friend, and what is her name?" He asked, brows drawn together in confusion.
"That's funny, Mr. Weasley, I thought that you already knew who I am." Harry said, laughter all through his voice.
Mr. Weasley looked taken aback for a moment, taking in the decorated blue leggings and navy tunic of the person, then looking to the bare feet and decorative fringe and slight flair at the ankle. The figure before him had long ebony hair, mostly hanging down, except for the top half of her head, which was pulled back to twine into the headdress. The figure smiled, striking emerald eyes twinkling out at him. It was then that he noticed the scar.
"Oh my god! Harry! It's you!" He laughed at his foolish mistake, blushing slightly as he realized that he really wanted to hug this person.
"Yes Mr. Weasley, it is me. I don't think I'll tire of this game easily. Everyone so far has not recognized me. Ron's reaction to me was quite amusing, and I must say that for once not one person gawkes at me for who I am, but rather for who I am not." Harry smiled, his bright eyes flashing purple for a millisecond.
"I had almost forgotten the implications that go with being a sylph. For some reason, I had pictured you exactly the same as you had been before you left." Mr. Weasley apologized, not taking his eyes off the figure before him.
"We don't really mind. Even when we were here in this world before we lived in secrecy, and the wizards and witches didn't bother to learn of our ways, so our culture is very misunderstood. We are used to it."
"So, I have quite a bit of time to spare, would you mind explaining it to me?" Mr. Weasley said, glancing from Ron, Hermione and Harry to Hogwarts.
"Not at all."
They spent all of that afternoon discussing what had happened while Harry was gone, and all that Harry had learned on his journeys. The sun grew weary of his high position in the sky, and was soon to be replaced by the moon. As they were heading in to dinner, Harry was stopped by Lemagne, who pulled him aside and spoke in rapid sylvan with him.
"You must come with me. The other Order members are getting a little angry and confused, particularly Amadeus, and I need your help in calming them."
"What seems to have triggered this?"
"Amadeus was talking with a man, I can't recall his name right off the bat, but I think it was Severus Snape, and when the man mentioned war, he realized that if our people are involved at all, it just might be the end of our race."
"Oh, no! I knew that something like this would happen! Where are they?"
"They are in our corridor, I think we should hurry, they may be demanding to go home."
Harry turned to the two Weasley men and Hermione. "There has been a small crisis while I was away that I have now to deal with, if you will excuse me."
They nodded dumbly, having never heard the flowing language of the sylphs before and turned to go back into the hall.
Harry sped down the corridors after Lemagne, praying that it was not out of control yet, and when they finally reached the Order members, it was a scene to remember.
Amadeus stood in the middle of the sylphs, bellowing something or another, while Eldrid stood with them, trying to call it to order, and Triskele was shouting angrily back at Amadeus that he had no right to say whatever it was that he was saying because no plans had been finalized yet. Nikiatom stood out of the way and in the shadows, listening intently to them argue.
"Will everybody please stop shouting and calm down!" Harry yelled into the angry mob.
There was silence in the corridor.
"Nikiatom, would you mind explaining to me the different sides of the argument?"
"Of course not, Liamh." It took him a moment to compose herself, and when he spoke it was in a low, raspy voice. "Amadeus came back shouting about how you were crazy to get us involved in such an endeavor, and that we should just go back home. That got us all out of our rooms. When Triskele confronted her calmly, he just started shouting even more about how we were all blind to what you were doing to us. They eventually got into a bellowing contest that eventually got so bad that Lemagne had to go and find you."
After Nikiatom had shrunk back into her corner, Harry looked at them all.
"Did I ever say we were going to get involved in a war? Did I ever say that it was my aim to bring our entire race to ruin so we could march into battle with the other people that are here? Our plans have not been finalized, and I would never send our people into something that they would not come back from. In order for us to be able to work together, you have to trust me." There was a pain in the young sylph's voice that most had not heard there before. It dismayed them, and made them ashamed of themselves for their quarrel.
"What is it you would have me do? Would you rather I die so that someone else can take the position? Is that what you want? Somehow, I don't think so. I have not read as much of that through your minds and actions. We are all in this together; what we decide is right for our populations is what we are all going to do, but not before we look at all sides. War is a terrible thing; it kills allys just as quickly as it kills enemies. You know that you would be careful in the situation I am in, why don't you think I would have the common sense to be just as careful if not more?"
The sylphs looked at each other. It was a rare thing when they fought, and usually it was brought on by two Dragons. Most of the sylphs were looking meekly at their young leader, but there was a tension in the air. Something was going to happen. Something big. The silence hung among them, as would a wraith, feeding off their guilt. The raw emotions that had been brought forth from the argument were as traceable as fevered flesh on a heat detector.
Harry smiled at them slightly, his eyes losing focus a bit, and when they rolled back in his head, the whisper came from his mouth as the voice of a dead wind.
"They're coming for us."
It was Nikiatom who caught him as he fell to the floor.
* * *
When Harry woke up the next day, his head throbbed and it hurt him to move too quickly. It felt as though someone had taken a bat to his head, and his voice strained with the effort to speak sylvan. The bed he lay in was not a comfort, for it was not his own, and it felt as though it knew someone else was supposed to be sleeping in it. The daylight streamed in through the window; a cold autumn morning greeted him. The wind was cold and cruel, but for some reason whoever it was that slept in this room kept the window open. Harry groaned and tried to pull the covers over his face, curling into a little ball in the midst of the creamy covers. His senses told him that someone had entered the room. He had no urge to seem awake, well- rested, or cheerful this morning, so he groaned and rolled over under the covers.
"Your morning grace astounds me," came the sarcastic reply to the uneasy lump in the bed.
"Nikiatom?"
"Yes, Nikiatom."
"You're different this morning." Harry groaned, shifting the covers slightly to uncover his forehead smeared with black hair.
"Of course I'm different. I'm always different when looking after the sick; or, rather, confused. You were not a pretty picture last night, and you're even less in beauty this morning. I have to get you up; the meeting still won't start for several hours, and you'll need all that time to ready yourself." Nikiatom was moving around the room as he spoke, Harry could sense it. What she was doing was rather fuzzy, and through the pounding headache roaring at his temples, Harry found it hard to remember anything.
"What happened last night?" He asked.
"You were taken by something, but whether it was force or willingness, I do not know." Nikiatom explained, and Harry felt his weight on the bed again.
"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" Harry asked, uncovering his eyes for the other.
"I mean exactly what I say; I do not know." Harry focused on Nikiatom as he saw her stirring something with a pestel. "Eat this. It is a fine breakfast for the plagued. It will help you to get up."
"Thank you." Harry said as he took it from Nikiatom. He tasted it, and it tasted of Bavarian cream and donuts. A typical, surprising sylvan medicene.
Nikiatom got up and went to his section of the rooms. What was being done in there, he could not tell, but it sounded as though the older sylph was cooking. The morning was far too light to be considered legal. The overcast skies outside belied the cheeriness of the southern wind. At least it was warm. Though, perhaps Harry would not have preferred it in that way. Perhaps he wanted it to be cold. Nikiatom came back into the room, carrying a chelace of the sylvan milk.
"I see you're looking slightly more awake." She commented, sitting once again on the bed.
"Yes, I am."
"That is well, for you have to be up very soon. Since you are in my rooms, I will fetch you the clothes you wish to wear so you won't have to move." He stood, and, turning to look back at Harry, left.
When Harry was done getting dressed and Nikiatom was ready for the day as well, they went out to meet the other sylphs so they could file to the meeting together. It was an unspoken law that they wouldn't speak at this particular parley; they needed to know what the other races would figure for first. It was not of their design to create an army of sylvan warriors, nor did they want to sit passively throughout the entire process. Today, they would gather information. Tomorrow, they would start. Tomorrow, they could plan. Tomorrow, they would save the people of this world. But for today, they would listen, and they would learn.
So they set out to find the conference room, and passed a hurrying Professor McGonagal on their way. She took no notice of them as she blustered off to find the rulers and representatives who didn't know their way. They met no one else as they wandered the dank corridors, making their way ever toward the great library that Hogwarts contained. The halls were dark in these hours of the morning, the lanterns lit to make the visitor feel as though the place was something more than what it really was.
When they found the library, they walked determinedly back to the deserted row of books on banishing spells and the history thereof, and when they found it, they searched the titles. They looked to the middle row, and, their keen eyes seeing the small hollow book that didn't have a title that was legible, they hastily pushed it in while Nikiatom kept the prying eyes of Madame Pince away with an unsaid spell. There they found a long, twisting staircase that was to lead them up to the conference room. They started their ascent, all the while thinking idly to themselves about the craftsmanship of the place and what would have been done differently had they been the ones to build this haven. Their thoughts were mingling because they were so common to one another that by the time they reached the top of the stairs, they had had quite enough of each other for one morning. Such a pity we'll have to be in the same room together after this, Nikiatom, Harry jested, we've already invaded each other enough. Harry smiled at Nikiatom, who gave a small halfsmile back. The other sylphs laughed in their minds, the joke not private. When the end to the cursed stairs drew near, they walked in through a rather chipped and plain wooden door to the brightest room they had been in, other, of course, than their own rooms.
The office where the meeting was to be held was richly furnished, with red, green, yellow and blue prints on the walls. The printwork detailed the ancient story of Belerine and Utumbo, the two tragic lovers. Harry remembered reading their story when he was younger, and how it had moved him. It told of the French lord Belerine, who, while on a safari to Africa, met the black maiden Utumbo, and how they fell in love only to be ripped apart by prejudice and fate. Poor Utumbo was sold by a jealous advisor of Belerine and forced into slavery in the House of the Dying Star, or so it was called after their story was found and published. There was far more to it than that, but Harry was distracted at the moment. He saw, much to his amusement, a round table, beset with chairs that were of the same rich cherry color as the table. They didn't look remotely comfortable, but at least there was a fading purple cushion to make it a bit more welcoming to anyone of human stature. They varied in size, one large enough to fit a giant, one small enough to suit the fairy queen (it was seated on the table, rather than at it.) The sylphs knew where they were meant to sit, and quietly found their seats.
They were not the first ones to enter the conference room, not by a long shot. The wizards were there, but none of the grey ones. Somehow, they had not been invited to this gathering. The veela countess sat in her chair, looking gracefully bored. The dwarf lord and lordess were having a rather hushed argument, and were not to be bothered. Dumbledore smiled brightly at Harry as he took his seat along with the rest of the sylphs. Arthur Weasley was staring at them, for he had only seen Harry yesterday, not the rest of the sylphs, and he would need some time to get used to them. The veela countess looked at them with something akin to contempt in her gaze, and Triskele smiled at her. She huffed and turned away. Lemagne smiled at the display, turning to the others that were slowly filing in. Mr. Weasley blinked and looked away, having finally gotten used to the sight of the company of sylphs. He turned to watch the others file in to the room, joining Lemagne in his perusal of them.
In flitted the queen of the fairies, followed closely by several rather unfortunate House Elves who had the job of carrying a tub with the Cheiftan of the Merpeople in it, and setting it at the table.
Harry had never seen a real merman before; well, at least, not one of this race. He had ever only seen freshwater merpeople, and this was one of the great mermen of the seas. His beard was black, as was his hair. Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he noticed that his eyes were pitch black, like a seal's. They had never seen light to tint them, and without the light, there was no way they would have to have white in his eyes. He had lean muscle, the muscle of one who swims to get it, not the muscle of one who lifts heavy weight all day. His brow and cheekbones were high, yet his eyes had a slightly Asian tilt to them, and his nose was flat and narrow. He had seen many things in his long lifetime, but most of them were not things that people who walked upon the land would understand. He had seen great sea wars; he had seen the catching of his people in fish nets; he had seen the wars between the different races of oceanic peoples, and he took it all in stride. His bathtub was really more of a pensieve bowl, with strange lettering on the side that was not readable to anyone who did not read sylvan. Engraved upon it were these words:
Do not get lost in your own minds, For your mind is not ours to see Your thoughts are a gift, the words that bind You to the great utopian seas Do not forgive, do not forget, But do not hold your grudges there For taxing times will come yet And you'll need more time inside the lair Of your mind
It was a shining silver, bound with gold, and held far more than just the Chieftan that lay there, but what else was not for them to know.
Next came the two people that Harry had not known would be coming, but had met at the welcoming ball. They were the Korean Emperer and Emperess of Magic, and they had come for unclarified reasons; for as much as the sylphs could guess using logic and each other, they still did not know everything. But, perhaps if they had lived here and not in the Underworld, they would know more in the affairs of Mankind and Witchkind. They had seemed agreeable people, and some of the sort that had made the ball exotic. He was dressed in a plain black tuxedo and she wore a purple kimono eccentrically. Harry had taken a close liking to them, and smiled now as they found their seats.
At this point Harry was distracted when Hagrid bowed his head to enter through the door that was meant only for people of a more allowing size. He smiled brightly, and waved, and Hagrid smiled back. He quickly took his seat, the rather overlarge one beside the Veela countess. She looked at him rather disdainfully, and turned her nose to someone else.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and signalled that they were ready to begin by standing and addressing the council of different races.
"You have all been called here to partake in the decision making that may begin the war, and may not. All here are present, and we must get to work quickly."
"Eighteen places are set but only seventeen are here. Where is Dunhall of the Grey Wizards? I wish to see him." Eldrid asked during a slight pause.
"He has been delayed by great powers." Harry answered, looking to his fellow order member.
"He will be coming sometime next week." Lemagne added as an afterthought.
Dumbledore looked as though he had been about to answer the question, but he shook his head as it was answered for him. He was a bit flustered as he continued, but only the sylphs knew what it was he felt at the time.
"We have a great many things to discuss today, but I fear that I have no order in which we will go, only that I will start by saying a few words and from there we'll . . . just have to wing it." His eyes sparkled as he looked at the rest of the council, and, taking a deep breath, continued his speech.
"The Dark Lord's citadel is as of yet unknown to us, but there is evidence that he has travelled far and wide from it. The Peruvian governments have contacted me to complain of the wild men that kill their villiages; the dwarf nation of Canada is growing uneasy at the thing that might just sound like Dark Spells in their land. The whispers of the Death Eaters' evil blow across their lands with the force of many crossing winds. Here in England the land is already being tarnished to nothing of a wasteland; we are the place where the Death Eaters go to have fun while torturing innocents. Our news comes mostly from cloaked informants that may or may not be just trying to make us believe something that isn't true and may be a trap. I feel the losses of our people every day; it weighs heavy on our minds. Before we can separate truth from falsehood we must know the rumors of other peoples as well as our own." He finally sat, and looked to the other representatives for grace.
"There are rumors in our mines, there is no doubt about that. There is talk of strange . . . things that could hardly be called people traveling in our lands. They never come to the mines, but they travel the wide territories of the north. There is talk that they don't rest, and they never stop, and if they do, it is only to converse together in a dark tongue." The Dwarf lady spoke before the lord could get a word in. "We fear for our people, although these creatures don't seem to want our iron or nickel. Nor do they really seem to be interested in our actions. They are looking for something, but what they would want with our people is beyond us."
"Thank you, Lady Gretel." Mr. Weasley said, and the dwarf lady smiled a hideous smile through her slight beard.
"That is odd, for we have found strange things searching our country as well. They have never come down from the skies, but everyone fears the day that they might. They are nothing but a shadow on our lands, but we still fear them." The Korean empress of magic added.
"We have at least one thing that appears true, for we have seen their shadow come and go as well." Mr. Weasley confirmed.
There was a slight pause in which everyone looked a bit uncomfortable.
"Are they the only travelors you've noticed? We see far more than you do in our small country of France." The Veela Countess spoke up.
"And what is of so great importance that you cannot name it without a pause?" Draelf, the dwarf lord, interjected.
"Pray tell, do these strangers that you speak of, the Hands of Fear, wear grey cloaks to cover their features?" She asked, irritated.
"No. They wear black."
"Then we are not speaking of the same people." She paused, creating a dramatic effect. "The people who haunt our villages are clothed in grey, and they keep their hoods up to cover their features. We ignored them at first, but it was unnerving how they melted completely into the background. We never could tell if they were there or not. They were sent as spies to our lands, and listened in on a conversation between two of my most trusted advisors. The next week, the entire Veela guard was slaughtered. We have no army, not one of them survived the purging of lives. They devastated our families, and they let loose strange omens to the air. We go no where without first looking with a mirror to see if it falls over a shrouded figure crouching in the corner. Our families are terrified, and refuse to go to work. Our economy has crashed into the ground, and our former gaiety is squandered to our feet. No music plays, and no children laugh without being shushed by their mothers."
"You say these people were cloaked in grey?" Mr. Weasley asked keenly.
"Yes, and held nothing to set them up as being of their true wealth and magic. For they would have had to have used means both magical and seductive."
"This is a strange predicament. They sound rather like the grey wizards do, but why would they be after Veelan lands? And if not their lands, what do they want?" Mr. Weasley wondered aloud.
"It is not within our bounds to know." The Veela Countess let her words drift.
"Surely they cannot have fallen to darkness! The leader of the Grey Wizards is going to be here tomorrow!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople exclaimed in shock.
"It is not entirely impossible. These are dangerous times; and in dangerous times, you can never be too sure of who your allies are." The Fairy Queen predicted in a voice that was far too low to come from a person of her stature.
"There is nothing we can do until Dunhall arrives tomorrow. It is imperative that we watch him closely." The Lady Gretel said.
"What a riddle our lives have turned out to be!" The Empress of Magic from Korea said.
"The riddle here thickens; two nights ago we found a ship to be newly sunken in the depths of the ocean just off the eastern coast of Africa. When we inspected it, we found it to have no crew, and no load. We searched the waters surrounding it, and there was no tell tale oil leak, and no rust on any of the ship's engines. I sent a selkie to investigate the shores of South America, for the only thing we had found was a sea route to Alexandria, Egypt from Brazil. She searched through all records of sea deportations from the year, and not one had been going to Egypt. We found no magical items of any kind, but the ship reeked of the stuff; it was far too suspicious not to remember!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople added to the discussion.
"Are you absolutely sure you weren't hallucinating?" The Veela Countess asked cheekily.
"You didn't see it, so you couldn't have known of its reality!"
"You don't sound very sure, do you? I am afraid that this claim is too radical to take seriously."
"I brought the map knowing you'd be here, o goddess of impertinence." He reached into his pensieve to bring out the watered paper. He set it in the center of the table, for all to observe.
The Veela Countess sucked in an exasperated breath and said; "I can not read it."
"You may not be able to read it, but I can." The Fairy Queen snorted, walking daintily over to it and staring down at it. She looked up at Mr. Weasley. "What news do you bring us from South America?"
"Grave news. They too complain of a strange folk walking among them, though they are not clad in grey. They say that families are being hunted down one by one; that the wizards and witches of their land are the first to die, and second to go are the Muggles and their children. They were never very rich and stable in their countries to begin with, but now they are suffering more. They are being pressured to support You-Know-Who, and when they refuse, more people die. We need to do something to help them, though it would not be wise to just spring into action. We must offer the hand of friendship, and advice, and only then can we help them."
"Had they been invited to these meetings?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time.
"Yes, they had, but it was too risky for them to leave their homelands at the time that we scheduled this meeting. They should be arriving sometime in early winter." Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry, and several people in the room jumped, having forgotten that the sylphs had even been there.
"Sometime in early winter? They shall all be dead by then!" The Chieftan of the Merpeople pronounced.
"That is what they wished, nothing sooner." Mr. Weasley said. "Fairy Queen, you have not yet spoken on behalf of your people."
The tiny woman looked startled for a moment, then gathered her breath to speak.
"We are a tiny people, and these affairs are so large; in the search for power we are often forgotten. I did not come to seek counsel or reassurance, I merely came to give it."
"What about you, emperor of Korea? What news do you bring us?" Mr. Weasley turned to his Asian counterpart.
"We have come only to speak of what hasn't happened, rather than what has. We haven't had any Death Eater attacks, and that is strange to us. Normally, we'd have been the first victims. We are powerful by far, and knowledgeable. Most experiments are researched in our laboratories. Of course You-Know-Who would want to take us out, but he hasn't made a move to. We are always wary, and we feel his presence, but never have we seen it." The emperor explained, a troubled look crossing his features.
"Well, except for the dark wind riders, as I mentioned before." The empress interrupted.
"Oh, yes, except for them." The emperor absentmindedly added.
There was silence as everyone took this in. They looked shocked, to say the least, but soon got over it. Dumbledore was the first to speak.
"This is strange news to us. You say you can feel his presence, how so?"
"There is always a dark wind brewing from the near west; we do not know what it is that he has planned for us, but we only know its coming." The empress said.
"Is it as if he is close?" Eldrid asked.
"Yes." The emperor agreed.
"Then we have found Voldemort's citadel." Harry said with a strange gleam in his eye.
"How can you be sure?" The Veela Countess questioned, suspicious.
"Think of it this way. Most of Asia is jungle, and Europe is not. Therefore, we don't know how to go about fighting in a jungle, and we get easily wiped out. We could never bring an army with us on a mission to destroy him, because we'd need to destroy the jungle slowly as we went. And besides, if his citadel were there, he would have the upper hand, knowing the terrain better than we. It would be foolish to attack him, so we can't, and he doesn't have to worry about us attacking it from the inside. He has chosen the best possible place to set up his lair, simply because it is so hard to get to. It is ideal to him.
"But he is not ignorant, and it was not by chance that he built it there. He knows that attacking your people would be foolish, for they know the ground even better than he does. It is impossible to say that he would go after you now; oh, no, he'll wait until he has the help of the South Americans, for they have long had to deal with the rainforest that is there. If he succeeds in breaking them, you are done for. We must help the South Americans as much as they need, for it is them that holds the balancing act together." Harry's eyes definitely had a light violet tint to them by now.
Again there was silence in the room as the people took time to process these words. Mr. Weasley looked as though everything made sense now, and the Korean emperor and empress stared ahead, doom alight in their eyes. There was silence, and Harry's eyes shifted slightly back to the greener shades.
"This is a lot to stew over, so I say that we should leave here, and save the rest for tomorrow." Dumbledore finally said. "When the new day comes, we shall see Dunhall of the grey people and we can demand of him what his motives and true alliances are. We have discovered much that was once a mystery to us, and whenever that happens, you must have time to think over it. Go back to your rooms and other lives, and in the new day we will meet again at the eleventh hour. This meeting is adjourned."
* * *
Harry stood at the portrait of the Gryffindor Common Room, staring up at the overlarge woman wearing a pink satin dress. She had refused him entrance, and he now stared at her.
"Well, I didn't really want to get in the Common Room, I just came to see how you were doing." Harry smiled up at her, straight teeth gleaming in the corridors.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's not everyday that you get to meet talking portraits, that I must say, since I grew up with muggles, but you were always one of the most noble." Harry hated himself for doing this, but if he must he must. "I know that when the people are students here they don't take you seriously, and that is a pity, but then again I did so myself, and am now quite ashamed of it."
"You're just saying that." The large woman smiled to herself.
"No, no, I mean it, you really left an impression on me. Of course, I never thought of it when I was here, but in the sylvan underworld we do not have talking portraits, and I rather missed you. It just wasn't the same.
"But there is one thing I've always wondered about you."
"What is that?" The slightly-weightier-than-thin woman giggled slightly.
"How do you do your job?"
"Oh, but I'm not much. All I do all day is think up passwords, and then tell the prefects, and then the prefects are the ones that tell everyone else. Then I just sit here all day and wait for people to tell me the passwords. It is a rather simple job." She said, looking down meekly.
"You do much more than you're given credit for." Harry said, reassuring her that she was worth something. "In fact, I bet you could tell me next week's password right now if I asked!"
She smiled a watery smile at him, and said; "Yes, I suppose I could do that."
"Yeah, see? So, can you tell me next week's password?" He tried not to look too innocent, he knew she would not tell him if he did.
"Yes, why, I can! It's silver stool." She smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back.
"See? You're worth a lot more than your students make known to you!" he repeated, but at that moment she swung forward to let Ron and Hermione out.
"Harry! We didn't expect to see you here." Ron said, but Hermione had a question in her eyes.
"Were you just talking to yourself?" She asked, and Harry shook his head.
"No, I was having a much needed conversation with the guardian of Gryffindor." He couldn't help but smile at the muffled giggles emitting from the portrait.
"Would you like to come in to the Common Room? We had just left to look for you." Ron's invitation did sound rather enjoyable, so Harry nodded his head and followed his two friends into the Common Room.
As the portrait swung shut behind them, Harry looked around the Common Room in awe at all the changes that had come over it.
They had rearranged the furniture so that there were clusters and groupings of chairs throughout the room, and they weren't just hectically arranged around the fire. There was a small hanging candelabra floating down from the ceiling, and several decorative objects lining the mantelpiece. This was not the only great change that had come about. Directly to his left there was . . . a kitchen?
"That was installed by Dumbledore during the Easter holiday last year, just in case Hogwarts is ever under siege." Ron quickly explained, seeing Harry's raised eyebrow. "It is also supposed to make it so that we are not that tempted to wander the halls at night, as it is far more dangerous now than it ever was before You-Know-Who returned."
There weren't very many students in the Common Room, in fact it was really just Colin and Ginny talking in a corner and Dean and Seamus playing an idle game of Exploding Snap. When Dean looked up from their game, he spotted Ron's red hair and quickly came to join them.
"Oi, Ron, Hermione have you seen Harry yet? I tried to find him at the ball last night and wasn't able to." He looked genuinely interested, and when Seamus came over he slapped him on the back of the head.
"Dean, that's a load of half-said shit. The real reason why he couldn't find him last night was that he was too dazzled by the other sylphs that on sight of them he completely forgot about our once-classmate in a fit of teenage boyhood randyness." Seamus explained in his usual tactless way.
"Well, you certainly don't have far to look, he's right there." Hermione said, rolling her eyes and pointing at Harry, who was laughing silently to himself. Dean and Seamus turned wide eyes to the person they had thought was just the leader of the sylphs and not their old friend.
"Harry?" Dean asked, wonderment in his eyes.
Seamus turned to his friend. "Oh my god Dean! Do you know how many Harrys there are in the world? That is no safe question!" He looked at Harry. "Harry Potter?"
"Yes, it's me." Harry managed to say through his laughter.
"Why didn't you tell Ron and Hermione that you were the leader of the sylphs?" Dean asked, still amazed.
"And have them tell you and miss the looks on your faces? Never!"
Dean and Seamus pouted, making Harry laugh some more. Eventually, Dean and Seamus joined in with the laughter of Ron and Hermione. When they finally calmed themselves, Seamus wiped at his eyes and spoke.
"Seriously, now I have to ask a serious question."
"Anything, what is it?" Harry asked, looking at the Irishman.
"When did you become a transvestite?"
* * *
Dear Father,
I know that you are angry with me for being recruited into the Clan of the Grey Wizards. I understand completely your suspicion and estrangement from me, but this is not another letter pleading for forgiveness, nor is it written in rage toward you. This letter is strictly of business, and since I am the one closest to you, I was chosen among our people to write it.
I have the sorry job of telling you that our leader, Mr. Dunhall, will not be arriving. There has been a crisis among our ranks, and, to make a long story much less complicated, he was killed while fighting for the side of light. We have not yet taken up a new leader, and so can not attend the Meeting of Many Peoples, but wish to be kept informed of your plans and movements so we can help in any way possible.
Apologetically,
Charlie Weasley
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Well, didn't I just take my time on this one! I went through writers' block all through January, and the last ¾ of this was written this week. I have a new system for writing, so I will definitely be updating more often.
The next time I update, I'm changing the categories this is under to Fantasy/Mystery, because, well, the romance is VERY undecided and therefore irrelevant to the plot.
Also, I have finally figured out why I only take signed reviews, have fixed it, just so you know for all of you who read this but don't have an account.
Which brings me to your reviews:
Clepsydra-Delphinus- Well, I think I made up for last chapter's strangeness- without-transvestite-comments with this one! And anyway, about the dwarf lord, Draelf, well . . . I guess that was me being American. So far I've really been trying to stay in a British form of mind, but I was having so much fun with that scene that I guess it kinda just slipped a little. Oh, yeah, and he's Canadian, so I think that helps . . .
Kitty- 3days!!!!!!!???????? Wow, I didn't know that this story was long enough to be read over that span of time. It's just freakin' me out a little . . . yeah, I should really stop typing.
mistykasumi- I started this as a Harry/Draco fic, but then that died, so I don't know what's going to happen there, and yes, sometimes I try to be confusing, but it will (or at least it should) clear itself up by the end of this . . . if there is one . . .
Shades- Again, I really don't know who Harry's going to end up falling in love with. Sorry!
Grey Malfoy- Ginny is going to get veeeery interesting . . . I can't tell you just how interesting, that would be cheating! I know I'm evil, I relish in my sadistic-ness.
tima-Thank you so much!
Dhracian-Celestine- I had fun writing Ron, Harry, and Hermione's get- together. Tee hee . . . That was veeeery fun.
