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 might 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). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be forced to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. 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 15:
Interview With a Traitor
Triskele wandered around the halls of Hogwarts, contemplating his position there, when she noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the old bat man was following her. He decided to keep walking. Perhaps they were just going in the same direction. She whistled to himself, steps slapping noiselessly against the ground. He played with her hair, and whistled a tune. Professor Snape was still behind him.
It was then that Triskele decided she was going to play a little game with the professor. He stepped into the shadows. She walked in them for a bit, then strolled out of them on the other side. He stepped, then skipped, and stepped once more, skipping again. With a not-so-graceful spin, Triskele landed like a cat, knees bent slightly. With this stepping, skipping pattern, the sylph made her way out of the castle. Once outside, he ignored the brisk chill, and continued along her way, smiling and dancing. He started to hum an old children's song. It was whimsical, and made no sense. In fact, it was about nonsense, and when she got to the words of the little ditty, he sang in sylvan. It was then that she paused for just a moment, judging the distance of the professor. He was still following the meandering Triskele. With this, Triskele broke into a run. In a dizzy sprint, he twirled her way into a nearby field, the dead, golden grass swayed in the wind.
The old professor didn't have the energy to keep up with the ageless being any longer. He slowed, coming to a jog, then an all-out stop. He'd get her sometime.
* * *
"That's twenty Aurors and seventeen Unspeakables. That's a manageable number." Eldrid declared, quickly counting the names on the list.
"We shouldn't need more than two days to go through all of them. A lot of them we'll be able to rule some out right away." Amadeus commented, glancing over the former ruler's shoulder.
"I honestly didn't think we'd get this many volunteers. I would have thought that Aurors, and Unspeakables especially, would not want to get in to something they know nothing about." Lemagne commented.
"You must always remember that wizards aren't privy to the cautions the sylvan culture induces. I was never very patient with them when I lived among them." Harry smiled, watching as a group of Hufflepuffs passed them to go to the Great Hall for lunch. They sat on and around a bench that was in the central courtyard of Hogwarts. Nikiatom remained quiet, instead of speaking his every thought, she observed, basking in the sunlight.
"That makes me feel so much more confident of our reasons for helping them." Amadeus sniped, rolling her eyes.
"We have to help them simply because they have gotten themselves into such problems as these, that it can only be attributed to our absence." Triskele snapped at him.
Eldrid looked at her. "Had they not been so separated from the source of their magic for so long, the darker magic would not have been able to take over. It is entirely our fault that they get themselves into these situations."
"But you could also say it was their fault for driving us away from here." Lemagne pointed out.
"Oh, just choose a side! You can't straddle the fence forever." Amadeus growled.
"I'm only pointing out the truth." Lemagne defended, holding up his hands.
"I think we should get back to the matters at hand. Now, we're going to need to inform the hotel Racue that we will be requesting a large reservation the week of November 7-13. Does anyone think we will be needing more time than that?" After a scattering of no's, Harry resumed his speech. "Who would like to do that?" When Nikiatom gave a signal, Harry wasn't surprised, just mildly curious. "Alright then, Nikiatom will be in charge of reservations. We will all be going to the interviews, so we should set up a list of questions we will be needing to ask. Would anyone like to go first?"
"Well, I have a few ideas." Eldrid started. "Well, I think we should ask them about background to any kind of defensive art. Then, I think we should ask them the nature of this form of martial defense. Is it aggressive, or passive? Is it meant for groups of attackers or just one? Have they got any experience with long journeys on foot? Do they have any qualms about flying for short stints? Are they fit? What is their body fat percentage? How often do they currently go on raids for the Ministry? I think these are very important for the physical aspects of the journey." Eldrid sat back, stretching out his feet.
"Yes, they certainly seem to cover the physical aspects, but what about the mental? I think we should ask questions like 'How do you feel in a close knit group of people?'" Triskele commented.
"Yes, go on, what are more questions that should be asked?" Harry queried, finishing the list of questions.
"Do you have problems with sleep? Can you function under a low level of sleep? How well do you cope with groups of people? Do you need to be alone a lot, or are you okay with people for a long length of time? Do you get agitated easily when you are under stress? What do you do to rid yourself of stress? Are you terribly connected to material things? Do you know how to work together with people? Do you know how to ration yourself on food? Are you resourceful enough to get along with only a limited number of tools and whatever you may find? Did you go through any traumatizing experiences that would lead you to resurface the issues of your past?" Triskele finished.
"Very good. Lemagne? Do you have any ideas?" Harry asked.
"Not really, but, what about resistence to pain?" Lemagne asked, blushing. "I don't have that much experience in matters of life and death."
"That's alright. Amadeus?"
"How many languages can you speak? How well do you trust other people? Have you been through any extra schooling than what training you required to become a registered wizard and Unspeakable/Auror? Do you have any problems with certain spells that are useful on the road?" He listed.
They turned to Nikiatom.
"Well, I think it would be for the best to ask if they have family. Have you had any trouble with the law in the past? If so, what happened? How much pain are you used to going through to get a job done? Do you notice details? Do you connect details accurately and efficiently? How loyal are you? How many weapons do you carry on you at all times? How dedicated to the cause are you? Why did you sign up? What is one quality that is easily distinguished about you? Do you like to draw attention to yourself? Have you had any past conflicts with using dark power? Do you want to be high ranking socially? Do you know how to use a sword? Do you know what kind of sword the Asians use? Are you familiar with jungle battle? Are you acquainted with dodging objects flung at you? How long have you been working for the Ministry? How much of your original training do you practice? Do you like to talk? Would you spill secrets accidentally? Have you ever acted in sabotage? I think we have to drill these wizards, we don't know them the way we know other sylphs, how can we possibly know whether they are trustworthy or not? I'd be very wary of them, and I hope you will be too." Nikiatom hadn't gotten passionate over the questions that should be asked, and the last few sentences were said in a mumble.
There was a slight pause as they took in the enormity of the job laid before them. Harry sighed, and thanked them, bringing them back to the moment.
"I have been contacted by Sirius and Charlie, and they say that they will be getting the rest of the Clan of the Grey Wizards together to meet us on the island. They won't be bringing everyone, just those who wish for a more active part in the quest. He already has the spy network working, and they will be contacting those who won't be coming with us on the expedition here, where they will be safer. You will then contact one of the sylphs through our telepathy skills who are on the quest and need the news. There will have to be some of us who stay here at Hogwarts to observe the actions of the students and teachers. We also have to get a few sylphs to teach at the training camp for the day of the final battle. Who thinks they can gather teachers?"
When no one volunteered, Nikiatom gave a slight nod.
"Thank you, Nikiatom. Now, who thinks they can go on the quest?" Harry asked, looking at the Order Members.
Triskele, Lemagne, and a reproachful Nikiatom volunteered.
"All right. We'll figure out later who goes on which quest." Harry smiled at them all. "I am indebted to you all. It is not a very easy thing for any of you to do, of that I am sure. We will reconvine when we have all figured out what exactly it is we have on our hands. Remember, tomorrow we will meet outside the main gates tomorrow at eight o' clock. Arthur Weasley will be overseeing the interviews."
They all stood to leave, each one heading in a different direction, until only Eldrid was left, looking old and bemused.
* * *
Nikiatom immediately went to his rooms, to gather together a flying shirt and cloak. Once she had both on, he took to the balcony and leapt off it. Hagrid's third year Care of Magical Creatures class gasped, terrified that they were seeing a suicide attempt. When her golden wings erupted from his back, there was a gasp of relief from the terrified third years, and as she flew off into the sky, they ripped their eyes from his sunlight body, going back in their minds to their class.
Nikiatom had always loved flying. It was something that had been imbedded into her very soul ever since he had first seen James soar. The air was a place where she didn't have to melt into the crowds and the shadows, where there was no one to notice him and no one to care if she looked broken- hearted. He was alone with the world; and the world really didn't seem to mind much.
It, of course, had been hard for her to see his dear . . . no, Nikiatom reminded himself, Harry was not his dear, yet . . . companion to be in so much pain because of the one thing that he found to be the constant in her life. That was part of the reason he had become so possessive and overbearing. It was the fact that Harry's first real experience of the world was spoilt so by the fact that he was not a purebred sylph.
Oh, Nikiatom had flown a broomstick, and while one had far more capacity for speed, it was not nearly as free as the flight he was experiencing now. To fly with your own wings was satisfactorily rudimentary. And, although it wasn't exactly the smoothest way to travel, there was a far less chance you were going to fall, and certainly no way to have your flight cursed by outside opponents.
It was a far strange thing for Nikiatom to comprehend, the fact that most of the world had no idea what true freedom was. To him, it was scandalous that wizards would never truly know this feeling; it was almost what made the sylphs such a compelling race. They knew what the others felt and when, and therefore could take tact to a new level. They were somewhat mind- readers, of course, and this helped them in everyday life, but their flight was when they were truly at their best. This was why they had never made a sport of it. They didn't want to mar the beauty that was already there.
She had a long way to travel today. The hotel was in the isolation of the unknown mountains of Scotland, a configuration of the unchartable land to the north of Scotland, England, and Wales, wasn't as far from Hogwarts as some would think. It was still a distance to travel, and Nikiatom was starting to grow weary of the tedious, mapped flight. He did a few backflips, some turns, and some of the sylvan flying techniques, that were really just combinations of the two.
It was growing darker. From this height, Nikiatom could see the sky turning a bright red, then bleeding into a darker purple. It was lucky sylphs had a full spectrum eye; Nikiatom spelled his eyes into the greatest range of vision she could. The unltraviolet rays and infrared light would be what was most helpful to him now.
As soon as she saw the expansive Victorian hotel, alight with the flames of thousands of torches and candles, he dipped her wings downward to land. He pulled the hood up to cover her flax golden hair, the chill of rain in the atmosphere making him shiver, she stepped up to the massive door and banged three times.
There was a clatter inside, and a few moments later, Nikiatom was met with a very flustered butler in tails holding a tray of broken margarita glasses. The dim light of the main hall burned at his eyes, and they quickly returned to the human spectrum. The butler rolled his eyes at the, perhaps dramatic, pause Nikiatom took to adjust, and he started to huff.
"Now, don't stand out there in the cold. It's going to rain tonight. Get in." Nikiatom was ushered in hurriedly, before she could start to accuse the butler of being inhospitable. "What is it you want? As you can see from this broken tray, the lounge is very busy tonight, and the guests are very busy getting smashed, so I suggest you make it quick."
Nikiatom finally found his voice. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"
"You are no guest. That much I can tell."
"How did you know I won't be staying?" Nikiatom grinned, trying to win some friendship from the unfriendly staffperson.
"You don't have a beautiful wife hanging off your arm and you aren't carrying any expensive, Italian leather bags."
"You are really quite the Sherlock."
"Yes, yes I am." The man grumbled, shifting the tea tray. "But I don't have the time to trade comebacks with you now." How had he figured out Nikiatom was toying with him? "I'll have you off to the clerk's table, over there." With that, the irritable man was gone.
For the first time, Nikiatom was able to truly admire the grand hall. There were two marble staircases leading up to the second floor, and then two more on each side to the third floor balcony, where the ancient elevator started. The carpet on the hall was a rich berry red, and the pillars to the third floor balcony were made of pink granite. This was certainly a well-to-do place, and it was large enough to be comparable with the testing that would go on here. Hopefully. Nikiatom pulled herself out of his trance. She started to the counter, where a woman in a very elegant evening gown was reading a magazine and chewing gum. She tried to blow a bubble, and the pink clashed horribly with her block red lipstick. She looked up and spit the gum out into the small wastebasket next to her.
"And just what is it you were bothering poor Victor with?" She asked, pulling up her black, elbow-length gloves.
"I would like to make a reservation here. A rather large reservation." He said, leaning on the counter.
"When for?"
"The week of November 7-13."
"We're booked crazy that week. I'm afraid that we may not have a lot of rooms. Tell me, will it just be you or a party?"
"There will be a party of around twenty. Are you sure that you'll be booked?"
"Twenty! We can't do that, it's far too many people. Are you sure you can't all just squeeze in two suites?"
"No, we will all need separate rooms." The woman's eyes widened.
"I'm sorry, but we can't do that. Even a hotel of this size is far too small for that, along with the other rooms being occupied."
"Couldn't you get different families and travelors to share a room?" Nikiatom asked, her eyes widening to match the clerk's.
"I'm afraid we can not. This is on too short notice. You will just have to harbor all of these guests somewhere else."
"But they need to come here."
"But we don't have the room." Her voice was very deadly.
"You have to have the room."
"But we don't have the room, so it's no longer any of your concern, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She was standing to her full height, stillettos and all.
"I don't want to make a scene." Nikiatom whispered.
"How can you not expect to make a scene when you come in here talking crazy talk like that? We simply can not comply with your wishes!"
"You can and you will comply with my wishes." Nikiatom glowered.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave at once." She said, heatedly pointing at the door.
"You don't want me to leave." He told her, and she was lost.
"Don't tell me what I do and don't want to do! That's my job! And I am telling you to leave!"
"I can't leave until I get these rooms."
"Leave!"
"Just let me talk to the manager."
"Leave!"
"I will not leave until you tell me how many rooms are open for visitors that week!"
"I will not tell you that information! It is confidential, and very personal to the guests!"
"Tell me!"
"NO!" she screamed, then "LEAVE!"
"NO!"
By now, the grouchy butler was back.
"Sir, I'm going to escourt you out . . ."
"You are not going to escourt me out! This is important! It is very grave that this is done!"
"If it is so grave, why don't you stop wasting your time here and leave to go find another hotel?" The woman sneered.
"This is a matter between the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Sylphs! I demand to be listened to!" He screamed.
Nikiatom was the only one to hear the heels coming down the marble staircase.
"Now, now, dear Roxie, what is all the screaming about?" Came the snobbish voice of the hotel's owner.
"This man is demanding to have at least twenty rooms reserved for the week of November 7-13. I told him it was impossible, and he never once believed me. When he started to make a scene, I told him to leave, and he refused until he got the reservation." Roxie explained with a far too angelic look on her face.
"Oh, Roxie, play nicely with the guests. I don't remember how many times I've told you to come to me in a situation like this." By now the manager was halfway down the staircase, still taking his leisurely time. He wore an expensive Armani tuxedo and wore his long, platinum blonde hair back in a low ponytail. He oozed aristocracy, one hand resting on the banister, the other on the snake cane he carried with him everywhere. His sharp blue eyes seemed to make Roxie and the irritated butler writhe under their skins for the condensation in them.
"Did you listen to what this fine," Here his eyes swept over Nikiatom's travel worn clothes and beaten hair. "gentleman has to say?" He sneered the word gentlemen, placing irony on it.
"I'm a representative of the Order of the Sylphs and the Ministry of Magic, here to reserve the hotel specifically for our needs for that week." Nikiatom's chest puffed out, dignity won over the slimy Malfoy.
"Oh, that. I was wondering if someone would show up again." The Malfoy was on the red rug, striding toward Nikiatom.
Nikiatom didn't let it phase him. He took it in stride, keeping her dignity and not showing any surprise.
"Your leader set things up a week ago. I do hope this hasn't caused you any trouble." The Malfoy mocked, his voice quiet, yet commanding attention.
"No trouble at all, sir Malfoy. This was a test to see what your staff would reveal to me. I must say that they did rather well. If I hadn't known anything before I came here, I would have left knowing nothing. These really are fine people you have working for you." Nikiatom smiled. The Malfoys were so purebred in the wizard department, they had no sylvan blood, not even a smudge, and so he would never know of Nikiatom's surprise. "I will be leaving now. Thank you."
It was exactly that moment the storm broke, and a deluge of rain could be heard from outside.
"You are very pretty. Put your hood down, dear." When Nikiatom didn't, the Malfoy put it down for him, letting his fingers brush her cheek. "Ah, there you are." The Malfoy's fingers remained at his face. "But you are amazing. You must be a sylph. Pity it's raining. Am I right in assuming you flew here?" Nikiatom nodded, and in doing so, backed up, away from the intruding hand. "I'm right about a lot of things."
The Malfoy turned around and slinked up toward the stairway again. "My name is Ozias Malfoy, but I'm sure you already knew I was a Malfoy. I would stay, but it is such a pity that tonight happens to be the pureblood's annual gala. I must get back to it. Victor, give the pretty thing room two hundred and thirty six for the night, free of charge, and a clean set of extra pyjamas. I really must be going."
After Ozias left, Victor disappeared into a separate room for a while, then came out with a bundle for Nikiatom, and motioned for the sylph to follow him.
Victor took Nikiatom up to the third floor, where they had to pass through the gala crowd. A small jazz band was playing in the corner of the room. They consisted of a string bass, a piano, a tenor saxophone, a clarinet, and a turmpet. Their jazz singer was a sultry brunette with a twenties' bob and a deep, cigarette-and-whiskey alto voice. All the men were dressed up in Muggle tuxes, and all the women were wearing Chanel's Little Black Dress. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco standing with his father.
"Uncle Ozias! Hello!" He heard the boy say.
He was free for the night.
Victor led him down a dimly lit hallway, pureblood wizard couples wandering from the (no doubt dull) gala. Victor gave him a rusty, antique key once they had reached room 236 and bustled off to his other duties. Nikiatom strolled in, threw her cloak down onto the bed, took off his shoes.
As she looked around the room, he couldn't help but wonder how they tried so hard to make this place look rich. The carpet was white, and the bedsheets were made of a fluffy, chintzy, royal red cloth. There were at least ten pillows on the bed, each adding a different hint of the '40's block red lipstick color. About ten feet from the bed, there were two black leather couches, surrounding the wizard equivalent of a big-screen TV and numerous CD players, radios, and tape decks. Ten feet from the couches was a counter. Nikiatom went to explore it more thoroughly.
It was obviously a kitchen, with a black stovetop, microwave, sink, and oven. They were all by the same company, and they were all the same year. 1999. Nikiatom picked up a pear from the fruit basket on the black table, and, after sampling it, found it to be the opposite of ripe, threw it into the trash can. She felt this place to be too rich for much of the humble sylph comfort level. With a shudder, he perceived a calling to leave the room, and she was all too happy to have an excuse to go.
The sounds of the jazz band were soothing to his ears, the clarinet's solo washing over him as the smooth instrument sang. She hid behind a large plant, so as not to draw too much attention to himself, the uninvited wallflower. She watched the purebloods laugh together in groups, none of them really listening to the music, none of them really caring that they could be dancing. There were a few romantic couples in the corner, but they were far off to the side, and not really inspiring any furthering of the pastime. Nikiatom heard footsteps behind him.
"Hello." It was Draco Malfoy. Nikiatom turned to meet him.
"Hello yourself."
"Would you mind terribly much dancing with me? My father wants me to look like I'm trying to find a future wife, but to be quite frank with you, I'm getting sick of the poncy pureblood girls here." Draco rolled his eyes at the crowd, and Nikiatom smiled.
"Of course I'll dance with you."
Draco took her out to the dance floor, and they started an easy swing. After a while, conversation became accepted, and they eased into it.
"You're different tonight." Nikiatom began, searching the younger Malfoy's face.
"It's the jazz. It makes me relax." That was a blatant lie, and Nikiatom knew it. He sifted through her partner's mind, and came up with the answer. I'm not under my father's spell. Nikiatom's eyes asked a question, and Draco nodded slightly. They broke eye contact, and Draco restarted the conversation.
"You're a sylph, aren't you? I remember seeing you around the castle, and you're too beautiful to be anything but." Nikiatom nodded.
"I just can't believe that Pot-Harry is your monarch. It was far too hard for me to take in that he even was a sylph."
"Well, I can see how it would be unexpected." Nikiatom tentatively answered.
The song was over, and the next one was fast and loose. There wasn't much room for conversation, so they merely enjoyed each other's responses to the dance.
Nikiatom watched Draco's eyes. He could tell the confidence was a façade. His focus was everywhere around the room, and every once in a while, their moves would be confused, and Draco would shake himself, force himself to concentrate on what he was doing. Nikiatom knew what it is the boy watched. He watched his uncle. It was a curious development that would have to be observed. She could never truly read his mind; if the doorways to be found in other minds were closed to the sylphs, they were not supposed to be open. For the moment, this was not something Nikiatom was to know unless Draco chose for him to know. And, as the boy (young man, really) had no idea that Nikiatom could pry into his mind, he could not open it to his dance partner.
The song ended, and Draco said he needed to get some water. Nikiatom nodded, and, sensing their comaraderie was not over, stayed where he was.
"We meet again, sir sylph."
Nikiatom turned to see Ozias Malfoy strolling toward him, nursing a glass of champagne and swaying slightly. In the background, she saw Victor put something in a drink.
"I do not see why you feel the need to call me 'sir.' I am not male, a noble, or knighted by your king."
"Surely you have to be of some repute." Ozias smirked. "To come to a gala such as this you have to have some connection to power."
"Why would you think that I didn't crash the party?"
"You came here from the order of the sylphs. You must have some great title." Ozias sipped his drink.
"Not as such. And we don't give titles anyway."
"Oh, well, what is your relationship with your king, Liamh?" He mocked.
"I am his comrade." Nikiatom whispered.
"Be that as it may, it makes me wonder what you think it is about you that allows you to be here without having to suffer the consequences. Your 'title' must have gone to your head." Ozias sneered down his nose at the sylph, who looked back to the hall to his room. She turned to leave, but felt a light grip on his shoulders.
"What's the rush? You can not honestly be frightened by me. I am a mere wizard, and you, you are a sylph, one of those otherworldly creatures that is beginning to really grate on my nerves. You can be wherever you want, and all the wizards will accept you with open arms."
"I was just going back to my room; why should I stay when I was never welcomed here?" Nikiatom whispered, eyes down on the hand that had slipped from her shoulder to his arm.
"Hear this. You don't have everyone under your spell. I've been watching the little rondezvous between your kind and the rest of that pathetic council ever since I found out you would be returning to the world of the mortal world. I am not fooled by the tranquility of your race, and, as one raised in a family of rats, I admit it is easier for me to spot one when I see it. Stay, if you still feel worth the show."
With a last glare, Ozias turned back to whom he had been talking to.
Draco had watched this exchange with a calculating gaze. He snapped out of it, saw that he was still with the silver-haired sylph, and he smiled slightly.
"You're lucky." He said. "Uncle Ozias can be very ruthless. There are a few things I need to tell you, the dance was only a way for me to get you to trust me. We will go to your room. Lead the way."
Nikiatom turned around, quickly hiding the dazed look of her emotions. They travled down to room two hundred and thirty six, and when they reached it, Nikiatom took out the key he had pocketed and opened the door.
"Oh, I see you got one of the less lavish rooms." Draco muttered, surprised. Nikiatom shrugged her shoulders, lighting a fire in the grate with magic and getting himself comfortable. She waited for Draco to start his confessions. After a few moments of gathering his thoughts, Draco looked at a patiently waiting Nikiatom, perched on the edge of a chair, and cleared his throat.
"As you most likely know, my father has me under an advanced form of the Imperious Curse. It ties me to him, and him to me. Through this tie, he can control me. He looks into my mind and constantly stifles it. The Malfoys have always been very powerful, not just in society but in their innate magic as well. This fact helps my father to force half of his mind to supervise my own, and half of his mind to go about daily life. It is very rare when he puts his mind fully into what he's doing, and therefore very rare when he has allowed me to be as free as he allows me to be tonight." Draco drew in a breath.
"But this spell is not, as you would expect, outlawed. It is so subtle, and, when abstracted by the right wizard's potency, impossible to detect. This spell was invented after mind-reading spells and potions were outlawed, therefore law enforcement can't use them to see just what someone's mind is doing. It would be hypocritical for the government to cast one of these spells on a subject of that government. My father saw this loophole as soon as my mother told him that I did not have a dark aura, but a light one. He cast the spell on me, and when I started to have conscious thought as a child, he would stifle me."
"He never came to the realization that as he can see into your mind, you can see into his?" Nikiatom asked.
"Exactly."
There was a slight pause as Draco gathered all the information he had to spill and Nikiatom stood and walked to the window, standing with his back to the boy wizard.
"My father is very prejudiced against the sylvan race. It is your job to tell Harry what he is getting his race into. Father accepts that you will destroy his master, but he does not have his main sights focused on Muggles anymore. He is threatened by the fact that there could possibly be a superior race above the wizards. He will try to anialate your entire population."
Nikiatom turned her head sharply.
"How? Do you know yet?"
"He believes that if he tried to read into your minds as well, he could find the way to the entrance of your Underworld."
Nikiatom did a quick scan of Draco's emotions. They all turned up as determined and honest. Another, deeper scan told him that there was something to be found in Draco's head that only a sylph could truly understand. Searching through what Draco had analyzed about himself, she saw that he didn't know that he felt the way he did. Nikiatom's eyes quickly focused back to the grim reality that was before him.
"There is nothing of you that I can not trust. What else do you know?"
"The Dark Lord's citadel is far away in a place that is obscure. Father is never allowed to go there. Only the least trusted of the Death Eaters are allowed access to it."
Nikiatom knew why this was. Voldemort wanted to keep those who doubted him close so they couldn't contact his enemies.
"There is a contact among the Free People that will be a traitor. I only know this because Father does not trust her. There is another thing that frightens the Dark Lord immensely, but it is never named. There is no way of knowing what this force is, but it is growing, and as it grows, it becomes more and more sufficient at framing what it knows to be a part of the Side of Light."
"What else do you know?"
"There is an unknown entity that seems to be helping both the dark side and the light. I do not know which exactly it is, but there is something out there called the Tormentors that seem to be killing off Slytherin girls. There is a lot of speculation on why this is happening, but there seem to be only far-fetched answers that can't be anywhere near the truth. I don't know what is right, and what I should do, but I passed these burdens on to someone who is more in tune with the world most of the time. Once father puts me back under the spell, I won't be able to come to you again. My time is running out; it will not be much longer before I will have to go." Draco sighed, looking down.
"Do you think there is a greater power that we just don't know about?" Nikiatom asked, not bothering to invade the boy's mind again.
"Yes. I believe we are all aiming for the wrong goal." Draco's silver eyes met Nikiatom's own violet.
"From what I know of our resident villain, he is not as evil as we think."
"Do you mean to say that there is more to You-Know-Who than meets the eye?" Draco raised his brows curiously.
"As far as the senses go, the eyes are the one that is likely to be blind." She turned to the window. "I would tell you to follow your intuition, but your mind is not free enough for such abstract thought. As you said, you are controlled most of the time by the very manipulative Malfoy your father is."
"It is not my destined fate to follow in my father's footsteps. My resistence to him tonight is proof of that."
"Lord Voldemort was once a simple Tom Riddle. The perplexities of what brought him to the insane tyrant he is now is a story that hasn't been told, or doesn't want to be told."
"How do you know this?" Draco wondered.
"I have spent quite a lot of time with the girl, Ginny Weasley, and I have found out some quite interesting things about her first year here."
Draco spent a moment thinking back to when that would have been. His second year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.
"The Chamber?"
"Yes. The Chamber. Apparantly, our beloved Tom's powers of manipulation follow a trend. He's been hurt, and at the state he was in, he just asked to be possessed by the creature we call Lord Voldemort."
"What do you mean?"
Nikiatom sighed. Wizards were sure bothersome when they didn't care to even try to follow a sylph's train of thought.
"The Chamber was opened once before at a time of darkness, as it was the time before that. Every time, there has been one of a certain inheritance to stop it. Can you honestly tell me you do not see the paralells?" He turned halfway to the boy, who had a confused look upon his face until the proverbial lightbulb went off.
"Do you mean to say that there has been more than one Lord Voldemort?" A smile graced her lips as Draco asked Nikiatom the question.
"Last time, his name was Grindelwald."
"But what do you mean by Inheritance? Surely Professor Dumbledore and Harry are not related?"
"I'm proud. You can stand to pay attention to Binns enough to listen in his class. Congratulations." Nikiatom smiled, but the amusement soon faded. "Of course they aren't. That would be far-fetched. There are ways of coming to Inheritance without being related to one another."
"But I don't understand." Draco almost wailed, but his control over his voice was far too great to allow himself such a practice.
"You will decide who is right, and who is diluded into thinking they are right."
"It was hard to come to the conclusion to get one of the sylphs on their own and tell them this tonight. How am I supposed to figure this riddle out, especially when I don't have full control over my mind?" Draco admitted, hanging his head.
"Do not fear what you are forced to be. The only thing someone in your position can do is to fight." A sudden image of a very worn Lucius Malfoy came to Nikiatom's inner eye. "Your father is growing weaker. He has lived with this dark spell all his life. Take advantage of that. It sounds like something someone in the wrong would do, to take advantage of another person's weakness, but you must resist in the most pointed way possible. Any time of war is a blur between what is right and what is wrong, but this is a war unlike any fought in the past. This is a war where the only way to win is to give away secrets to the other side and calculate their moves without their knowledge. You will play an intregal part in this tale of mystery. Fight hard, and you will eventually persevere. Don't hope for the best, because it will blind you, and make you think you will win, and not allow you to calculate your moves like you are supposed to. Instead, assume that those who will try to control you know everything about you but what you know about them. If you are not perseverent, it will be less of a challenge to come back from it."
"Have you never had hope?" Draco queried, worry in his eyes for the broken person he saw before him.
"I did, but it crushed me in the end." Nikiatom explained.
Draco looked down at his shoes. They were scuffed from the dances he had participated in in the past. However, their faded magnificence was not lost to those who paid attention to the deeper detail. He was as they were; magnificent, but scuffed and tainted by what it was that had been allowed to roar within him. Nikiatom saw one of the most moving people he had ever met. The breaking of this Draco Malfoy had only bent him over backwards, but his spine had not yet cracked. If it did, the paralysis that would follow would be devastating to both sides. Whether they knew it or not, both the warring peoples in this crazy time wanted him to work for them. Nikiatom knew that Harry was thinking along the same lines as she was, that Draco was important. Tonight had proven that.
"Your mother will start to seek you out soon." He said, walking close to the boy and laying her hand on his shoulder. "You should go, and not allow her to worry."
"I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want to be questioned about where I was." Draco sighed, looking up into his face.
They both turned to find the door out of Nikiatom's room for the night. Draco led the way, having long since figured out the plots of the rooms in his uncle's expensive hotel. They reached it, and Draco turned back before leaving.
"How did you know you could trust me?" He inquired quickly.
"You have many traits that the sylphs carry. I can predict far easier what you are feeling because you are more complicated than those you grew up with. You think like a sylph would, when in the right setting." There came a flash across Nikiatom's mind of a Draco smiling at him over the shoulder of their love as the three of them awoke one morning. "You will grow to learn things that others of your race will never begin to comprehend. You are blessed with a certain sight, though you will never get it until after your demon has been conquered."
Draco's face was stony as he received such a complement. He looked down the hall in the direction of the party, and as he made a move to step back into the rooms, Nikiatom held up a hand.
"Go."
Draco nodded, and he went.
************************************ ***********************************
A/N: Okay, this chapter went . . . differently than was originally planned, but I like it, it added more. I didn't intend to write as much about Nikiatom as I did, or Draco for that matter. The only thing that matters is that it's done, written, and the next chapter should be out sooner than this one was. I'm sorry, but finals crept up on me, and they loaded me down with homework, and writing this just wasn't a priority that could make me stay away from that. It's summer now, so I will have a LOT more time to write, and I do hope to finish it, so it is now very much a priority.
Reviews:
katrina: I had fun writing the interlude with Harry/Draco, that was just too fun. Much more of Draco in this chapter, hope you liked!
Rain, TwistedLogic, and julie: Thank you for reviewing! As you can see, I did write more, and will be for a while!
Jaded*Secrets: I know. I hope the stuff I've been following doesn't get cancelled, because I don't know what I'd do. Probably become an angry flamer and scream at authors that I want to know what happens . . . though, that might be kinda mean . . . Anyway, you can count on the fact that I'm not giving up on this fic yet, after all, they made it to Ron and Hermione's sixth year, so I might as well just finish.
Sashi- I don't know whether I've replied to your review yet or not, so here goes. I've been planning to rewrite it since I started writing it, and I've taken everything you said into consideration. Thank you for the constructive criticism.
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 might 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). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be forced to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. 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 15:
Interview With a Traitor
Triskele wandered around the halls of Hogwarts, contemplating his position there, when she noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the old bat man was following her. He decided to keep walking. Perhaps they were just going in the same direction. She whistled to himself, steps slapping noiselessly against the ground. He played with her hair, and whistled a tune. Professor Snape was still behind him.
It was then that Triskele decided she was going to play a little game with the professor. He stepped into the shadows. She walked in them for a bit, then strolled out of them on the other side. He stepped, then skipped, and stepped once more, skipping again. With a not-so-graceful spin, Triskele landed like a cat, knees bent slightly. With this stepping, skipping pattern, the sylph made her way out of the castle. Once outside, he ignored the brisk chill, and continued along her way, smiling and dancing. He started to hum an old children's song. It was whimsical, and made no sense. In fact, it was about nonsense, and when she got to the words of the little ditty, he sang in sylvan. It was then that she paused for just a moment, judging the distance of the professor. He was still following the meandering Triskele. With this, Triskele broke into a run. In a dizzy sprint, he twirled her way into a nearby field, the dead, golden grass swayed in the wind.
The old professor didn't have the energy to keep up with the ageless being any longer. He slowed, coming to a jog, then an all-out stop. He'd get her sometime.
* * *
"That's twenty Aurors and seventeen Unspeakables. That's a manageable number." Eldrid declared, quickly counting the names on the list.
"We shouldn't need more than two days to go through all of them. A lot of them we'll be able to rule some out right away." Amadeus commented, glancing over the former ruler's shoulder.
"I honestly didn't think we'd get this many volunteers. I would have thought that Aurors, and Unspeakables especially, would not want to get in to something they know nothing about." Lemagne commented.
"You must always remember that wizards aren't privy to the cautions the sylvan culture induces. I was never very patient with them when I lived among them." Harry smiled, watching as a group of Hufflepuffs passed them to go to the Great Hall for lunch. They sat on and around a bench that was in the central courtyard of Hogwarts. Nikiatom remained quiet, instead of speaking his every thought, she observed, basking in the sunlight.
"That makes me feel so much more confident of our reasons for helping them." Amadeus sniped, rolling her eyes.
"We have to help them simply because they have gotten themselves into such problems as these, that it can only be attributed to our absence." Triskele snapped at him.
Eldrid looked at her. "Had they not been so separated from the source of their magic for so long, the darker magic would not have been able to take over. It is entirely our fault that they get themselves into these situations."
"But you could also say it was their fault for driving us away from here." Lemagne pointed out.
"Oh, just choose a side! You can't straddle the fence forever." Amadeus growled.
"I'm only pointing out the truth." Lemagne defended, holding up his hands.
"I think we should get back to the matters at hand. Now, we're going to need to inform the hotel Racue that we will be requesting a large reservation the week of November 7-13. Does anyone think we will be needing more time than that?" After a scattering of no's, Harry resumed his speech. "Who would like to do that?" When Nikiatom gave a signal, Harry wasn't surprised, just mildly curious. "Alright then, Nikiatom will be in charge of reservations. We will all be going to the interviews, so we should set up a list of questions we will be needing to ask. Would anyone like to go first?"
"Well, I have a few ideas." Eldrid started. "Well, I think we should ask them about background to any kind of defensive art. Then, I think we should ask them the nature of this form of martial defense. Is it aggressive, or passive? Is it meant for groups of attackers or just one? Have they got any experience with long journeys on foot? Do they have any qualms about flying for short stints? Are they fit? What is their body fat percentage? How often do they currently go on raids for the Ministry? I think these are very important for the physical aspects of the journey." Eldrid sat back, stretching out his feet.
"Yes, they certainly seem to cover the physical aspects, but what about the mental? I think we should ask questions like 'How do you feel in a close knit group of people?'" Triskele commented.
"Yes, go on, what are more questions that should be asked?" Harry queried, finishing the list of questions.
"Do you have problems with sleep? Can you function under a low level of sleep? How well do you cope with groups of people? Do you need to be alone a lot, or are you okay with people for a long length of time? Do you get agitated easily when you are under stress? What do you do to rid yourself of stress? Are you terribly connected to material things? Do you know how to work together with people? Do you know how to ration yourself on food? Are you resourceful enough to get along with only a limited number of tools and whatever you may find? Did you go through any traumatizing experiences that would lead you to resurface the issues of your past?" Triskele finished.
"Very good. Lemagne? Do you have any ideas?" Harry asked.
"Not really, but, what about resistence to pain?" Lemagne asked, blushing. "I don't have that much experience in matters of life and death."
"That's alright. Amadeus?"
"How many languages can you speak? How well do you trust other people? Have you been through any extra schooling than what training you required to become a registered wizard and Unspeakable/Auror? Do you have any problems with certain spells that are useful on the road?" He listed.
They turned to Nikiatom.
"Well, I think it would be for the best to ask if they have family. Have you had any trouble with the law in the past? If so, what happened? How much pain are you used to going through to get a job done? Do you notice details? Do you connect details accurately and efficiently? How loyal are you? How many weapons do you carry on you at all times? How dedicated to the cause are you? Why did you sign up? What is one quality that is easily distinguished about you? Do you like to draw attention to yourself? Have you had any past conflicts with using dark power? Do you want to be high ranking socially? Do you know how to use a sword? Do you know what kind of sword the Asians use? Are you familiar with jungle battle? Are you acquainted with dodging objects flung at you? How long have you been working for the Ministry? How much of your original training do you practice? Do you like to talk? Would you spill secrets accidentally? Have you ever acted in sabotage? I think we have to drill these wizards, we don't know them the way we know other sylphs, how can we possibly know whether they are trustworthy or not? I'd be very wary of them, and I hope you will be too." Nikiatom hadn't gotten passionate over the questions that should be asked, and the last few sentences were said in a mumble.
There was a slight pause as they took in the enormity of the job laid before them. Harry sighed, and thanked them, bringing them back to the moment.
"I have been contacted by Sirius and Charlie, and they say that they will be getting the rest of the Clan of the Grey Wizards together to meet us on the island. They won't be bringing everyone, just those who wish for a more active part in the quest. He already has the spy network working, and they will be contacting those who won't be coming with us on the expedition here, where they will be safer. You will then contact one of the sylphs through our telepathy skills who are on the quest and need the news. There will have to be some of us who stay here at Hogwarts to observe the actions of the students and teachers. We also have to get a few sylphs to teach at the training camp for the day of the final battle. Who thinks they can gather teachers?"
When no one volunteered, Nikiatom gave a slight nod.
"Thank you, Nikiatom. Now, who thinks they can go on the quest?" Harry asked, looking at the Order Members.
Triskele, Lemagne, and a reproachful Nikiatom volunteered.
"All right. We'll figure out later who goes on which quest." Harry smiled at them all. "I am indebted to you all. It is not a very easy thing for any of you to do, of that I am sure. We will reconvine when we have all figured out what exactly it is we have on our hands. Remember, tomorrow we will meet outside the main gates tomorrow at eight o' clock. Arthur Weasley will be overseeing the interviews."
They all stood to leave, each one heading in a different direction, until only Eldrid was left, looking old and bemused.
* * *
Nikiatom immediately went to his rooms, to gather together a flying shirt and cloak. Once she had both on, he took to the balcony and leapt off it. Hagrid's third year Care of Magical Creatures class gasped, terrified that they were seeing a suicide attempt. When her golden wings erupted from his back, there was a gasp of relief from the terrified third years, and as she flew off into the sky, they ripped their eyes from his sunlight body, going back in their minds to their class.
Nikiatom had always loved flying. It was something that had been imbedded into her very soul ever since he had first seen James soar. The air was a place where she didn't have to melt into the crowds and the shadows, where there was no one to notice him and no one to care if she looked broken- hearted. He was alone with the world; and the world really didn't seem to mind much.
It, of course, had been hard for her to see his dear . . . no, Nikiatom reminded himself, Harry was not his dear, yet . . . companion to be in so much pain because of the one thing that he found to be the constant in her life. That was part of the reason he had become so possessive and overbearing. It was the fact that Harry's first real experience of the world was spoilt so by the fact that he was not a purebred sylph.
Oh, Nikiatom had flown a broomstick, and while one had far more capacity for speed, it was not nearly as free as the flight he was experiencing now. To fly with your own wings was satisfactorily rudimentary. And, although it wasn't exactly the smoothest way to travel, there was a far less chance you were going to fall, and certainly no way to have your flight cursed by outside opponents.
It was a far strange thing for Nikiatom to comprehend, the fact that most of the world had no idea what true freedom was. To him, it was scandalous that wizards would never truly know this feeling; it was almost what made the sylphs such a compelling race. They knew what the others felt and when, and therefore could take tact to a new level. They were somewhat mind- readers, of course, and this helped them in everyday life, but their flight was when they were truly at their best. This was why they had never made a sport of it. They didn't want to mar the beauty that was already there.
She had a long way to travel today. The hotel was in the isolation of the unknown mountains of Scotland, a configuration of the unchartable land to the north of Scotland, England, and Wales, wasn't as far from Hogwarts as some would think. It was still a distance to travel, and Nikiatom was starting to grow weary of the tedious, mapped flight. He did a few backflips, some turns, and some of the sylvan flying techniques, that were really just combinations of the two.
It was growing darker. From this height, Nikiatom could see the sky turning a bright red, then bleeding into a darker purple. It was lucky sylphs had a full spectrum eye; Nikiatom spelled his eyes into the greatest range of vision she could. The unltraviolet rays and infrared light would be what was most helpful to him now.
As soon as she saw the expansive Victorian hotel, alight with the flames of thousands of torches and candles, he dipped her wings downward to land. He pulled the hood up to cover her flax golden hair, the chill of rain in the atmosphere making him shiver, she stepped up to the massive door and banged three times.
There was a clatter inside, and a few moments later, Nikiatom was met with a very flustered butler in tails holding a tray of broken margarita glasses. The dim light of the main hall burned at his eyes, and they quickly returned to the human spectrum. The butler rolled his eyes at the, perhaps dramatic, pause Nikiatom took to adjust, and he started to huff.
"Now, don't stand out there in the cold. It's going to rain tonight. Get in." Nikiatom was ushered in hurriedly, before she could start to accuse the butler of being inhospitable. "What is it you want? As you can see from this broken tray, the lounge is very busy tonight, and the guests are very busy getting smashed, so I suggest you make it quick."
Nikiatom finally found his voice. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"
"You are no guest. That much I can tell."
"How did you know I won't be staying?" Nikiatom grinned, trying to win some friendship from the unfriendly staffperson.
"You don't have a beautiful wife hanging off your arm and you aren't carrying any expensive, Italian leather bags."
"You are really quite the Sherlock."
"Yes, yes I am." The man grumbled, shifting the tea tray. "But I don't have the time to trade comebacks with you now." How had he figured out Nikiatom was toying with him? "I'll have you off to the clerk's table, over there." With that, the irritable man was gone.
For the first time, Nikiatom was able to truly admire the grand hall. There were two marble staircases leading up to the second floor, and then two more on each side to the third floor balcony, where the ancient elevator started. The carpet on the hall was a rich berry red, and the pillars to the third floor balcony were made of pink granite. This was certainly a well-to-do place, and it was large enough to be comparable with the testing that would go on here. Hopefully. Nikiatom pulled herself out of his trance. She started to the counter, where a woman in a very elegant evening gown was reading a magazine and chewing gum. She tried to blow a bubble, and the pink clashed horribly with her block red lipstick. She looked up and spit the gum out into the small wastebasket next to her.
"And just what is it you were bothering poor Victor with?" She asked, pulling up her black, elbow-length gloves.
"I would like to make a reservation here. A rather large reservation." He said, leaning on the counter.
"When for?"
"The week of November 7-13."
"We're booked crazy that week. I'm afraid that we may not have a lot of rooms. Tell me, will it just be you or a party?"
"There will be a party of around twenty. Are you sure that you'll be booked?"
"Twenty! We can't do that, it's far too many people. Are you sure you can't all just squeeze in two suites?"
"No, we will all need separate rooms." The woman's eyes widened.
"I'm sorry, but we can't do that. Even a hotel of this size is far too small for that, along with the other rooms being occupied."
"Couldn't you get different families and travelors to share a room?" Nikiatom asked, her eyes widening to match the clerk's.
"I'm afraid we can not. This is on too short notice. You will just have to harbor all of these guests somewhere else."
"But they need to come here."
"But we don't have the room." Her voice was very deadly.
"You have to have the room."
"But we don't have the room, so it's no longer any of your concern, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She was standing to her full height, stillettos and all.
"I don't want to make a scene." Nikiatom whispered.
"How can you not expect to make a scene when you come in here talking crazy talk like that? We simply can not comply with your wishes!"
"You can and you will comply with my wishes." Nikiatom glowered.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave at once." She said, heatedly pointing at the door.
"You don't want me to leave." He told her, and she was lost.
"Don't tell me what I do and don't want to do! That's my job! And I am telling you to leave!"
"I can't leave until I get these rooms."
"Leave!"
"Just let me talk to the manager."
"Leave!"
"I will not leave until you tell me how many rooms are open for visitors that week!"
"I will not tell you that information! It is confidential, and very personal to the guests!"
"Tell me!"
"NO!" she screamed, then "LEAVE!"
"NO!"
By now, the grouchy butler was back.
"Sir, I'm going to escourt you out . . ."
"You are not going to escourt me out! This is important! It is very grave that this is done!"
"If it is so grave, why don't you stop wasting your time here and leave to go find another hotel?" The woman sneered.
"This is a matter between the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Sylphs! I demand to be listened to!" He screamed.
Nikiatom was the only one to hear the heels coming down the marble staircase.
"Now, now, dear Roxie, what is all the screaming about?" Came the snobbish voice of the hotel's owner.
"This man is demanding to have at least twenty rooms reserved for the week of November 7-13. I told him it was impossible, and he never once believed me. When he started to make a scene, I told him to leave, and he refused until he got the reservation." Roxie explained with a far too angelic look on her face.
"Oh, Roxie, play nicely with the guests. I don't remember how many times I've told you to come to me in a situation like this." By now the manager was halfway down the staircase, still taking his leisurely time. He wore an expensive Armani tuxedo and wore his long, platinum blonde hair back in a low ponytail. He oozed aristocracy, one hand resting on the banister, the other on the snake cane he carried with him everywhere. His sharp blue eyes seemed to make Roxie and the irritated butler writhe under their skins for the condensation in them.
"Did you listen to what this fine," Here his eyes swept over Nikiatom's travel worn clothes and beaten hair. "gentleman has to say?" He sneered the word gentlemen, placing irony on it.
"I'm a representative of the Order of the Sylphs and the Ministry of Magic, here to reserve the hotel specifically for our needs for that week." Nikiatom's chest puffed out, dignity won over the slimy Malfoy.
"Oh, that. I was wondering if someone would show up again." The Malfoy was on the red rug, striding toward Nikiatom.
Nikiatom didn't let it phase him. He took it in stride, keeping her dignity and not showing any surprise.
"Your leader set things up a week ago. I do hope this hasn't caused you any trouble." The Malfoy mocked, his voice quiet, yet commanding attention.
"No trouble at all, sir Malfoy. This was a test to see what your staff would reveal to me. I must say that they did rather well. If I hadn't known anything before I came here, I would have left knowing nothing. These really are fine people you have working for you." Nikiatom smiled. The Malfoys were so purebred in the wizard department, they had no sylvan blood, not even a smudge, and so he would never know of Nikiatom's surprise. "I will be leaving now. Thank you."
It was exactly that moment the storm broke, and a deluge of rain could be heard from outside.
"You are very pretty. Put your hood down, dear." When Nikiatom didn't, the Malfoy put it down for him, letting his fingers brush her cheek. "Ah, there you are." The Malfoy's fingers remained at his face. "But you are amazing. You must be a sylph. Pity it's raining. Am I right in assuming you flew here?" Nikiatom nodded, and in doing so, backed up, away from the intruding hand. "I'm right about a lot of things."
The Malfoy turned around and slinked up toward the stairway again. "My name is Ozias Malfoy, but I'm sure you already knew I was a Malfoy. I would stay, but it is such a pity that tonight happens to be the pureblood's annual gala. I must get back to it. Victor, give the pretty thing room two hundred and thirty six for the night, free of charge, and a clean set of extra pyjamas. I really must be going."
After Ozias left, Victor disappeared into a separate room for a while, then came out with a bundle for Nikiatom, and motioned for the sylph to follow him.
Victor took Nikiatom up to the third floor, where they had to pass through the gala crowd. A small jazz band was playing in the corner of the room. They consisted of a string bass, a piano, a tenor saxophone, a clarinet, and a turmpet. Their jazz singer was a sultry brunette with a twenties' bob and a deep, cigarette-and-whiskey alto voice. All the men were dressed up in Muggle tuxes, and all the women were wearing Chanel's Little Black Dress. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco standing with his father.
"Uncle Ozias! Hello!" He heard the boy say.
He was free for the night.
Victor led him down a dimly lit hallway, pureblood wizard couples wandering from the (no doubt dull) gala. Victor gave him a rusty, antique key once they had reached room 236 and bustled off to his other duties. Nikiatom strolled in, threw her cloak down onto the bed, took off his shoes.
As she looked around the room, he couldn't help but wonder how they tried so hard to make this place look rich. The carpet was white, and the bedsheets were made of a fluffy, chintzy, royal red cloth. There were at least ten pillows on the bed, each adding a different hint of the '40's block red lipstick color. About ten feet from the bed, there were two black leather couches, surrounding the wizard equivalent of a big-screen TV and numerous CD players, radios, and tape decks. Ten feet from the couches was a counter. Nikiatom went to explore it more thoroughly.
It was obviously a kitchen, with a black stovetop, microwave, sink, and oven. They were all by the same company, and they were all the same year. 1999. Nikiatom picked up a pear from the fruit basket on the black table, and, after sampling it, found it to be the opposite of ripe, threw it into the trash can. She felt this place to be too rich for much of the humble sylph comfort level. With a shudder, he perceived a calling to leave the room, and she was all too happy to have an excuse to go.
The sounds of the jazz band were soothing to his ears, the clarinet's solo washing over him as the smooth instrument sang. She hid behind a large plant, so as not to draw too much attention to himself, the uninvited wallflower. She watched the purebloods laugh together in groups, none of them really listening to the music, none of them really caring that they could be dancing. There were a few romantic couples in the corner, but they were far off to the side, and not really inspiring any furthering of the pastime. Nikiatom heard footsteps behind him.
"Hello." It was Draco Malfoy. Nikiatom turned to meet him.
"Hello yourself."
"Would you mind terribly much dancing with me? My father wants me to look like I'm trying to find a future wife, but to be quite frank with you, I'm getting sick of the poncy pureblood girls here." Draco rolled his eyes at the crowd, and Nikiatom smiled.
"Of course I'll dance with you."
Draco took her out to the dance floor, and they started an easy swing. After a while, conversation became accepted, and they eased into it.
"You're different tonight." Nikiatom began, searching the younger Malfoy's face.
"It's the jazz. It makes me relax." That was a blatant lie, and Nikiatom knew it. He sifted through her partner's mind, and came up with the answer. I'm not under my father's spell. Nikiatom's eyes asked a question, and Draco nodded slightly. They broke eye contact, and Draco restarted the conversation.
"You're a sylph, aren't you? I remember seeing you around the castle, and you're too beautiful to be anything but." Nikiatom nodded.
"I just can't believe that Pot-Harry is your monarch. It was far too hard for me to take in that he even was a sylph."
"Well, I can see how it would be unexpected." Nikiatom tentatively answered.
The song was over, and the next one was fast and loose. There wasn't much room for conversation, so they merely enjoyed each other's responses to the dance.
Nikiatom watched Draco's eyes. He could tell the confidence was a façade. His focus was everywhere around the room, and every once in a while, their moves would be confused, and Draco would shake himself, force himself to concentrate on what he was doing. Nikiatom knew what it is the boy watched. He watched his uncle. It was a curious development that would have to be observed. She could never truly read his mind; if the doorways to be found in other minds were closed to the sylphs, they were not supposed to be open. For the moment, this was not something Nikiatom was to know unless Draco chose for him to know. And, as the boy (young man, really) had no idea that Nikiatom could pry into his mind, he could not open it to his dance partner.
The song ended, and Draco said he needed to get some water. Nikiatom nodded, and, sensing their comaraderie was not over, stayed where he was.
"We meet again, sir sylph."
Nikiatom turned to see Ozias Malfoy strolling toward him, nursing a glass of champagne and swaying slightly. In the background, she saw Victor put something in a drink.
"I do not see why you feel the need to call me 'sir.' I am not male, a noble, or knighted by your king."
"Surely you have to be of some repute." Ozias smirked. "To come to a gala such as this you have to have some connection to power."
"Why would you think that I didn't crash the party?"
"You came here from the order of the sylphs. You must have some great title." Ozias sipped his drink.
"Not as such. And we don't give titles anyway."
"Oh, well, what is your relationship with your king, Liamh?" He mocked.
"I am his comrade." Nikiatom whispered.
"Be that as it may, it makes me wonder what you think it is about you that allows you to be here without having to suffer the consequences. Your 'title' must have gone to your head." Ozias sneered down his nose at the sylph, who looked back to the hall to his room. She turned to leave, but felt a light grip on his shoulders.
"What's the rush? You can not honestly be frightened by me. I am a mere wizard, and you, you are a sylph, one of those otherworldly creatures that is beginning to really grate on my nerves. You can be wherever you want, and all the wizards will accept you with open arms."
"I was just going back to my room; why should I stay when I was never welcomed here?" Nikiatom whispered, eyes down on the hand that had slipped from her shoulder to his arm.
"Hear this. You don't have everyone under your spell. I've been watching the little rondezvous between your kind and the rest of that pathetic council ever since I found out you would be returning to the world of the mortal world. I am not fooled by the tranquility of your race, and, as one raised in a family of rats, I admit it is easier for me to spot one when I see it. Stay, if you still feel worth the show."
With a last glare, Ozias turned back to whom he had been talking to.
Draco had watched this exchange with a calculating gaze. He snapped out of it, saw that he was still with the silver-haired sylph, and he smiled slightly.
"You're lucky." He said. "Uncle Ozias can be very ruthless. There are a few things I need to tell you, the dance was only a way for me to get you to trust me. We will go to your room. Lead the way."
Nikiatom turned around, quickly hiding the dazed look of her emotions. They travled down to room two hundred and thirty six, and when they reached it, Nikiatom took out the key he had pocketed and opened the door.
"Oh, I see you got one of the less lavish rooms." Draco muttered, surprised. Nikiatom shrugged her shoulders, lighting a fire in the grate with magic and getting himself comfortable. She waited for Draco to start his confessions. After a few moments of gathering his thoughts, Draco looked at a patiently waiting Nikiatom, perched on the edge of a chair, and cleared his throat.
"As you most likely know, my father has me under an advanced form of the Imperious Curse. It ties me to him, and him to me. Through this tie, he can control me. He looks into my mind and constantly stifles it. The Malfoys have always been very powerful, not just in society but in their innate magic as well. This fact helps my father to force half of his mind to supervise my own, and half of his mind to go about daily life. It is very rare when he puts his mind fully into what he's doing, and therefore very rare when he has allowed me to be as free as he allows me to be tonight." Draco drew in a breath.
"But this spell is not, as you would expect, outlawed. It is so subtle, and, when abstracted by the right wizard's potency, impossible to detect. This spell was invented after mind-reading spells and potions were outlawed, therefore law enforcement can't use them to see just what someone's mind is doing. It would be hypocritical for the government to cast one of these spells on a subject of that government. My father saw this loophole as soon as my mother told him that I did not have a dark aura, but a light one. He cast the spell on me, and when I started to have conscious thought as a child, he would stifle me."
"He never came to the realization that as he can see into your mind, you can see into his?" Nikiatom asked.
"Exactly."
There was a slight pause as Draco gathered all the information he had to spill and Nikiatom stood and walked to the window, standing with his back to the boy wizard.
"My father is very prejudiced against the sylvan race. It is your job to tell Harry what he is getting his race into. Father accepts that you will destroy his master, but he does not have his main sights focused on Muggles anymore. He is threatened by the fact that there could possibly be a superior race above the wizards. He will try to anialate your entire population."
Nikiatom turned her head sharply.
"How? Do you know yet?"
"He believes that if he tried to read into your minds as well, he could find the way to the entrance of your Underworld."
Nikiatom did a quick scan of Draco's emotions. They all turned up as determined and honest. Another, deeper scan told him that there was something to be found in Draco's head that only a sylph could truly understand. Searching through what Draco had analyzed about himself, she saw that he didn't know that he felt the way he did. Nikiatom's eyes quickly focused back to the grim reality that was before him.
"There is nothing of you that I can not trust. What else do you know?"
"The Dark Lord's citadel is far away in a place that is obscure. Father is never allowed to go there. Only the least trusted of the Death Eaters are allowed access to it."
Nikiatom knew why this was. Voldemort wanted to keep those who doubted him close so they couldn't contact his enemies.
"There is a contact among the Free People that will be a traitor. I only know this because Father does not trust her. There is another thing that frightens the Dark Lord immensely, but it is never named. There is no way of knowing what this force is, but it is growing, and as it grows, it becomes more and more sufficient at framing what it knows to be a part of the Side of Light."
"What else do you know?"
"There is an unknown entity that seems to be helping both the dark side and the light. I do not know which exactly it is, but there is something out there called the Tormentors that seem to be killing off Slytherin girls. There is a lot of speculation on why this is happening, but there seem to be only far-fetched answers that can't be anywhere near the truth. I don't know what is right, and what I should do, but I passed these burdens on to someone who is more in tune with the world most of the time. Once father puts me back under the spell, I won't be able to come to you again. My time is running out; it will not be much longer before I will have to go." Draco sighed, looking down.
"Do you think there is a greater power that we just don't know about?" Nikiatom asked, not bothering to invade the boy's mind again.
"Yes. I believe we are all aiming for the wrong goal." Draco's silver eyes met Nikiatom's own violet.
"From what I know of our resident villain, he is not as evil as we think."
"Do you mean to say that there is more to You-Know-Who than meets the eye?" Draco raised his brows curiously.
"As far as the senses go, the eyes are the one that is likely to be blind." She turned to the window. "I would tell you to follow your intuition, but your mind is not free enough for such abstract thought. As you said, you are controlled most of the time by the very manipulative Malfoy your father is."
"It is not my destined fate to follow in my father's footsteps. My resistence to him tonight is proof of that."
"Lord Voldemort was once a simple Tom Riddle. The perplexities of what brought him to the insane tyrant he is now is a story that hasn't been told, or doesn't want to be told."
"How do you know this?" Draco wondered.
"I have spent quite a lot of time with the girl, Ginny Weasley, and I have found out some quite interesting things about her first year here."
Draco spent a moment thinking back to when that would have been. His second year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.
"The Chamber?"
"Yes. The Chamber. Apparantly, our beloved Tom's powers of manipulation follow a trend. He's been hurt, and at the state he was in, he just asked to be possessed by the creature we call Lord Voldemort."
"What do you mean?"
Nikiatom sighed. Wizards were sure bothersome when they didn't care to even try to follow a sylph's train of thought.
"The Chamber was opened once before at a time of darkness, as it was the time before that. Every time, there has been one of a certain inheritance to stop it. Can you honestly tell me you do not see the paralells?" He turned halfway to the boy, who had a confused look upon his face until the proverbial lightbulb went off.
"Do you mean to say that there has been more than one Lord Voldemort?" A smile graced her lips as Draco asked Nikiatom the question.
"Last time, his name was Grindelwald."
"But what do you mean by Inheritance? Surely Professor Dumbledore and Harry are not related?"
"I'm proud. You can stand to pay attention to Binns enough to listen in his class. Congratulations." Nikiatom smiled, but the amusement soon faded. "Of course they aren't. That would be far-fetched. There are ways of coming to Inheritance without being related to one another."
"But I don't understand." Draco almost wailed, but his control over his voice was far too great to allow himself such a practice.
"You will decide who is right, and who is diluded into thinking they are right."
"It was hard to come to the conclusion to get one of the sylphs on their own and tell them this tonight. How am I supposed to figure this riddle out, especially when I don't have full control over my mind?" Draco admitted, hanging his head.
"Do not fear what you are forced to be. The only thing someone in your position can do is to fight." A sudden image of a very worn Lucius Malfoy came to Nikiatom's inner eye. "Your father is growing weaker. He has lived with this dark spell all his life. Take advantage of that. It sounds like something someone in the wrong would do, to take advantage of another person's weakness, but you must resist in the most pointed way possible. Any time of war is a blur between what is right and what is wrong, but this is a war unlike any fought in the past. This is a war where the only way to win is to give away secrets to the other side and calculate their moves without their knowledge. You will play an intregal part in this tale of mystery. Fight hard, and you will eventually persevere. Don't hope for the best, because it will blind you, and make you think you will win, and not allow you to calculate your moves like you are supposed to. Instead, assume that those who will try to control you know everything about you but what you know about them. If you are not perseverent, it will be less of a challenge to come back from it."
"Have you never had hope?" Draco queried, worry in his eyes for the broken person he saw before him.
"I did, but it crushed me in the end." Nikiatom explained.
Draco looked down at his shoes. They were scuffed from the dances he had participated in in the past. However, their faded magnificence was not lost to those who paid attention to the deeper detail. He was as they were; magnificent, but scuffed and tainted by what it was that had been allowed to roar within him. Nikiatom saw one of the most moving people he had ever met. The breaking of this Draco Malfoy had only bent him over backwards, but his spine had not yet cracked. If it did, the paralysis that would follow would be devastating to both sides. Whether they knew it or not, both the warring peoples in this crazy time wanted him to work for them. Nikiatom knew that Harry was thinking along the same lines as she was, that Draco was important. Tonight had proven that.
"Your mother will start to seek you out soon." He said, walking close to the boy and laying her hand on his shoulder. "You should go, and not allow her to worry."
"I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want to be questioned about where I was." Draco sighed, looking up into his face.
They both turned to find the door out of Nikiatom's room for the night. Draco led the way, having long since figured out the plots of the rooms in his uncle's expensive hotel. They reached it, and Draco turned back before leaving.
"How did you know you could trust me?" He inquired quickly.
"You have many traits that the sylphs carry. I can predict far easier what you are feeling because you are more complicated than those you grew up with. You think like a sylph would, when in the right setting." There came a flash across Nikiatom's mind of a Draco smiling at him over the shoulder of their love as the three of them awoke one morning. "You will grow to learn things that others of your race will never begin to comprehend. You are blessed with a certain sight, though you will never get it until after your demon has been conquered."
Draco's face was stony as he received such a complement. He looked down the hall in the direction of the party, and as he made a move to step back into the rooms, Nikiatom held up a hand.
"Go."
Draco nodded, and he went.
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A/N: Okay, this chapter went . . . differently than was originally planned, but I like it, it added more. I didn't intend to write as much about Nikiatom as I did, or Draco for that matter. The only thing that matters is that it's done, written, and the next chapter should be out sooner than this one was. I'm sorry, but finals crept up on me, and they loaded me down with homework, and writing this just wasn't a priority that could make me stay away from that. It's summer now, so I will have a LOT more time to write, and I do hope to finish it, so it is now very much a priority.
Reviews:
katrina: I had fun writing the interlude with Harry/Draco, that was just too fun. Much more of Draco in this chapter, hope you liked!
Rain, TwistedLogic, and julie: Thank you for reviewing! As you can see, I did write more, and will be for a while!
Jaded*Secrets: I know. I hope the stuff I've been following doesn't get cancelled, because I don't know what I'd do. Probably become an angry flamer and scream at authors that I want to know what happens . . . though, that might be kinda mean . . . Anyway, you can count on the fact that I'm not giving up on this fic yet, after all, they made it to Ron and Hermione's sixth year, so I might as well just finish.
Sashi- I don't know whether I've replied to your review yet or not, so here goes. I've been planning to rewrite it since I started writing it, and I've taken everything you said into consideration. Thank you for the constructive criticism.
