It wasn't quite that quick. They went first to an empty classroom
in the dizzying maze of the castle. He walked beside Artemis, watching
her out of the corner of his eye. Apollo walked a little ahead, and was
talking to him, but he wasn't quite sure what was being said. Instead,
he watches the corridors pass, with their moving suits of armour and talking
portraits. Wizards were so tacky. These things had gone out of style at
least four hundred years before. Not that he remembered a time when they'd
been in style. He was only nineteen, after all. But honestly! They probably
hadn't renovated in a at least that long. It smelled that way, and you
could always tell by the smell. The latest style, which he knew Beauxbatons
was following and Durmstrang was adapting, was to furnish in the style
of Wildmoor, his own school. That meant the place would seem to be made
purely of forests and lakes, with branches forming everything from roofs
to doors. Wildmoor had a castle too, but the inside was done in sections
by different teachers to suit their tastes. As a result, most reflected
nature, although there was one hallway made exclusively of gold, silver,
and precious stones and another made of bones. But no where was there anything
like this.
"You aren't listening to me, are you?" Apollo demanded, turning suddenly. Ares blinked. Apollo must have taken that for an answer, because he responded with an irate 'whatever'.
They reached their destination, a classroom just as Ares could have imagined it from the rest of the school he'd seen.
"Who'd like to go first?" the hard-faced woman asked. She might have been in charge, but she deferred to the old man that had been introduced as the headmaster. Ares couldn't remember the name that had been given. Velma, of course, stepped forward. He suspected she liked to make a spectacle of herself so she could get half the attention Artemis got by being beautiful. On one hand, he loved Artemis, so his opinion of her beauty and character didn't totally count. On the other hand, he'd seen other boys looking at her, and even if he didn't like it, he could understand why they found her so riveting. Velma hoped to compete with her, although he couldn't understand why.
"Full name, please," the hard-faced woman said. "And..." she looked at the headmaster for confirmation, "species."
"Velma Fair of Greenglen, fairy," the short, chubby girl answered without hesitation. Ares could understand the teachers' sceptical looks. Velma didn't look like a fairy. She was much too tall - nearly five feet - and didn't have wings. She's had a bottle of skel-grow dropped on her when she was younger, which explained her size. How she lost her wings, he didn't know and had never bothered to ask.
The girl's name was noted on a roll of parchment. "Transfigure this badger, please." Velma waived the wand she'd picked up when the Wildmoor teachers had taken them all to Diagon Alley. They'd all received wands even if, like Artemis and Ares himself, they didn't need them. They had also picked up textbooks and robes for Hogwarts, just as if they were regular students.
The badger became a large grey pillow. So it went; potions, charms, history, and general knowledge were all thoroughly tested before the teachers were satisfied. But it wasn't over yet.
"Thor Torins, giant," was next, and tested as thoroughly as Velma had been. Thor was a small giant, and very touchy about his height. He probably wasn't even taller than a half-blood giant, which shamed him deeply. Raymond Blood followed, then Trixel Cray, a poltergeist girl stripped of most her powers in an accident. Most Wildmoor students were the results of accidents or strange breeding, or pure-blooded something's that were just misfits. He himself followed. At first he didn't want to give his full name, but a look from Apollo insisted. Artemis would have taken his side, he was sure, but she had fallen asleep, her head on her folded arms, hair spread over the desk she sat in.
"My name is Dulais Inferno, clan Shadowfield, hold Darkfire. I prefer Ares, however," he said clearly, his head high. He refused to look directly at anyone. "I am a half-elven, half-human," here he hesitated, but made himself say it, "Drow." There, he'd said it. And only the old man, the headmaster, looked to have even the slightest idea what it meant, and even he didn't really seem to know. But then, even his own schoolmates seemed mystified. Except Apollo. Artemis would understand the significance, but she was asleep.
Apollo took his turn, waving his wand with the sort of grace he always had. His spells worked better than Ares' had, and he knew more, even if Ares had more raw power. Apollo had always been an overachiever.
Finally, it was Artemis' turn. She woke up, but not until Apollo, with yet another graceful wave of his wand, poured a magical cascade of water over her. She bolted upright with a shriek, almost falling out of the desk as she did so. Her hair had lost its colour when the water hit it, and now whipped about it wet tendrils. Ares felt a surge somewhere in his blood that told him Artemis was doing magic. A human wouldn't feel it, and he wasn't sure an elf would either. He could, and he knew Apollo could, if less strongly, and Artemis would feel it if he did magic. Apollo didn't seem to give off that sort of thing, but he wasn't nearly as powerful. It was an indescribable sensation, one he might have imagined he'd had.
It had obviously been real, though, because Apollo was now stuck to the ceiling. He looked like he'd lay down spread-eagled on the ground and suddenly realized it wasn't the floor as he'd thought but the ceiling.
Having done this, most people would have dried themselves off. Artemis couldn't do something that small without a lot of effort; it was too close to elf magic, or even wizard. So, as always, she had contented herself with getting extreme revenge on her brother. It had happened before, and would again. Artemis would let her brother go when she calmed down. Ares doubted it would take more than a day this time. Not like the time Apollo had snitched her out for stealing pastries from the Wildmoor kitchens. Apollo had been stuck as a rat for a full week, and had kept the tail for another after that.
Everyone stumbled back as a hot wind gusted out of nowhere and swirled into a tornado around Artemis. Even as he shielded his face against the wind, he could hear her cloak snapping. Seconds later it died down, leaving the silver-haired beauty dry, if a bit windblown. Her black dragon-hide flight suit looked no worse for wear. She'd made it with his help, as well as her brother's, and all three of them had several. All were made from the skin of one giant dragon who had been killed in a territory fight. Warm or cool no matter what, protective against anything and incredibly light, they were the perfect suits.
"I rather think you won't be needing what we can teach you," the headmaster said when the wind died down.
"Potions, sir, and herbology. I don't know those. And history, I suppose, although it seemed a very boring subject," Artemis said humbly, looking in the opposite direction from where her brother was stuck.
"Perhaps she could teach, sir," Ray spoke up. He didn't speak loudly, but his voice carried well. "The responsibility would be good for her." Ray was the only friend the three elves had besides each other, else he's have been stuck to the roof or worse for such a comment. Artemis was far more tolerant of Ray and Ares himself than of anyone else, especially her twin.
"What would you suggest?" the headmaster asked. He was remarkably calm, all things considered.
"Professor, you can't be serious..." the hard-faced woman broke in in alarm.
"But I am, Minerva," the old man said. "Master Blood?"
"Magical creatures, sir, or maybe something about practical magic."
"Practical magic?"
"Demons and curses, large workings, spell invention and theory, and so on, sir."
"You must use those often, if you consider them practical."
"Life is interesting, sir," came the hissed reply.
"Indeed. Very well, she may assist Professor Weasley with Care of Magical Creatures, and I believe we can offer an optional course to our more advanced students. You will still be taking courses, you understand," the headmaster said to Artemis.
"Thank you sir," the girl replied.
"Name?" the hard-faced woman asked a bit breathlessly. She, like so many adults, doubtless had issues with change. That was her problem.
"Ceindeg Silverlake, clan Goldshore of holt Goldenwood. I go by Artemis Riddle."
"Riddle?" the hard-faced woman asked. "As it sounds?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"No." But the woman looked faint. She wrote anyway. The old man's eyes glinted a little, but it could have been interest or thoughtfulness.
Ares didn't really care about Artemis' human name. Wizards sometimes frowned at it, but they were of an inferior race anyway. Elves were superior, if stupid. Half-elves were by far the greatest race, and Artemis and Apollo, by heritage alone, were the greatest of all. It was in their names. Galwys and Ceindeg, Gold- and Silverlake. Their first names meant little, but that they had the same meaning indicated twins. Gold and silver, though, meant first and second child of the first clan of the first holt. The Goldenwood holt was the most populous, the diplomatic and spiritual centre of the High-elven community. The two of them were the closest the elven community had to royalty, and were accorded great respect. Well, they were whenever Apollo could drag his little sister back to the great golden woods of the holt for another period of mind-numbing boredom, as she put it. And, though they didn't often people and only acknowledged it even slightly in their human names, they came from a great line of wizards on their mother's side.
He, on the other hand, was a dangerous son of a dangerous line. His name spoke as loudly as theirs, but where theirs was honour and greatness, his was blood, fire, and darkness. He was Drow, from a family that had produced more Drow than any other. His holt, too, had a dark past, for it was from there that the Drow had been unleashed. Darkness, fire, and shame. He'd be dead at least seventeen years had his human mother, street wench from the dregs of wizard society, not fled the holt when she learned the fate that awaited her small son. Death, or fire and darkness. Death. She died saving him. She needn't have bothered. He was Drow.
"You aren't listening to me, are you?" Apollo demanded, turning suddenly. Ares blinked. Apollo must have taken that for an answer, because he responded with an irate 'whatever'.
They reached their destination, a classroom just as Ares could have imagined it from the rest of the school he'd seen.
"Who'd like to go first?" the hard-faced woman asked. She might have been in charge, but she deferred to the old man that had been introduced as the headmaster. Ares couldn't remember the name that had been given. Velma, of course, stepped forward. He suspected she liked to make a spectacle of herself so she could get half the attention Artemis got by being beautiful. On one hand, he loved Artemis, so his opinion of her beauty and character didn't totally count. On the other hand, he'd seen other boys looking at her, and even if he didn't like it, he could understand why they found her so riveting. Velma hoped to compete with her, although he couldn't understand why.
"Full name, please," the hard-faced woman said. "And..." she looked at the headmaster for confirmation, "species."
"Velma Fair of Greenglen, fairy," the short, chubby girl answered without hesitation. Ares could understand the teachers' sceptical looks. Velma didn't look like a fairy. She was much too tall - nearly five feet - and didn't have wings. She's had a bottle of skel-grow dropped on her when she was younger, which explained her size. How she lost her wings, he didn't know and had never bothered to ask.
The girl's name was noted on a roll of parchment. "Transfigure this badger, please." Velma waived the wand she'd picked up when the Wildmoor teachers had taken them all to Diagon Alley. They'd all received wands even if, like Artemis and Ares himself, they didn't need them. They had also picked up textbooks and robes for Hogwarts, just as if they were regular students.
The badger became a large grey pillow. So it went; potions, charms, history, and general knowledge were all thoroughly tested before the teachers were satisfied. But it wasn't over yet.
"Thor Torins, giant," was next, and tested as thoroughly as Velma had been. Thor was a small giant, and very touchy about his height. He probably wasn't even taller than a half-blood giant, which shamed him deeply. Raymond Blood followed, then Trixel Cray, a poltergeist girl stripped of most her powers in an accident. Most Wildmoor students were the results of accidents or strange breeding, or pure-blooded something's that were just misfits. He himself followed. At first he didn't want to give his full name, but a look from Apollo insisted. Artemis would have taken his side, he was sure, but she had fallen asleep, her head on her folded arms, hair spread over the desk she sat in.
"My name is Dulais Inferno, clan Shadowfield, hold Darkfire. I prefer Ares, however," he said clearly, his head high. He refused to look directly at anyone. "I am a half-elven, half-human," here he hesitated, but made himself say it, "Drow." There, he'd said it. And only the old man, the headmaster, looked to have even the slightest idea what it meant, and even he didn't really seem to know. But then, even his own schoolmates seemed mystified. Except Apollo. Artemis would understand the significance, but she was asleep.
Apollo took his turn, waving his wand with the sort of grace he always had. His spells worked better than Ares' had, and he knew more, even if Ares had more raw power. Apollo had always been an overachiever.
Finally, it was Artemis' turn. She woke up, but not until Apollo, with yet another graceful wave of his wand, poured a magical cascade of water over her. She bolted upright with a shriek, almost falling out of the desk as she did so. Her hair had lost its colour when the water hit it, and now whipped about it wet tendrils. Ares felt a surge somewhere in his blood that told him Artemis was doing magic. A human wouldn't feel it, and he wasn't sure an elf would either. He could, and he knew Apollo could, if less strongly, and Artemis would feel it if he did magic. Apollo didn't seem to give off that sort of thing, but he wasn't nearly as powerful. It was an indescribable sensation, one he might have imagined he'd had.
It had obviously been real, though, because Apollo was now stuck to the ceiling. He looked like he'd lay down spread-eagled on the ground and suddenly realized it wasn't the floor as he'd thought but the ceiling.
Having done this, most people would have dried themselves off. Artemis couldn't do something that small without a lot of effort; it was too close to elf magic, or even wizard. So, as always, she had contented herself with getting extreme revenge on her brother. It had happened before, and would again. Artemis would let her brother go when she calmed down. Ares doubted it would take more than a day this time. Not like the time Apollo had snitched her out for stealing pastries from the Wildmoor kitchens. Apollo had been stuck as a rat for a full week, and had kept the tail for another after that.
Everyone stumbled back as a hot wind gusted out of nowhere and swirled into a tornado around Artemis. Even as he shielded his face against the wind, he could hear her cloak snapping. Seconds later it died down, leaving the silver-haired beauty dry, if a bit windblown. Her black dragon-hide flight suit looked no worse for wear. She'd made it with his help, as well as her brother's, and all three of them had several. All were made from the skin of one giant dragon who had been killed in a territory fight. Warm or cool no matter what, protective against anything and incredibly light, they were the perfect suits.
"I rather think you won't be needing what we can teach you," the headmaster said when the wind died down.
"Potions, sir, and herbology. I don't know those. And history, I suppose, although it seemed a very boring subject," Artemis said humbly, looking in the opposite direction from where her brother was stuck.
"Perhaps she could teach, sir," Ray spoke up. He didn't speak loudly, but his voice carried well. "The responsibility would be good for her." Ray was the only friend the three elves had besides each other, else he's have been stuck to the roof or worse for such a comment. Artemis was far more tolerant of Ray and Ares himself than of anyone else, especially her twin.
"What would you suggest?" the headmaster asked. He was remarkably calm, all things considered.
"Professor, you can't be serious..." the hard-faced woman broke in in alarm.
"But I am, Minerva," the old man said. "Master Blood?"
"Magical creatures, sir, or maybe something about practical magic."
"Practical magic?"
"Demons and curses, large workings, spell invention and theory, and so on, sir."
"You must use those often, if you consider them practical."
"Life is interesting, sir," came the hissed reply.
"Indeed. Very well, she may assist Professor Weasley with Care of Magical Creatures, and I believe we can offer an optional course to our more advanced students. You will still be taking courses, you understand," the headmaster said to Artemis.
"Thank you sir," the girl replied.
"Name?" the hard-faced woman asked a bit breathlessly. She, like so many adults, doubtless had issues with change. That was her problem.
"Ceindeg Silverlake, clan Goldshore of holt Goldenwood. I go by Artemis Riddle."
"Riddle?" the hard-faced woman asked. "As it sounds?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"No." But the woman looked faint. She wrote anyway. The old man's eyes glinted a little, but it could have been interest or thoughtfulness.
Ares didn't really care about Artemis' human name. Wizards sometimes frowned at it, but they were of an inferior race anyway. Elves were superior, if stupid. Half-elves were by far the greatest race, and Artemis and Apollo, by heritage alone, were the greatest of all. It was in their names. Galwys and Ceindeg, Gold- and Silverlake. Their first names meant little, but that they had the same meaning indicated twins. Gold and silver, though, meant first and second child of the first clan of the first holt. The Goldenwood holt was the most populous, the diplomatic and spiritual centre of the High-elven community. The two of them were the closest the elven community had to royalty, and were accorded great respect. Well, they were whenever Apollo could drag his little sister back to the great golden woods of the holt for another period of mind-numbing boredom, as she put it. And, though they didn't often people and only acknowledged it even slightly in their human names, they came from a great line of wizards on their mother's side.
He, on the other hand, was a dangerous son of a dangerous line. His name spoke as loudly as theirs, but where theirs was honour and greatness, his was blood, fire, and darkness. He was Drow, from a family that had produced more Drow than any other. His holt, too, had a dark past, for it was from there that the Drow had been unleashed. Darkness, fire, and shame. He'd be dead at least seventeen years had his human mother, street wench from the dregs of wizard society, not fled the holt when she learned the fate that awaited her small son. Death, or fire and darkness. Death. She died saving him. She needn't have bothered. He was Drow.