A/N: Thank you to Aequitas, as always, for being a truly wonderful Beta, critic, and advisor.
Chapter Six:
The Menagerie
It was dark, musty, damp. These were the first sensations that overtook Harry as he stepped through another door in the sky. The next was that the air around him smelled. Not the putrid, rotting smell of the sürstromming, nor the clear, metallic fragrance of the women of the fortress. No, there was something natural about this smell: earthy, whole. He breathed in deeply, letting the heavy hair work its way around his lungs.
As he exhaled, a figure brushed past his shoulder and journeyed onward: Idel. He rushed forward to catch up with her quick footsteps.
"What's in this place?" he asked her as his stride drew level with hers. All he could see was the path in their direct vicinity, as if the air had been lighted by a simple "Lumos".
"Let your eyes adjust to the darkness and you will find them feasting upon the most wondrous plants known to magical kind." Harry had only managed to catch a shadowed glimpse of exotic greenery before she spoke once more. "Where we are about to go, no being but the Council has looked upon in hundreds of years. We consider it a rather sacred place, as it is home to some of the only remaining creatures of their kind. Beware their power, as they have much more of it than you would care to believe. Ah, here we go – the Menagerie."
They passed through an invisible barrier. . . and into the grey light of late-afternoon. Harry looked up, startled.
"It's not truly the sky above, but bewitched to look like it," Idel told him.
"At Hogwarts, our Great Hall is like that."
She raised a questioning brow at him. "Where do you think one of your precious founders got the idea?"
"I apologise for being so ignorant; I was merely stating a fact," he snapped back. As soon as it left his mouth, he regretted it. He didn't want to lose her as a guide, but her condescending attitude was beginning to play on his nerves. After all he'd done and been through, he hated the constant reminders that he was inferior to these people.
"You'd do well to learn tact, young wizard, not to mention as much as you can about the Council and their element." Idel paused, letting her words seep into him. "If you want to survive, that is."
"What do you know about survival?" Harry growled.
"Far more than you, boy," she said smoothly, emphasizing the last word. "But I'll elaborate that on another occasion. We are here for a purpose, and it is not to bicker pointlessly about subjects where I am much more informed.
"Look about."
The dark shadow over Harry's face soon dispersed as his gaze met his surroundings. The closest thing Harry could relate this to was the Muggle zoo he had visited with the Dursleys on Dudley's eleventh birthday. But of course, it was about as different from a zoo as a racing broomstick was from Aunt Petunia's mop.
There was an intense magical energy pulsing, writhing, and reaching out to him. It called to Harry, beckoning him to take a closer look at its source. He obliged, forgetting about Idel and his trangsgression completely.
The room itself was a vast circular cavern, lined from floor to the sky-like ceiling with magnificent cages. The animals inside these cages were unlike any he had ever seen in the Muggle world, and if he had seen them at all, they had been captured onto the pages of his Care of Magical Creatures textbook. Many were animals he thought only existed in myth, others seemed to come straight from a child's wildest dreams. There were elephants with four trunks, giant zebras with horizontal stripes, blue coloured monkeys, two-headed giraffes, an orange-scaled elk, a three-eyed bear, and countless other beings that Harry couldn't make out.
A spiraling ramp wound its way around the walls letting any visitor who dared catch a closer look at the magical creatures who were penned there. Out in the middle of the cavern, where there was naught but air, there were singular cages floating around in space, sometimes narrowly missing each other, but never colliding.
While the cages along the walls were ornamented with ancient runes, the singular ones were simply extravagant. They were cube-like, with glass walls on all sides that rippled as if covered in oil. They were melded together with ropes of precious metals. Because of the strange way the light reflected off the glass, Harry could not tell what incredible creatures inhabited them, though he suspected they were animals even Hagrid only dreamed of.
And amongst these floating capsules, other creatures flew by the hundreds. Magnificent birds, much bigger than any Muggle creature soared in circles, weaving themselves between the cages. With wonder, Harry recognized a griffin residing on top of one of the capsules, watching him with stern eyes. Harry had never realised how truly enormous yet beautiful griffins were until that moment. They seemed to be made of pure light, with the golden fur of a lion interweaving with the copper feathers of an eagle.
What truly caught Harry's attentions, though, were the flying-horses. They were easily the most numerous of the flying beasts, but also the most incredible to watch. They gleamed with colors that were too bright and too beautiful to be mortal, clearly distinguishing them from the dumb Muggle beasts that they resembled. They flew with a loping grace, beating their feathered wings that seemed to span for a mile. They were bigger than normal horses too, though not nearly as large as the ones that had pulled the Beauxbatons carriage to Hogwarts. He did recognise several Palomino Abraxans soaring in their midst, though. Later he would learn that the most magical of the lot were the chestnuts called Aethonans, the dapple greys called Granians, as well as the Abraxans. For now though, he was just content to look at their glory as a whole.
Before them, on the ground below the cages, was an expansive rolling lawn dotted here and there with patches of flowers. There were flying-horses here as well, with their magnificent feathered wings folded at their sides as they grazed. They turned their attention to Harry as he stepped into their domain, and he felt a thrill wriggle its way up his spine. He felt himself wanting to fly with them, to graze with them, to leave his burden of mortal coil behind and join them in their purity. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, extending more than just friendship to these awestriking creatures. The nearer he came to them, the more interested the creatures became. The flyers grounded themselves, the restless ones stilled, and soon the only sounds between them were the rustles of feathers and the swishes of their tales.
When the distance between the boy and the winged creatures was at last breached, Harry made his way across their ranks, stroking a flank here, combing a mane with his fingers there. He gazed at each one in the eye, forging an unspoken contract. As he did this though, he came to the realisation that these creatures were completely intelligent – not the categorical, logical intelligence of a human or centaur, but a wild one, filled with ancient magic.
Hagrid had never done a lesson on the magical flying-horse―he must have thought them too tame and boring, Harry thought with a grin―but the boy seemed to know instinctively how to treat them: he bowed. There was nothing else to do in front of such a wondrous lot. And then, in a wave of silky glory, they bowed back. They sank their knobby front legs, letting their wings rest stiffly at their sides and lowering long muzzles to their magnificent chests. At that moment, he truly understood why this place was sacred to the Council.
"You have commanded their respect," said Idel. He realised she was standing just a few steps in back of him. "So soon, too." Harry felt a burst of pride, even a bit of smugness.
"There are so many. . . ."
"There was a day when they were abundant upon the earth, when wizards played Polo instead of Quiddtich. But men became reckless with them, and their numbers quickly diminished. They are not toys, and never were. I'm sure you've noticed by now that they carry a magnificent intelligence with them." Harry nodded. "We use them only when we ride upon the winds. At all other times, they reside here, our most prized possessions of all."
He wasn't sure what this meant, but before he could ask, he became completely distracted by a new arrival.
"Falcor!" The Thestral's aura of darkness seemed to swallow the immediate brilliance that surrounded it, as if Falcor himself was a black hole. As he strode forward, through the midst of the other flying-horses, they took many steps backwards, as if preferring to make a path for him rather than lose their wondrous color.
It was amazing to think that his steed was related to these other creatures, for while they were beautiful and resilient, Falcor seemed to carry a dark austerity that was both terrifying and strangely compelling. For some reason, Harry knew that he would prefer dragonesque Falcor to any of the feathered stallions on any occasion. While the others were beautiful, they seemed to represent a part of Harry that had long ego been erased by pain and loss.
"Mount him," Idel said. She was already seated upon a beautiful gray mare that must have had Unicorn blood, for in the center of her forehead, a silver horn glistened dangerously. Harry frowned, but climbed onto the back of Falcor without a word. If anything, it was a small comfort to be so near a friend again.
At once, both Idel and Harry were in the air, and he finally was able to see some of the strange creatures that inhabited the floating cages. The most interesting creature was what looked like an overgrown pig, with enormous horns that spiraled in great curlicues.
"Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Idel informed him. "They're only found in these parts; very rare, they are."
He stared, dumbfounded for a moment.
"Follow me!" Idel yelled, and then dived. The yell pulled Harry out of his daze and he bounded after her. At first he thought they would slam directly into the grassy knolls beneath them, but then he realised that hidden beyond a small hill was a large dark tunnel. Once inside, they continued in the same downwards fashion, flying side by side, until she said, "We're now under the fortress. These tunnels spread themselves all the way through these mountains, our way out if the need ever arises."
"How many are there?"
"Hundreds. It takes many years to learn your way through them. Otherwise, one may become hopelessly lost."
"That seems to be the case with the fortress in general."
"Well, yes, that was the general idea. The Council does not like to be confronted by unwanted visitors." She shot him a look, which he ignored.
"I only know a bit about the Council," he said.
"It's a surprise you know anything at all. As far as I knew, the knowledge that we exist is only spread among a few. We'd rather not participate in the sordid affairs of the Wizarding world."
"But if you carry all the secrets and knowledge that you're said to, why do you not use it? Or at least give it to others to be used?"
"But to which side would we give it to? This is assuming we choose this option."
"You mean to say you would help the Dark side?"
"Harry Potter, you misunderstand our Council. We do not support any side but our own—nonpartisan, if you will. If we must take part, we will only contribute to the side that will benefit us in the end. We live by our own means. We have existed since the dawn of Wizardry, and we will survive long after your kind destroys itself with your silly fights over 'Light' and 'Dark.'"
Harry bristled, backhanded by this unexpected assault to his cause.
"Then you'd like to see the world fall into darkness?"
"It may, for a while. But neither Dark nor Light can reign supremely forever."
"But it's wrong," Harry protested.
"Only in the eyes of the Light. Do you think they see their own views as wrong?"
"If they have any bloody sense."
"You've never thought that maybe they think the same way about your people?"
"But. . ." he spluttered, "it's not the same!"
"Of course it is, you're just too naïve to see it." There she was, attacking him again with her words. He really didn't want to hear any more of her patronising at the moment. With his knees, he urged Falcor forward into the darkness of the ahead tunnel—hard. The horse sprang forward. As they sped up, the tunnels began to blur as they twisted through them, and he was feeling the pull of recklessness. They dashed ahead, the darkness overcoming both of them, yet he still pushed onwards, enjoying the feeling of being free. Eventually, Harry slowed his steed, and they landed on a ledge on the side of the tunnel. Harry looked around, glad to see Idel was not anywhere in sight. He dismounted, and rubbed his horse's sweaty flanks. The creature turned his skeletal head towards Harry, flashing the boy with a milky stare.
"Alright boy, we can turn back now."
But as they made their way back through the maze of the underground tunnels, he shortly realised that he had no idea of their direction or how to get to the surface. Idel's words rang in his mind: 'one may become hopelessly lost.'
"No! I am not, we're not, lost!" He looked around desperately at the tunnel walls, trying to recall any sort of landmark. But every wall looked like every other; they were all lined in dark, rippling black stones that reminded him of the scales of a dragon. How appropriate.
He thought of using the four-point spell, but as he hadn't any idea of what direction they had come in the first place, it wouldn't be much help. He felt disoriented, confused, and furious that Idel had been right. Moreover, he didn't even want to think about what would happen if the Council called him and he wasn't there to heed their request.
Falcor did not seem to be in much better shape. His hyper-sensitive sense of direction had somehow been thrown terribly off. The Thestral was thrashing from side to side, and emitting terrible hissing noises from between his lips. His blank eyes searched the dark tunnels desperately, as if hoping his poor sight would help him where his other senses would not.
To make matters even worse, at that moment a hideous groan emerged from somewhere far below them. At once, the walls started to shake terribly, the black stones loosening from the sides and tumbling to the bottom of the tunnel. A great gust of wind then rip-roared from behind them, heaving the duo forward into the unknown. Black stones were falling in earnest now, sometimes coming down in sections, shattering as if glass when they collided with something. Sometimes, they hurled themselves at Falcor, cutting his sides, and damaging the membranes of his bat-like wings. Harry did his best to cast protective spells, but the terrible ripping winds upset his concentration and displaced his spells. Furiously, he and Falcor dodged the falling stones, hoping that whichever direction they were heading was the one that led away from the tunnels.
And then something collided with his head, and he knew no more.
Her dull red curls tumble around her as she tries to sit up, but the enchanted manacles have other ideas. They throw her back on the cold, dirty floor with an icy hiss. So cold it burns. She hisses too, her misty breath forming a halo around her shivering, naked body.
She resigns to collapsing again on the floor, dismayed, beaten. She yearns for someone to come rescue her, but knows they won't. She doesn't matter enough anymore.
There he is, he comes to her grimy prison, carrying gifts. A dead rat. Stale water. She doesn't expect anything more. Not now.
His flaxen, luxurious hair taunts her. It reminds her of better days, when things were bright and the future was too. But his soul is not bright. No, his soul is as dark and as cold as the prison that holds her.
He grins at her, perfect teeth flashing behind a thin-lipped smile. She can't bear him. Not after what he's done to her.
She tries to brings her arms up around herself, to protect her body from those liquid eyes. The manacles laugh at her. She lies there, open, for all to see. It doesn't matter. They've seen it all before anyway.
She squeezes her eyes shut. They are all she can control. When she opens them, he is gone.
But there is another presence. She looks around, wildly searching for its owner. Her brown eyes then suddenly fall out of focus. Her head falls back. Her hair splays around her.
She mutters one word before consciousness leaves her weeping body.
"Harry."
"Harry."
Ginny!
"Harry, wake up."
"Ginny."
"Harry!"
Slowly, a face came into focus above him. Brown eyes; but not her brown eyes. Idel. Everything flooded back to him, and he scrambled to a sitting position.
"I had this dream . . . or vision . . . or. . . ." He squinted, trying to understand what it was he had seen.
"These tunnels do strange things to the mind."
"Then what I saw, it wasn't real?"
"Oh, it was very real. You mentioned someone named Ginny?"
"Yes, she was . . . but no, that couldn't be. I know she's safe. She's been a coma since . . . but she's safe. Ginny's at Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron."
"It wasn't Hogwarts that you saw?" Harry shuddered, seeing the scenario vividly before his eyes.
"That was not Hogwarts."
Idel looked at him, with what almost seemed like pity. He did not like being pittied.
"What happened back there, with the wind?"
"Ah that. . . that was the Storm." She said "Storm" as if it were its own entity. "It's the third time this month it's acted up."
"What—?"
"No time, boy, we must get back up to the surface."
"They have—?"
"Yes, they've called you for an audience."
Harry groaned, wishing he could have at least gone to his room for a bit, but it looked like luck wasn't exactly on his side. Slowly he stood up, and grasped Falcor's mane. He was painfully aware of Idel watching him, but silently thanked her for not reprimanding him. He was doing enough of that himself.
"Alright then, lead the way."
A/N: I hope this chapter answered a few questions, though I know (as always) it only brings up more. I promise I'll be better, truly. Ah but, as if there aren't enough little plotlines going already, the next chapter will be exploring what is going on back in Britain. Then we shall move back to see what is up with Lanette Little.