xxTorn Rose of Ages Pastxx
vv Chapter Four: New Age of Rememberence vv
(Li)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I do own the Ocs, such as Tornaroes and Jumblejones.
Summary: -AU- In a distant age where the Soulless rule and those who practise the Light and protect the Hogwarts House Heirs are hunted like Muggle animals, one House protector is sent to the past to save the life of a long-dead Ravenclaw Heiress... Butwith the odd house elf's message to Lupin and Tora now missing, things are about to be even more interesting...
December 1, 2001, Phoenix Defense HQ – 6:22
A messenger rushed into the cramped planning tent, spoiled robes billowing around his drenched form. Four figures turned to stare at him with war-grim eyes, looking up from their latest battle plans. "What has Tommy boy done this time?" one asked warily, a hardened sense of humor surfacing.
The one who had spoken brushed aside the papers from his spot across the man who trespassed. A long brown haired woman to his right turned to glare at the black haired man, unwilling to snap in the messenger's presence.
"Yes, what has he done? The Dark Forces have been quiet for quite a while." A thin, tired voice asked from the shadows before the trespassing one, coming into the light. Dark circles indicating lack of sleep – a common thing, now a'days – deepened his dull amber eyes, the skin pale as moonlight.
The only silent one, a man so aged he looked old enough to tell tales of the stone age or before, stared at the messenger with calculating blue eyes that had lost their twinkle for the moment. Sorcerer like robes draped his willowy form, a long white beard and mustache giving the impression of an old Muggle fairy tale figure.
Emerald eyes bored into the nervous man, the three leaders and one advisor of Phoenix Defense's military section turning their attention to the shaking man. Thunder rippled outside, illuminating through the tent flap left open hardened faces of once youthful figures expecting the grim worst.
"H-he's found it! Voldemort's found it!" shouted thepaniced messenger man.
Four forms started, unsure of how to react. The brown haired woman, slightly shorter than their dark haired leader and just as well build (in all areas that mattered), asked the dreaded question. They needed to know.
"What has he found?"
Trembling, the man fumbled for a slightly damp paper inside his robes, flinging it onto the table as if it would burn if touched too long. "This!"
Several markings, all evidently run over magically a stone-written mystic text, covered the first half of the parchment, a line, then another script. What looked like a curved 'X', cross-like 't', pointed '3' crowded between the 't' and a slightly-tipped 'c' with a curved '—' from it's middle. The line under this was curved, as if something else was written but unable to copy, then another text, this one even more complicated: '-' about a 'l' and curved dash under (one letter); upside down triangle; backwards 'j' without the dot, a side ways 'v' meeting it's bottom; another pointed '3'; and oddest of all, a curved 'A', the middle line not meeting, on it's side, a small 'l' above.
"No…" a female voice from the farthest corner whispered.
Hermione studied the paper with interest, the male unable to make anything of the odd markings now staring at her in anticipation. "Odd," the woman murmured, "I can't read these markings. They were never in ancient runes, and I haven't seen anything similar in any of the book I've read."
Dumbledore 'hmm'ed in interest, glancing at the farthest corner from the door. "How mysterious. Correct, Tora?"
A girl, no older than sixteen, stepped from the shadows, startling the messenger man now waiting to be dismissed. Familiar blue hair, less tangled and without the many braids, stared with amber eyes, both useable but the blue scar over her left still there. It wasn't as prominent, though, but glistened an odd greenish tinted now and again. She wore the standard wizarding world clothes, though a band on her arm pronounced her a proud Section leader as well as Squadron captain.
"I suppose…"
"What does it say, Tornaroes?" the black haired leader, Harry Potter, asked seriously. They all knew she was a demon, and though halfling, had lived longer than anyone save maybe Dumbledore had even met. She would know, if anyone did. Too bad Tora was such a reluctant teacher; he could have used her during his school days, and before.
The youth glanced at the paper Hermione was holding and snorted. "Old Voldie's trying to resurrect that damn bastard? Tells you how much research he does, eh?" Her audience stared in confusion.
"What is it!" Harry asked impatiently. This was one of the most important leads on the bastard's doings yet, and she was joking around!
Tora sighed and muttered, "Just trying to lighten the mood," under her breath. Glancing up at the staring Wizarding folk leaders, the demon halfling sighed again, this time in exasperation. "Does no one have patience in this Era?"
Hermione opened her mouth to begin a lecture on modern culture figures when Tornaroes held up a hand, sweating slightly. "Don't answer that, please." The males let out muffledsighs of relief. No matter how much the woman matured, 'Mione never overcame her talent for putting others to sleep with just small talk.
Tora stepped up to the table, ready to explain. "My Clan -- the Vantressa -- and all the other demon Clans, originated from three Immortal beings. Their names would roughly translate in English to: Beautiful Sea, Shadowed Death, and Alluring Magic or Life Energy."
"So?" interrupted Harry, only to be shushed by Hermione, who was listening intently.
"Clan Vantressa is descended from Beautiful Sea, Clan Zamatrisma from Alluring Life Energy, with Shadowed Death's intermixed. The first two, Beauty female and Allure male, died in each other's arms. Shadow, the killer, was later sealed away by all threes' grandchildren."
The room was silent; no one but Tora knew how all this was connected with Voldemort. So Tora just continued, grateful for thenot-so-tense silence.
"Shadow was jealous of his friends, but that is a story for another time. My ancestor's name, Shadowed Death, is this," here she pointed to the paper's top part (beginning with 'X'), "written in our language. It is pronounced 'Xutsucie', modernly."
Tora paused, staring at the underlying writing. Hermione stared curiously at her, though didn't dare interrupt. A moment later, her amber gaze turned back to those watching her.
The youth's fist clenched, the only sign of her anger and irritation. "He is the reason we are hated, us Immortal creatures of so-called 'Darkness'. If Xutsucie is released, the Soulless will return. We have no choice; I am the only one who has the knowledge to seal him again. I'll go."
Despite her comrade's protests and declined offers of assistance, Tornaroes went on her mission. And failed terribly.
August 28, 1996, Forbidden Forest – 11:15 PM
Tornaroes lay, panting, on a moss-covered rock in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, suddenly awake from the too-real dream. Just what she needed -- more nightmarish memories of a future that could happen! If only those Occu-something lessons had actually helped… Organizing her thoughts and blocking out those be-damned voices would help her relax.
Said Voices heard her thoughts and purged her mind with commands incoherent to anyone who knew not the ancient language of Tora's great-grandfather Xhanmytsuo and his friends. The old bastard deserved what had happened to him, she knew, but the Voices insisted upon using his people's ancient language to speak even now, in the past.
Hello, Daughter of Xhutsu peoples…
…welcoming we are to you…
…know to know…
…hear to hear…
…tell to all and death be to you…
…remember well your objective…
Their usual greeting never changed; the last time had been a fluke, with the magic and death surrounding Hogwart's future ruins interfering with their speech, or her hearing of it. Now, deeply hidden within aDark forest and laying on a place where the purity of unicorn blood had once spilt in murder, Tora could make out their words just fine.
A shadowy female voice spoke next, the usual harmonious intertwined echo unexpectedly absent.
…You, Tora, are there…
…yet things changenot as you dawdle…
…Remembrance is absent to you…
…yet your powers return full force…
The echo was back as the Voices spoke as one again next.
What have you to say for self?
"Icrome zhutmie khrishno," Tora murmured to herself. The language she spoke was demonotic and had been forgotten for many thousands of years by humans and Light creatures over the ages. Some labeled Dark, such as the werewolf, instinctively knew what to say when speaking to one who knew it, or reverted to the hissing version modernly used by most snakes.
Icrome: holy defense
Zhutmie: shadow banishment
Khrishno: to KNOW and REMEMBER everything forgotten
Together they formed at basis of ancient spell casting used by creatures who feared Light before it was even necessary. Said spell was her answer; a banishment charm that would block the Voices for a time but also caused great pain now and again. Only to last until her power was fully restored, hopefully.
Screeching as they were herded and penned by invisible shepherds, the Voices sent one final warning.
Do not do as you wish to do.
…back to chart and enter…
…what has been cannot be reversed…
…fate to be no messed with…
…the Veil we will be!
…to have our desire, save those you wish but remember power they hold to you and above…
Tora screamed as well, and all the creatures of the Forbidden Forest heard. Those who had thought to eat the foolish one they thought mortal immediately turned to their hunting comrades with panicked eyes and cleared the surrounding area. To all those of Night and Fright, a demon, especially an aged halfling with a wizard father, would be respected lest the rath of both sides fall upon the purpertraitors.
The youth smiled even as the pain continued and stopped her screaming, seeing as all it did was hurt her throat. Her joy had reason, something she'd been waiting a month or so for.
Her powers were returning tenfold. She wouldn't need to worry over being ill prepared for some time, though her father's old wand would still be in use.
The pain began to fade, and Tornaroes fell into unconsciousness; the elemental magic of her kinds' needed a relaxed body to return to. She'd be out for sometime; hopefully before the green eyed man following her did anything foolish…
August 29, 1996, Kitchens – 9:02 AM
Remus Lupin sat in the bustling Kitchens, glancing around for the elder elf who had talked to him the day before. He hadn't dared ask anyone, and the house elves only glanced at him now and again, to refill his teacup (or in Dobby's case) to ask how Harry Potter was doing.
Truthfully, Dumbledore had kept most of the Order in the dark about the young man's condition, though the werewolf knew perfectly well. He wasn't over Sirius' death, and never would completely be, and had declined in a most… interesting letter coming to Number 12 Grimwald Place. Personally, Lupin could understand completely; if he'd had to spend the rest of the summer there, he'd have torn down the foul Black woman's portrait by hand and burned it the Muggle way.
Somehow, Harry had disappeared. Lupin, who knew most (save Dumbledore) what concerned his best friend's son, still didn't know where the old man had taken the boy. He would be at Hogwart's, Remus knew, but how he would get there was still a mystery.
Most interesting was the last Potter's room in the Dursely's house; everything was left intact, save Hedwig's missing cage. The snowy owl was also gone, and the photobook of Harry's family. Everything, from past school books to Dobby's gift of unmatching socks, was left in his trunk and scattered about the room as any teenager's might have been.
No one was worried; somehow the Headmaster had reassured everyone that the lad was fine and dandy, just recuperating. Lupin couldn't wait to see Harry again, and surprise him with the happy news of his new job: head of the Dueling Club and DA assistant.
A wise looking elf walked up to him, brownish skin the same color as the one he'd spoken to before, though his one was youthful enough. Glazed brown eyes puffy from crying greeted Lupin as the house elf nodded, bowing before the tired wizard.
"If master sir is looking for Gypsy, master sir is too late. Timps is sorry to say that grandfather Gypsy has died. Does master sir want something else?"
Gypsy. So that was the old one's name. But dead? Lupin had never seen a dead house elf, besides the head hangings on the walls in the old Black Manner. It wasn't everyday that one died, least of all at Hogwarts. The being must have been ancient, to pass away in such a short time.
"No thank you," Lupin stated to the grieving house elf, leaving the Kitchens behind. He didn't let his disappointment show; Timps seemed to have enough on his mind, as did the others. There were dishes to be cleared and cleaned from the teacher's breakfast; no time for a 'master sir' leaving to be noticed.
Frowning to himself as the fruit bowl portrait closed behind him, Lupin tried to puzzle out the cryptic meaning of the old house elf's words. He knew they were meant about his new friend Tora; the rest gave him a headache.
He really didn't have time to muse the mutterings of dying house elves; the full moon was soon, and he was just too tired… His room, unknowingly a hallway from Tora's, was inviting, as was the bed, and Remus J. Lupin fell asleep within moments of laying down.
August 30, 1996, Forbidden Forest – Before Dawn
Green eyes stared at a prone figure, dew sticking to her hair and moonlight (nearly full) illuminated her pale face, statue like in the twilight. She had slept, unmoving, for well over 24 hours after her screams of pain had begun. She hadn't so much as stirred, even when songbirds thought her clothes buckles a good perch.
Something was wrong.
It had never taken Tora so long to awaken from a refueling, the green eyed man well knew. Something –or someone – was interfering with her Awakenment. He bet it was that odd wizard he heard the forest animals praise so much, as they did a half-giant man.
Making a rash decision --as always-- the green eyed man raced off at speeds humans were incapable to see toward Hogwarts, leaving the unprotected body of his long time friend behind. Little did he know, but she had twitched just as he'd left.
Soon she'd be up and moving freely again, without the worry of invading Voices for quite some time. Hopefully she'd stop her former watching was making a huge mistake. If not, everything shewas in the past for would be on the line.
August 30, 1996, Dumbledore's Office – 7:56 AM
It started out as a normal day. Preparations for the students' arrivals were almost complete; the only thing left was to recast the protection spells and check the wards a fourth time. And though one staff member had been missing for two days, after leaving a message of course, everything was perfect.
That was until two hours after Dumbledore rose from sleep. To suddenly have a wand pointed in front of his nose while busy with paper work in his office was nothing new (surprisingly), but the wielder was.
Standing before the Headmaster of Hogwarts, pointing his spell caster in a threatening manner, was a twenty-something year old man. Messy reddish-orange hair the color of raging flames fell down his back and hid most of his face, the only thing keeping it contained a worn green piece of lace obviously well used. Dragonic deep green eyes --darker than emerald but still jewel like-- glared at his from under long bangs, set into a narrow, delicate boned face.
Dumbledore had seen many people in all his years, but never someone so handsomely pretty and fierce all at once. As if hearing his thoughts, the man began to growl: a low sound deep in his throat, and a seemingly natural noise to his vocal cords.
Moving with the grace born of a wild animal, the fire headed man stalked around the desk separating them, Dumbledore's chair turning at the other male's wand point as it floated a few inches from the floor. Not knowing what to do – the wandless magic used to keep him still unfamiliar to the aged man –, Dumbledore stared curiously at the animalistic male now inches before him.
"What have you done to her?" the man growled, a clawed hand reaching toward the wizard's neck. "She has been in pain since coming here. Again I ask you, what have you done to her?"
Up close his face was feminine and fine boned, as if a stature of an artist in love had come to life. He was actually very pretty, creamy skin tanned a nice brown – almost bronze; a figure ideal to paint. The man's growl just deepened as the foreign magic intensified, catching the elder man's breath.
"What did you do?" the man growled, face inches from his own, hand held out to choke or slice Dumbledore's neck with those sharp claws.
Time stopped.
"Hmmm? What are you doing, Krisma?"
And the frozen silence broke.
"Why are you here?" the female voice asked as the one addressed whiped around defensively, forgetting the prone figure behind him for only a moment. Just enough time for Dumbledore to assess the magic used on his self and blast it away with a burst of raw power.
Drawing his wand, the Hogwart's Headmaster pointed the elegant wooden stick in the middle of other male's back. If a Stunning or Decapitation spell was used at such point blank rang, it could cause serious damage. What the aged man didn't notice were the surprised looks on both persons' faces before him, nor did he see the smile playing on a young woman's lips.
Tornaroes Valorence, assistant and substitute teacher for all subjects, stood before the animalistic man, hand firmly gripping his shoulder as she turned that odd golden gaze of hers to the Headmaster. "Please put your wand away, Professor. Krisma here was only trying to help me, it seems."
Dumbledore glanced between the two, not sure what their connection was. For the past two days she had been missing --who knows where-- and when she finally returned, a cat man had attacked him. At least she had stopped Dumbledore from being either maimed or killed (supposedly).
Krisma's cat attributes retreated as his shoulders slumped under Tora's scolding gaze, a surprise for the Headmaster that the man would be so under the youth's seeming control. His red hair remained, though a subdued color slightly duller than the Weaslys' instead of almost blinding orange fire mixed in with something similar to engine red, as did the startling green orbs not quite jewel like and so deep it seemed one could drown within their depths.
Dropping his wand purposefully as if to put it away, the Headmaster waited to see how the man reacted. He did nothing, just stared at the office carpet in apparent shame, glancing at the gloved hand that held him immobile every few seconds. Dumbledore took that moment to notice just how thin the young one was, though his former assaultent was far better fed than Tora had been. Was he from the future as well, come to look for his apparent mistress? A possibility to ponder more in-depth later on.
"Lord Albus," Tora addressed her current employer, "this is Katatrisma Zamagain, an old friend of mine. We… worked together during the war, though it seems he has forgotten himself." Tora glanced sternly at Krisma, clearly disappointed. The man didn't cringe away as Dumbledore would have thought, but met her one-eyed gaze definately.
Tornaroes just smiled slyly, though only Krisma recognized it for what it was and began to sweat. Her ideas involving misbehaving Protectors in her former Squadron were never good, and that included himself most of the time.
"He will have to stay here, of course. Can't have a time traveler wandering around, especially one I know so well." Dumbledore silently agreed. "And he will have to work for his room and bored, of course." The Headmaster nodded, wondering what the youth was getting at. The only open position in faculty and serving staff was…
A similar crossed the elder man's face, though it quickly reverted to a twinkle eyed, not-quite-smirk. It was the best he could do, to keep up his grandfatherly senile image. "Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Of course, my dear."
There was a curious thing, though, and the usually discreet man had to ask, "Why not take the job yourself, Ms. Valorence? You'll certainly get better quarters and respect." He didn't mention pay; they both had already agreed that keeping her secret was payment enough.
Tora smiled, having expected this. "More freedom to move around, my Lord. And I will not be tied down to grading papers and preparing a curriculum as my dear Krisma will." She smiled sweatly at said man and he flinched slightly, openly glaring at the woman but not daring to object. He knew the youth well enough to know not to contradict any of her decisions she felt important; you would only dig a deeper hole for yourself.
Dumbledore nodded, agreeing completely, though there was one issue he needed to clear. "You shall need to change your appearance and names, as well as have Mr. Zamagain take a standard test to assume his teaching level."
Tora traded an impish grin with Krisma as the Headmaster turned to get the necessary paperwork for her subordinate's stay, the youth released the man from her hold. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and smiled when he found nothing bruised or broken. It seemed she wouldn't punish disobedience before this much younger version of the Phoenix Defenses' second-in-command; a good thing for him, as he wanted to use his arm the next day.
Not that she was abusive of those under her command, Tora was just extremely strictand never used more force than she knew the person she was dealing with could handle. Sensing his thoughts, said youth glanced at him without turning her head, and he knew she was using that cursed eye of hers. He settled to behave himself, mentally grumbling as he always did.
Turning back to Dumbledore, she stated, "No need, Lord Albus. Just wait until September First; everything will be worked out by then. Now, if you will please excuse me, I shall start on that right now…"
She bowed and took the door out, leaving a nervous full demon much younger than herself (and from a different Clan) to take a test he could easily pass. Now there was the matter of his room and outfitting…
Lost in thoughts of preparation, Tora hadn't noticed the paintings emptying as she walked down the corridor. They followed her down the stone hallways and across the school, wanting to know what exactly the mysterious presence of someone like her being excepted by the Royal Light Hogwart's Castle. Had she known, Tora would have ignored the attention anyway, used to stares as she was.
Little did the unsuspecting students, new and old, know, Dumbledore had been correct in his assumption: This would be a most interesting year.
A/N: Harry and the gang come next! September first it is! Finally, the Heirs (two, at least) come to Hogwarts. And if you haven't guessed who they are (which is quite obvious), too bad for you!
Li