xxTorn Rose of Ages Pastxx
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Chapter Seven: New Age of Madness vv
(Li)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I do own the OCs, such as Tornaroes and Krisma.
Summary: -AU- In a distant age where the Soulless rule and those who practice 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... The school year has started, and with the student's introduction to the new defense Professor and his assistant/substitute teacher, classes begin...
Warnings: Half-Blood Prince Spoilers coming soon...
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September 2, 1996, Defense Against the Dark Art's Office -- 2:04 AM
Krisma, known by the students and staff as Professor Adelais Katatrisma of Defense Against the Dark Arts, lounged in his chair as he watched his former superior and long time friend wear a path in the stone floor, obviously deep in thought. Tornaroes, alias Professor Admissa Valorence of the D.A. and Substitute, passed in her pacing only to turn and glare at the male as he cleared his throat.
"Admissa, huh?" the younger demon asked, an amused gleam to his eye.
Tora snorted. "I had to come up with something, you know. Not like it isn't a real name."
"What was yours before, anyway?" Krisma asked, not quite sure if he should. Her past -and future- was a delicate subject, even between the two of them.
The youth stopped mid step in her renewed pacing, turning to face him with an unreadable expression. "No," she replied shortly, deep blue eyes darkening until they bordered on the ocean depths Krisma so feared.
He gulped, sensing danger. "Sorry," was his muttered apology, turning his gaze away.
Tora just nodded sharply and continued her thought filled routine.
She'd stayed in her thirty-something Professor form for no apparent reason other than discretion. She couldn't just go around as a strange sixteen year old with blue hair now that Hogwarts students were back, even if she was currently in the private rooms adjoined to Krisma's own. (Some sense of humor Lord Albus had.)
"What do you remember," Tora began, startling the red head from the book he'd been reading, "about your foster father, Lord Azguaden?"
The question was unexpected and unwelcome, the equivalent of what he'd asked her moments before, and Krisma stiffened. "What does he have to do with anything?" That bastard was the last thing he wanted to speak of at the moment, now that he was finally free of him.
"So you remember every thing, then?" Tora's eyes were covered by blond bangs, tone expressionless.
"Yeah," Krisma replied softly, eyes closed tightly. The mental images speaking of such a waste of demon ancestry were more unwelcome than just hearing his name spoken aloud. How did his fellow professor know of him, anyway?
"Ever wish to forget?" the half demon asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Yeah," he repeated, staring blankly at his hands, no seeing the direction their conversation was taking.
"Wonder what would happen if your wish came true?"
"Yeah." His eyes widened, realization evident in their red depths.
"You'd regret it, wouldn't you? Not knowing your name, the happy times you'd spent with your family -if you had any-, or the heritage you gave up?" Tora was speaking more to herself now than to the younger demon.
"I would." Krisma looked up into the blond woman's distant eyes and took his chance. "What's it like?"
Still distracted, Tora answered absently, truthfully, "Horrid. No, such a word couldn't describe the sensation." She stared at him with haunted eyes. "No human word can describe it."
The red haired man blinked, surprised by her answer, and lay a comforting had on his Sergeant's shoulder. "So it's true, then?" he asked softly, hoping for a better reaction.
"What is?" Tora asked, snapping out of her trance.
Krisma didn't seem to notice. "About what happened when the Council asked him," he referred to his foster father -if you could call that bastard something so absurd- Lord Azguaden of Missasing, "to find you and-"
"Just because I lost my memory all those years ago and you retained yours from my time because of that stupid bond doesn't mean you can help me," Tora snapped forcefully, pulling her arm our of Krisma's grasp as her form turned back into that of the original Tornaroes. Her necklace, forgotten since her arrival, glowed pale silver and became the only seal keeping her infamous tempered powers in check.
"But it does, Tora, it does," the fire cat muttered as his friend stormed out of the room. "I just hope you can see soon that you aren't alone, this time or last."
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September 2, 1996, Department of Mysteries -- 3:25 AM
'This place really hasn't changed. Even the wards are the same,' thought Tora as she entered the Department of Mystery's Hall of Doors. She'd come here often over two hundred years ago with her aunt. Silvana, her mother's older sister, had been sealed by those she'd worked with; Unspeakable wizards frightened by the full demon's powers.
"Don't think about it. It happened a long time ago," she told herself, leaning against a tightly locked door. "It's not as if she'd still have any consciousness left. No doubt she's a vegetable in that cell of hers." Those hurtful, pessimistic words were only said to console herself that the woman wouldn't be suffering anymore.
The creaking of a door awoke the youth from deep thoughts, a shuffle of feet and groan of pain following. Someone was behind the cracked door to her right; hopefully no one with a death wish, since Tora was not in the mood to play nice.
"Who's there?" she whispered foolishly, throwing her voice so it sounded across the hallway. It wouldn't do to get attacked if the stranger was hostile.
"That you, Thorn, dear?" asked a familiar female voice from beyond the door. Tora just realized where that door went. A place she had been so many times before, the reason her aunt was sealed. Where the Voices had originated.
A room containing Silvana's prison. Better known as the Death Room.
Tora was silent for many long moments, debating whether or not to reply. Finally, a decision was made and she put her drawn wand in its holster. "Aye. It is I, Silvana." She spoke in Anglo-Saxon, just as her aunt had before.
"Thorn, dear. How long was I away?" came the raspy voice of her released family member. "It seems to have been a long while."
"The year, according to the mortals with magic, is 1996. You've missed much," Tora paused, but said the word she thought she'd stumble on after a moment of hesitation, "Auntie."
"Ah," Silvana sighed. "I take it they rule now, don't they?"
"Aye," her niece agreed. "Not many know of our kind, now, either." Curious, she asked, "How did you get free? I saw the shields and Binds cast on that cage of yours; it looked impossible to break."
"Someone penetrated the defenses," Silvana said simply as Tora gaped. "Wanted to get out -a strong will, that one- and I helped him. Somehow..."
The door to the Death Room created open and out stumbled her aunt, not looking like her aunt at all. Far from it, in fact.
Tora stared at the man in horror. "What-" She could guess, but denial was hard to overcome, at the moment. "Who was he?"
"Is-" Silvana coughed, her voice from a dark man's mouth. Definitely human, and a wizard, too. "Could use some help..."
Tora caught her as the demoness in a male body collapsed. As a dead wait, (s)he was heavy, but the youth managed with ease. It payed to have enhanced strength.
'I have to get us out of here,' was her only thought. There was only one place she knew no one would dare harm her man-possessing aunt, let alone another of their kind sense her in her weakened state.
'It's the only option, as much as I hate to admit it. And I'll have to Shadow Walk again, even though it has been unusually tiring.' Because I haven't been using my Darker heritage nearly enough, Tora decided.
Stalking into the shadows, Tornaroes found a good corner and stepped through, into the In-between, where she and her kind felt the most at home. Now to find that sent of Wild and Gray (the only human words that could describe what she unconsciously sensed).
She stood in a clearing, in a forest who's trees let almost no light fall to the ground. The Forbidden Forest, near where she was stay, Hogwarts, where none of the animals would dare attack one of them, was the safest place, after all.
"Don't worry," Tora whispered to her unconscious relative. "I'll summon someone to watch over you."
Laying the dark haired body down on a pile of leaves, absently clearing away the harmful things with her internal power, stood a ways way, near the edge of the clearing. It would be tiring, but what else could she do? Silvana couldn't be alone as she was, and Krisma would be too busy to watch her for her.
"Hear my call, ye of depth and Darkness," she chanted in the Old Tongue, silent power radiating around her. Thankfully the Forest himself blocked out her energy from being sensed by anyone in the castle. "Whom have been with me through thick and thin. Serve me now, Servant of my Shadows, I ask of you!
"Unto us seek meaning and thus be given understanding!" She took a deep breath and bellowed, "Kahna Ophreenx Mrish Nor!"
The last was the Old Language. It meant:
Kahna:
Take form/ transform/ become one
Ophreenx: servant chosen to best
suit master's needs/ exclusive person for a task
Mrish Nor: Oh one
who serves/chooses wisely.
These words were picked for such a spell long before she was born. Now she only hoped the one she actually trusted would come; and old friend who she'd be glad to see.
A figure, cloaked in black, knelt before her as the darkness and shadows called by her performance of power evaporated. His pitch black hair, long and loose, pooled on the ground behind him. He looked straight down, eyes closed, and stance relaxed.
"You called for me, Mistress?" asked a low, purring voice. He wasn't doing so on purpose; his voice was naturally -how you say- sexy?
"Rise, Keir," Tora ordered, face an emotionless mask. Inwardly she was glad to see him, but she wouldn't let it show.
He did as ordered, head bowed still.
"Look at me."
His gaze, blood red with slightly slit pupils met her own golden. He was a beautiful man, in an aristocratic sense, and unusually pale. Black robes standard and plane, but made of a material found only in demon villages, were custom made to accent his well built body. All in all, he would've fit in well with a group of Slytherins.
"What do you wish, mistress?" he asked with a fanged smile. He was a demivam, a vampire who'd drunken willingly-given demon blood straight from person. There weren't many, but the ones who existed were bound to the blood giver.
It was her blood she'd given him when he'd almost died from over-exposure to sunlight on her former guardian, the Lord Ziraggan of Missasing's (Azguaden's older brother), orders. This had happened after she'd lost her memory, so she could recall it easily.
"Protect her," she pointed to the prone figure of Sirius Black, whom her aunt was possessing, "him, whatever. Just guard that person and nurse her back to health."
"Yes, mistress," Keir said without a hint of obedience. "I'll need a snack, though, mistress. You've starved me for over two hundred years."
Another thing about demon blood to vampires-turned-demivam: it was addicting. In exchange for their fill, they'd follow their giver's orders. Also, they could only drink from the bloodline of their giver. It was restricting, but it was just how it was.
"Fine," Tora said stiffly, offering her wrist. "Eat up, Keir."
"Yes, milady. Might I say you look absolutely delicious?" He bit down gently before she could scold him.
Tora just stood their, studying the forest, as if it was every day that a vampire sucked greedily at her wrist, taking in more blood than should be humanly possible. Thankfully, she wasn't all that human.
"Ah," Keir sighed in contentment, wiping away the blood from his lips where he'd been sloppy. His fang marks on her wrist healed instantly, the darkness in her veins making up for the lost blood. "I've had my fill. Leave me to my task now."
Tora stared at him for a moment, before turning away and kneeling by her aunt one last time. "Very well, Keir. Take care of him. If not, you know the consequences."
"Yes," Keir said, not even flinching.
Tornaroes rose, and started back towards the castle. She only paused once, and with out turning around said, "It's good to see you again, Keir."
"You as well, mistress." He gave her back a fanged smile. "You as well."
She only nodded, leaving her trusted servant alone with her near-helpless aunt. She had a class of third years to prepare for the next day. Oh, potions with Hufflepuff and Slytherin would be so much fun.
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September 5, 1996, Defense Classroom -- 10:00 AM
The first days of classes passed as normally as one might expect. Sixth year students were prepped for NEWTS, though a while away, and expected to do ridiculous amounts of homework. Hermione, being the overachiever that she was, had it worst off.
After the indescribable DA meeting in the Defense Hall, the group avoided Professors Katatrisma and Valorence surprisingly easily. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions were on the same day for Hermione, Harry, Ron and Neville -Valorence taught NEWT Potions, since Snape had Apprenticeship Potions (for Potion Master and Healer candidates, something that had not been offered since the 18th century).
The Trio arrived early; no seats but those taken up by a group of Slytherins, led by Malfoy and Parkinson, and an unrecognizable girl in the back were taken. Sitting near the front, on the Gryffindor side of course, Hermione began talking to them about -God help them- homework.
Various other students of their respective Houses filed in, taking seats and waiting for the teacher, who never came. Lavender and Pavarti were giggling about something when the Slytherin group burst out laughing.
Turning to stare at the sneering members of the Snake House, Malfoy repeated his remark louder, for all the room to hear.
"I heard that mudblood Professor couldn't find a job anywhere else and came here hoping the cursed position would kill him!" said Draco. The Slytherins laughed again.
An unnoticed shadow suddenly loomed over the amused group, and Professor Valorence was there. She smiled cheerily at them, seeming to take no offense to the nasty things they said of her colleague, and if not for the slight twitching of her pale eyebrow, looked much like a mother regarding wayward children.
"Please keep your comments for the common room and private time, Mr. Malfoy. Is it not impolite for one such as yourself to talk when one should be paying attention, and learning?" Her remarks were calm and in a friendly tone, but were just as biting as Snape's could be.
They hit home, too, as Malfoy colored and his friends remained silent.
Satisfied that he would be silent for the moment, Professor Valorence stood before the class and addressed them, "Welcome to your sixth year of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Katatrisma, for whom I am filling in, is feeling unwell.
"This semester, we shall be doing two things: practicing silent spells," many students seemed excited by this, and the ones from the D.A. thought it would be useful, "and learning the theory of various rituals."
Hermione raised her hand, and when called upon asked, "What sorts of rituals, Professor?"
Valorence's smile broadened. "All sorts, Ms. Granger. I'm sure you'll find them fascinating, as will you all." She swept her arms around the room, indicating the whole class.
"Now up with all of you. Up, up! Seats will be assigned, and they'll be no switching unless a problem arises." Though seeming Hufflepuff-ish at first, her students would soon learn never to mock the name Valorence or end up as her 'examples'.
Grudgingly the Griffindors rose first and made their way to the back of the class, keeping to the left -their side, since the Slytherins had the right, closest to the door. Blaise Zabini stood first, followed by his fellows of the Snake House, and silently waited to the right.
"When I call your name, sit in the table assigned. If you don't like your working partners, tough luck. Learn to get along," Professor Valorence said sternly, and held up a list and began to read.
Each row was two tables wide and four long, chairs seating up to four (preferably two or three) along each. Slytherin to the right and Griffindor to the left as it usually was, though their teacher didn't seem to remember a boundary as she called names.
"Mr. Weasley, sit between Ms. Patil and Mr. Nott, if you please, up here to the right," she indicated the desk. About to complain, the giggling Parvarti dragged him to the table and a mousy boy followed along, dragging his feet.
"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, and Ms. Granger, behind them, if you will." The great lugs followed Hermione -who inwardly fretted what they might try-, seeing nothing else to do.
"Mr. Thomas, Ms. Brown and Ms. Bulstrode, the third back to the right." Dean was one of the few who had no qualms with sitting on the Slytherin side, and did so with his usual optimistic enthusiasm. Lavender felt like crying, and Millicent -so scarred by burns her face was almost impossible to read- only sneered.
"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Greengrass, Mr. Finnigan, front to the left." She didn't pause to see if they followed her directions or not.
"Mr. Longbottom, Ms. Parkinson, Mr. Zabini, behind them, please." Neville was so nervous, he tripped but didn't fall thanks to Zabini's silent assistance. Parkinson giggled, then smirked, as the chubby boy -who would have whimpered the year before- glared.
Surprised, and confused, Harry Potter was the only one left standing.
Malfoy muttered something about too-good golden boys, which Professor Valorence heard. "Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled charmingly at him, a grin the students would soon know to try and avoid.
"Huh?" said Draco intelligently, staring blankly at the substitute Defense Professor.
"Why, for offering Mr. Potter the seat next to you, of course." She continued to smile as twin looks of horror blossomed on the rivals' faces.
Harry all but gaped at his professor, loosing his voice as shock prevented speech. Draco Seemed out of sorts, a scowl gracing his features, as he glared at Professor Valorence.
The black haired teen's brilliant green eyes met his teacher's bright blue. He was unable to pull his gaze away from them, hearing vaguely her repeated words. Something in those depths, maybe the authority and wisdom there, or it might have been the flash of unrecognizable color that was gone without much conscious note, made Harry sit in his assigned seat without further complaints.
Professor Valorence surveyed the room, a smile gracing her features as she broke her staring contest with the Boy-Who-Lived."Good, good, Mr. Potter. It is nice to know that someone here has no prejustice against his rival House."
That warranted many glares and startled looks at both Harry and Valorence.
"Now," their instructor began, Hermione the first ready to take notes, "turn to page 16 in your books and follow along."
Pansy raised her hand before Professor Valorence could continue. "yes, Miss Parkinson?"
"Which book, Professor? We were assigned three," she asked coolly, obviously unhappy with the presumed Muggle-born woman.
"Beginning Rituals by Micheal Clark was clearly marked for second semester, Miss Parkinson. Silent Spells for Easy Targets by Olivia Lingon is our current text. I hope everyone brought their copy." Seeing some panicked expressions, she recommended, "Share with your partner if your must, just please follow along."
Ron leaned over Theodore Nott's shoulder grudgingly, wanting to get away from the giggling and flirting Patil, after asking in a rude manner. Pavarti looked disappointed.
Professor Valorence began her lecture again, since the first lesson was only theory, and the class passed by relatively smoothly. Ron only cursed at Nott twice, and the others spoke civilly.
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Li