Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not claim rights on anything you have seen before, merely the characters and plotlines that you have not.

I say that a man must be certain of his morality for the simple reason that he must suffer for it.

G.K. Chesterton

Harry was immensely enjoying his ability to move about the grounds freely. He traversed through the castle when he was off duty, and even, at times, found the courage to go out and about the grounds, all the way up to Hagrid's hut, only when he was sure there were no students out and about.

It had been two weeks since Peliamos had committed his terrible rebellion. Ever since Kabul had dragged him away none of the other slaves had heard a word about him, though it was their understanding that any slave who committed such an act would be sent back to the Elvin reeducation center or executed for gross insubordination. Harry felt pity for the young Elf, but he was also very angry with him. It was hard to forgive someone who revealed such a thing to an entire Hall full of people. Now he heard whispers every time he was on duty, and there were always pointed fingers aimed his way. It was uncomfortable, and put him ill at ease.

This particular day, he was enjoying a bit of sun. He had his mask on of course, as he always did, but he had removed his shirt and was allowing the sun to beat down upon his bare upper body freely. It had been a long time since he could enjoy this pleasure. Since Peliamos had been removed from duty, and the replacement had not yet arrived, the three remaining bodyguards had been on duty a lot more often then they usually were, so Harry's freedom to move about the grounds had to be taken with a grain of salt.

He was sitting by the lake, skipping rocks across, and watching the Giant Squid move his enormous tentacles back and forth, attempting to swat the rocks away as they passed. He was surprised when he felt a presence only a few feet away and even more surprised when the Potions Master sat down next to him, watching him act in a decidedly human fashion.

"Do you understand English?" Severus Snape asked quietly, his gaze fixed on Harry's ever moving hand.

Harry was silent. It could not escape his mind how extremely intelligent this man was and how quick he could be to connect the dots. It would not serve him well to unwittingly walk into the Potions Masters snares, however well intentioned said traps may be.

"Do you speak English?" the question was asked in Elvish this time, forcing Harry's hand. It could be considered rude and perhaps even worthy of punishment should he not answer the question directed towards him by someone of superior station.

"Kree," Harry said finally, answering in the affirmative but showing his unwillingness to speak in it by answering in the Elvish "yes".

"Then English please when you answer me jakkaido," Snape ordered in his native tongue, using the Elvish implication of superiority with the derogatory title of bondsman. An offensive term perhaps to some, but not one who was accustomed to much worse.

"Yes, Master," Harry acquiesced, his words slurring badly in the lilting accent he now possessed. He hoped that, at least, was enough to deter any suspicion as to his former livelihood. Beside him, out of his line of vision, Snape cringed at the obligatory title.

"Your Masters are aware of your English speaking abilities I presume?"

Harry gulped. "No, Master."

The Potions Master felt his eyebrows rise slightly as his only sign of outward surprise. Few slaves were capable of a second language, especially when they were quite often illiterate in their mother tongue, even less were able to pick up a language and keep it a secret when they were immersed in the language for an extended period of time.

"How long jakkaido? How long have you had this secret?"

"English is mother tongue, Master," Harry admitted, "I knew it before I knew Elvish. Was...difficult to remember for a while, but comes back now, while I am here."

The former Death Eater was silent for a moment, speculative. "Were you born a slave, jakkaido?"

Harry's hand faltered in the constant motion of skipping rocks. He dropped the one he held in his hand and turned his masked face away, staring off to the castle in the distance.

"No, Master."

"Then you were given up by your family? Sold to pay some of their debts?" Snape guessed.

"No, Master. My kin is knows not of this."

"Conflict then?"

"I was a prisoner of war, Master. Sold by the dark ones to...make treaty with my masters."

There was a stretch of silence. Harry bounced a few more pebbles across the skim of the water but the squid must have tired of their game and did not raise his tentacles to reach for them. After a few moments, he stopped. He was ready to leave, to return to the kitchens perhaps, or maybe even take a short nap before he was back on duty, but he could not leave until the human dictated.

"Are there many humans kept as slaves by the Elves?" Snape ventured to ask after a while, curiosity piqued, though he had not failed to notice his companions desire to depart.

"Two Master, I am one."

"You are a human," Severus muttered, his voice sounding with the assuredness of the knowledge he already knew, "Yes, I was aware of that much. And you are young. I know that as well."

Harry started. He was short yes, but he knew several men quite older than he that were shorter. Youth had not been an attribute that someone had pinned to him in quite some time. Adolescent though he was, it was not an aura he had a propensity to emit.

"Young, sir?" Harry inquired, pleasantly enough, yet stuttered apologetically at the human phrase of respect rather than the Elvin one that was required by his creed. Severus Snape did not mention the infraction.

"Slaves much wiser than you would not have stepped in front of that elemental strike."

"If I had not, life would have been lost for her," Harry's grammar was off but the meaning rang true.

"She might have," Severus agreed. "I do not disagree with the bravery in your actions. Yet even aged slaves with a stipend for altruism would not have risked the punishment such intervention would have precipitated. I do not believe I am wrong to believe that you have an extra stake in keeping Miss Granger safe."

There was a subtle accusation in that last sentence and Harry willed himself not to succumb to the dare those words had imbued. Hermione was one of his best friends, so did he have an extra stake? Of course he did. Fearful of what he might let slip should he open his mouth, he clamped his teeth together and waited the man out. He had come out here for a purpose, there was little doubt of that, Harry just needed to find out what it was so he could lead the man away from the road he was on.

"You will not be the property of the Elves much longer jakkaido," Severus finally said, and Harry sucked in a breath. A moment later he replied.

"I am bound for life Master," Harry said, his tones solemn, almost bored. "I owe Debts of Obedience to my Masters. Agreements would be forfeit if I was no longer a slave."

"Don't be a fool jakkaido," Severus sneered, reminiscent of his classroom persona. "You will always be a slave I am sure. The Elves will get their dues, they are requiring a disgustingly large fee in turn for your service. And, as you know, any slaves transferred to humans from the Elves must remain slaves, as is declared by the Codes of Magic in the conciliatory truce between the Elves and the Magical World."

Harry's breath caught. He was to be sold? He was not aware of that. He was a valuable slave, with a large amount of raw magic and trained elemental practices under his belt. The Elves had not even hinted at possible sales to the humans. He had done little wrong since his protective disobedience of Hermione at the beginning of the year. And who could possibly have enough money to purchase him that Amin would be willing to sell to?

"Neville Longbottom," Severus said, answering the unspoken question. Harry's head snapped to gaze at the man straight in the eyes, usually an offensive gesture, but neither mentioned anything of the act. "The fool Gryffindor has asked for your service. Your Master has received permission from the Elvin council, on the charge that the boy must be able to show and maintain control over you. The display will be public, and it will happen at the end of this week."

Harry was shaking. It was shock that was coursing through him now, streaming through his consciousness. Neville. The boy who had slept in the same dormitory as him all through his fourth year. Neville. The shy boy who always screwed up his Potions and cowered away from the sly man who sat before him now. Neville. The timid lion of Gryffindor House, only half a step away from he and Harry's shared fate. Neville. His friend, someone who he had always regarded with a certain amount of camaraderie and affection. Neville was going to be his Master?

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry was furious now, his face heating under his black mask in quiet, simmering rage. He had worked so hard to keep his identity quiet from his friends. Damn their intervention? Didn't they understand? He was doing this for them. "Why are you telling me all this bloody rubbish?"

Oops. He had a British moment.

Snape seemed almost amused at it, obviously connecting puzzle pieces in his head as swiftly as Harry placed them on the board. Then he grew serious. "I want you to let Longbottom control you. Don't fight him, don't argue the ordinance. Accept it. Lay down and take it. Beg for mercy and let it end quickly. Allow Longbottom to walk away with you. Because if you fight, if you refuse to take the punishment, Longbottom will not have the stomach to finish it. You will lose your chance. Not for freedom, but for a happier life, at the very least."

Snape stood, then, as though nothing had occurred, certainly nothing as tumultuous as the declaration of Harry's being sold, he walked back to the castle, leaving a dumbstruck slave staring after him.

Neville fidgeted anxiously with the letter he had received from his grandmother earlier that morning. He had sent her a letter explaining his intentions and affirming the approval of the Elvin council in regards to his purchase of the slave. Her subsequent missive had been, unsurprisingly, disapproving. But he was the sole heir to both his parents, both of whom had been proclaimed mentally incompetent, and he had passed the age of majority. He was fortunate enough to have come into quite a sum of money, and that fortune allowed him to make his own choices, more so than at any other point in his life.

In fact, only Draco Malfoy, as the heir to the Malfoy fortune, was due to have more monetary value than he once the boy reached his majority. Once upon a time, before Harry Potter had been declared dead, he would have been the richest teen of their age, as heir to both the Malfoy and the Black fortunes. Now, however, as Harry was unfortunately deceased, his money was to be split between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger at their graduation, though neither of them were aware of this. Subsequently, they would tie for third in the scale of fortunes, for Harry's treasure was that large.

Still, Neville had never been what one might call a defiant soul. He had retained the childlike innocence which dictates subordination to the requests of your familial elders. He had always listened to his Grandmothers instructions, and the mandates of those who had greater authority than he. To him, at least, this action he was about to take was rash.

But it was necessary, he argued to himself. It was the only way he could assure the slave a relatively comfortable stability he would not otherwise get under the rule of the harsh Elves. He just needed to gather the gall to go through with the public display which would dispatch authority over to him.

He was scared.

Snape's last words to him before his departure, had, ironically, brought a sense of clarity to the situation. Neville was faint-hearted, it was true, accepted. That was why Snape had told him to lay down and take it, so that Neville would not lose his nerve and step down. Therefore, Harry would do the opposite. The only way to maintain his secret would be to act more obstinate than he ever had before. The resulting force Neville would be required to use would be too much for the soft-handed boy to handle.

That was why, a week later, as he was being prepped for the upcoming display, he took the Overseer's words to heart. The handover was the one time when slaves were encouraged to be obstinate, were encouraged to rebel. In the Elvin homeland turnovers were something of a spectacle, Elves would crowd the punishment arena specifically to see if the new Master had what it took. So when Kabul said, in Elvish, "Give him everything you've got", Harry listened.

In all fairness, they were on level playing fields. Harry was restricted from using his magic–not that he would have used it anyway—while Neville could use his, however Harry clearly had the physical advantage on Neville's chubby, boyish form.

Surprisingly, as Kabul dragged him bodily into the courtyard where his last punishment had taken place, he was not released from his bonds as were the rules of the handover. Instead, Kabul pushed him forward, his hand tied almost tight enough to cut off circulation into the center of the courtyard. He wore only the cotton pants he had worn for his last punishment, and of course, the mask which hid his face from view.

This handover was not being encouraged or discouraged by the Hogwarts staff, though they had been well informed about the proceedings that were to take place. The students opinion seemed to be split, and many had gathered together to watch the spectacle, safe behind teacher induced safety shields.

Neville had not entered the courtyard yet so Harry was left to circulate the courtyard, trying to find a way to untie his hands which were currently putting him at a severe disadvantage. He had just decided to use a sharp rock to do the trick, and had reached down to grasp it, when the first sharp shock hit his back, sending him careening involuntarily away from the rock. Twisting defensively to his feet, he was just in time to jump away from the whip that was aimed at him once again.

Neville and Harry eyed each other across the courtyard. The look on Neville's face was both determined and grim, he had obviously decided to go through with this, damn the consequences, and Harry was forced to denote a modicum of respect his way. Still, it was hard to be deferential towards someone who was trying to beat you to a bloody pulp, however well-intentioned their actions may be.

"Tagliare," Neville shouted, swiftly shifting the whip to his other hand in order to intone the spell. Moments later, the rope fell away from Harry's hands and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Now he could fight.

The whip came racing at him again and he rolled out of the way then ran full-tilt towards the chubby Gryffindor, tackling him to the ground. Neville let out a small "oomph" before he bodily pushed the more lithe form away. But Harry had grabbed his wand in that short amount of time and thrown it out of the boy's reach. Now they circled each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

That was when Neville realized he still had the whip, and startled Harry with a slash to his side, causing him to stumble and drop to the floor. Neville took advantage of his position and brought the whip down again and again, bloodying Harry.

Just as Harry was struck with the thought that he was defeated already the whip faltered and then stopped. Listening closely, Harry could hear Neville's gasping breath, his stifled cries. This was not easy on the passive Gryffindor.

Harry was bloodied, but not overly injured. He had been hurt much more than a few slashes of a whip in the past and he took advantage of his veteran experience to climb back to his feet and startle the overwhelmed Neville with a full-frontal attack.

The chubby boy lost his footing and slipped to the ground, his grip on the whip lost. Scrambling towards the tool, Harry gripped it and flung it to the other side of the courtyard. Neville struggled to his feet and they stood staring at each other, neither willing to retain the pretenses of fighting.

They stared at each other in bewilderment, neither sure where to go from there.