Harry Potter and the Curse of V'Ardian
Chapter 19
Of Visions and V'Ardian
Standard Disclaimers Apply
oOoOo
By morning the news was all over Hogwarts. Three students were missing- two Gryffindors and, to Ron's enormous satisfaction, a Slytherin. Neville and Ginny had disappeared as though into thin air, causing a stir amongst the Gryffindors, and the wider magical community. Both were purebloods, but from families who openly despised the intended regime of Voldemort. To the uninformed public, this seemed enough of a reason to have warranted their kidnap, though Harry knew better.
With the news that his daughter had been kidnapped by the Dark Lord, Arthur Weasley's approval from the wizarding community rose by a significant amount. It seemed he had a good chance of winning the approaching election.
It was the disappearance of the relatively unknown Slytherin however, that had much of Hogwarts and much of the wizarding community wondering about the Dark Lord's motives. Katherine Winters, previously of a prestigious Italian school, had also been taken. Apparently parentless, little was known about her, save for the fact that she was supposedly a pureblood. Had the kidnapping been a mistake? Harry didn't think so.
oOoOo
Green eyes and memories flitted through Harry's dreams in a constant thrum of light and colour. His sleep was restless with his worry.
It had been one week since Ginny, Neville and Katherine had disappeared and the Order had yet to locate them. The voices began on this particular night.
Listen to me, Harry Potter.
The voice echoed faintly through his dreams, and his aching scar proved the identity of the speaker all too well.
You know I have them. Come to me, and they will be freed. Come to me.
The voice persisted, but Harry didn't know where to go. He asked, but all that replied was a hideous laugh filled with cruelty. And then he woke.
oOoOo
Snape cornered Harry that day, as Harry had known would be inevitable.
Voldemort, Snape told him, had not called a meeting since that fateful day, and Snape was scared for his daughter. It was Harry's fault, of course, and he reminded Harry of this. He had warned Harry to stay away from her.
And still Harry wondered; why had Voldemort taken Katherine?
But for now Harry could not dwell on such thoughts, no matter how much they plagued him. Today he was travelling to Poseidon's Reach.
oOoOo
Poseidon's Reach was an out of the way little village perched on a tall cliff and sheltered from the merciless ocean breeze by a large outcrop o frock. When Harry arrived there it was dark, the air cold with thunder. The waves pounded ruthlessly against the limestone cliffs, the wind pitiless against the small community. It was a Dark place.
Harry pulled his hood further over his head, hiding his face. It wouldn't do for anyone to know his true identity. He fingered the staff that lay hidden in his pocket. Turning towards the cliff he thought he could sense a trace of magic.
He walked slowly toward the cliff and discovered a small pathway that he was sure had been invisible before. Thinking that it probably had, Harry started down it, pulling the staff from his pocket and enlarging it. The path widened slightly as it wound down the cliff face and Harry stuck close to the wall. As he descended, a feeling of oppression and excitement loomed over him. The earth felt as though it were trembling beneath his feet, pulsing with some enormous rhythm.
Harry rounded a small outcrop of rocks and the pathway ended almost too suddenly, and Harry balked dizzily at the churning waters that loomed before him. Stepping back cautiously from the edge he turned to his left to see the path continued sideways into the cliff face. With a sigh of relief, accompanied by no small amount of trepidation, Harry stepped into the dark crevice. The pulsing rhythm that Harry had felt outside in the open air was now a pounding, thumping beat, and Harry wondered just what he was getting himself into. The sound propagated through the air in waves, a physical presence against Harry's skin.
He was not afraid. In fact, a wild lurch of excitement was now coursing through him, as though some force from within the depths of this unknown place was calling out to his vampiric soul. Feeling far more confident now, Harry continued into the darkness and his eyes adjusted, bringing the walls into sharp focus. Upon the walls, runes and symbols were scrawled, crawling over his head, right down to the worn ones beneath his feet. They receded into the darkness ahead of him and Harry marvelled at the superb craftsmanship.
Suddenly however, the walls on either side of him dropped away and Harry felt fear constrict his throat as he nearly stumbled in surprise. He paused to regain his composure and looked around at the vast cavern of open air that now encompassed him. He could dimly see the walls of the cavern, far above him, but off to the side there was only blackness.
Harry had never been afraid of heights, but the reeling loftiness of the limestone bridge on which he was no perched made his heart pound in time with the beat of the far off drums. Far below him Harry could see the ocean, pooling into this grotto from some unknown crevice. It was still and silent, the only sound the subtle whoosh of wind from some unknown source.
"Darkwater," Harry murmured, his hushed voice rising, echoing, and melding with the wind and water as though he had never uttered a sound. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the breeze that swirled about the cavern, Harry stepped forward once more, gladly reaching the opposite side of the cavern. On the other side of the bridge Harry rounded a corner and found himself at the top of a flight of limestone steps. At the bottom, firelight flickered through a stone archway and Harry knew his destination lay just ahead.
Ensuring that his hood was pulled low, Harry descended the steps and walked straight through the archway. This was Darkwater, the meeting place of the lamia, but what Harry saw when he passed underneath that archway could never be described by him as a simple meeting. The aura of the room was not evil, but it was deadly and threatening. From his slightly raised position near the door, Harry was witnessing a centuries old ritual, though he had yet to learn this. More than two hundred vampires filled the room before him, chanting or pounding their feet on the dirt floor.
Their faces were upraised, their hands out with their palms upturned. I the centre of the room stood what Harry thought might be the equivalent of an alter, a silver chalice resting atop it. A dark red liquid filled it to the brim, and Harry knew that it was blood.
And suddenly Harry was aware that someone was watching him. He looked to the opposite side of the circular room and his eyes locked with those of another.
Harry had never encountered true fear before, of that he was now certain. The dark eyes into which he now stared spoke of a wisdom and a power that was older then any other. Voldemort had not struck fear into Harry's heart as this man now did; Dumbledore had never radiated this sense of utter confidence and superiority as this vampiric king who sat atop his elegant throne.
He radiated a darkness that no dark wizard could ever hope to match and Harry sensed that it came naturally to him. When he spoke, the effect was terrifying because it told Harry of the power this man must hold. The room silenced instantly and the sudden noiselessness caused Harry's heart to skip a beat. He did not let it show. Instead, he raised his chin defiantly and stood tall, staff clasped in his left hand.
"Who dares to interrupt the most sacred of worships that has ever been performed?" came the quiet but strong voice of the man. His hair was as dark as his eyes and his skin was snow white. "Who dares to stand before us unannounced and presumes to be welcomed?"
The hall was silent as the king waited for an answer.
When Harry spoke he forced his voice to be as loud and strong as the voice of the king who had just addressed him. He would assume that this ancient king was not stupid- he would recognise the staff and he would recognise Harry as a member of his clan.
"My name is not important to the others in this room," Harry began icily, though his heart was pounding. "I seek counsel with you, My Lord," he continued, bowing his head slightly. The masses in the room below him glared up at him menacingly. The king considered him slowly, eyeing his hood with open mistrust.
"Few deny me the courtesy of extending their name," he stated.
"I was given no courtesy when a member of your clan Turned me," replied Harry coldly. "You may be the leader of this clan, but you are not mine. Courtesy will come when we can speak as equals."
The man now appraised Harry with growing respect on his face, though only a little. Harry wondered if many dared to stand up to him as he was now doing.
"You may approach," the king invited suddenly, and angry whispers broke out in the crowd below Harry as the slowly parted to form a straight path leading directly towards the king.
Harry took a step downwards.
Into the lion's den, he thought.
oOoOo
As Harry stopped before the king and bowed, he caught sight of a curious face out of the corner of his eye. As the king stood up and gestured for Harry to precede him into a room at the back of the hall, he spoke to the younger man.
"Isautier, you may accompany us."
Harry entered a grandly decorated room and the door shut behind the three of them with a thump, crushing the noises from beyond the door into oblivion, and he turned to face the king as he spoke.
"I take it you know my name," he stated, gesturing to a plush seat in front of an empty fireplace. The three settled into chairs as Harry answered.
"You are Lord Ilveer, king of the V'Ardian Clan."
"Aha," breathed Ilveer. "And my son, Isautier."
Harry nodded. He already knew that. Isautier sat arrogantly in a high-backed chair, calm and composed. Not at all like he had been on that night many months ago.
"And what is your name?" Isautier drawled in a rude voice, every bit the spoilt prince Harry could have expected. "It is rude not to give it."
"I fear if I give my name the consequences would not be good- for either of us."
Ilveer raised an elegant eyebrow.
"How so?"
Harry waved the question off with a roll of his hand.
"I do not wish to speak of that issue yet. Your question may very well be answered in our talk, but it is not what I came here to discuss, and my time is limited."
Isautier sneered. "You are in no position to designate anything," he said. Ilveer interrupted his son.
"On what matter do you seek my counsel?"
"I wish to know your position in this war that is between the wizards. Do you support Voldemort, or the Light?"
Ilvver laughed, his tone condescending.
"The Light, you call it? The Light kills just as much as the Dark, young man, it is the only way to keep the balance."
"That is not of issue," replied Harry hotly, though he knew Ilveer's words were partly true.
"Oh, but it is everything," Ilveer corrected. "Neither the Light nor the Dark have yet persuaded us to their side, though there will be a time, soon, when we will have to choose. We do not support the Dark, we do not condone their actions, but neither do we wish to openly declare allegiance to an opposing side."
"What would persuade you?" Harry asked quietly.
"There are many wizards who detest our kind. They would have us locked up and they would throw away the key if they had their chance. The Dark Lord would offer us open acceptance in return for our services. When the time comes, we will choose Voldemort, if only for the sake of our freedom. We do not care for the wizards."
"I care," replied Harry angrily. "I myself am a wizard. I would not deceive them all because of a few misguided idiots."
"Some misguided idiots are very powerful, young man."
"Voldemort will use you and discard you," Harry hissed.
Ilveer surveyed Harry critically.
"You feel very strongly about his. Why?"
"I have an interest," Harry said bluntly. "You could say that I am a major stakeholder in this war. My actions could make a great difference, and since I have been Turned I have seen an opportunity. I am keen to see it work to my advantage."
"I see," said Ilveer quietly, his gaze fixed on the empty fireplace. He appeared to be deep in thought. "Unfortunately, I cannot let my clan's livelihood depend on someone I do not even know the name of. I am keen to know your name," he said pointedly, staring intently at the blackness under Harry's hood. "You are young, I hear it in your voice, yet you sound as though you have experienced many things. It makes me think…"
There was silence as the two vampires regarded Harry, one deep in thought and the other scowling. Harry prayed that Ilveer was not trying to determine his identity, though that seemed the obvious action.
"When were you turned?" Ilveer asked abruptly.
Harry gave a cold smile and glanced at Isautier.
"I was bitten on the 31st of July last year."
Isautiers arrogant expression slipped from his face in surprise and his composure left him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair tighter. Ilveer on the other hand sat up straighter.
"What?" he hissed. "Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Who?" he demanded, with such ferocity that Harry realized that something must be wrong. "Who Turned you?"
Harry glanced quickly at Isautier quickly before replying.
"My Lord, I do not know. There are so many, and I know none. I could not tell you."
"This is an atrocity!" spat Ilveer, standing abruptly. Isautier's strained face looked slightly relieved. "What do you know of vampiric law?" he asked Harry.
"Very little."
"It is ancient decree by the first ruler of this clan that no mortal may be Turned on certain days of the year. The reason these days were chosen has long since been lost, but they are believed to have sacred significance. Whoever broke this law would be exiled immediately."
Ilveer stopped his agitated pacing and returned to his seat.
"There are two types of vampires. There are those who are Turned, and there are Trueborn vampires. Those who are turned may become Trueborn, but they must undertake many rituals and tests before they achieve this status. Trueborns have the ability to decide whether or not their victim will turn, whereas the Turned do not. I think it may have been a newly Turned vampire who bit you."
Harry nodded, though he knew that Ilveer's solution was far from the truth.
"If a Trueborn vampire was desperate for blood is it possible that they might lose control of this ability?" Harry asked. Ilveer shrugged.
"It is possible, though it happens rarely. There are few reasons why any vampire should be that desperate. Thos who are Turned are usually mortal, and need to drink extremely infrequently. Trueborn need to drink more, but like I have said, they have the option of whether to Turn a victim. However, you are different. You are mortal, but you are magical. Without blood your magic will wither and you will become drained very easily. You will Turn whoever you feed from."
Ilveer shook his head.
"That is another thing. I cannot imagine how one of my clan would manage to turn a wizard. We can always see the magical imprint of another creature if there is one to see. Whoever Turned you was either very inexperienced or very desperate."
oOoOo
Harry was escorted to the bridge by a surly looking teenage girl. She disappeared back into the darkness without a word and Harry was about to begin across the bridge when a hand grasped his elbow and pulled him back into the shadows.
"Isautier," Harry said coldly.
"Harry Potter. Why did you lie?"
"Would it have helped if I had told the truth?"
Isautier shook his head in shame.
"No, I suppose it would not have. Thankyou."
Harry inclined his head. Isautier, Prince of V'Ardian. He would be a useful ally.
Harry was struck by a sudden thought.
"I am curious, Isautier. I have a question which you may be able to help me with."
"Yes?"
"The Minister, Garian Numair. He was reported murdered by vampires. Of whose clan were they?"
Isautier's eyes widened slightly and he stuttered in his reply.
"I cannot say. It was not- not our clan, of that I can assure you. My father is very firm in that regard. We will not participate in this war until we are forced to."
Harry nodded, pleased. Isautier was not lying.
"Good. I must leave now."
"Good luck," said Isautier, as Harry inclined his head and stepped back respectfully. He was nearly half way across the long bridge when Isautier's hesitant voice called out to him across the gaping chasm.
"Harry Potter. I do not know who killed the minister, but I know where he is keeping your friends."
oOoOo
A/N: This chapter was going to be longer, but this seemed like the right place to stop for a nice cliffy ;) Remember to review and you'll get another chapter! Thanks for those who continue to follow this story- Wujjawoo
Chapter 20: Of Capture and Confinement