See first chapter for disclaimers/warnings/summaries. Link to TBDH Forum is in my profile. This chapter was betaed by the wonderful brissygirl to provide a smoother reading experience. All remaining mistakes are my own. New FAN ART has been posted in the forums and new ONESHOTS have been posted to my profile. Stop by and show some love. :)
RECAP: Harry and Co. accompany Bahn to meet Ilsa and her father, Thomas, the Chief of the Earth Clan. The Snapes are 'ported to the same guarded living quarters as the Deveraines and Harry. A sudden Fabrine attack on the protective dome over Nevarah startles everyone just as Thomas is attempting to get an audience with Prince Raspen(earth element). Quinn's parents, are called to respond to injuries from the Fabrine attack and Luna Lovegood visits the Fairy Queen.
JUN BLACK : UNPLOTTABLE SPACE
"Are we all set?" Jun traced the last rune on the floor and dusted her hands with a satisfied expression. "Reggie, love, don't stand in my line of sight, I can't make the words out from there—George, could you—yes, thank you." She accepted the black velvet cloth from the little tray he held out for her. "You're a quick study, I'll give you that." She flashed a faint smile at him, a hint of sadness and worry mixed together. Her emerald eyes flickered over the little tray's contents, the chalk, the cloth and a slender, ornate silver knife.
"Is there nothing else you need to tend to?" Regulus asked, he was very carefully dusting black powder all along the complicated lines Jun had drawn on the floor of his study. "I mean, I thought we had to leave."
"We did—I mean, we are. We do. Stop that!" Jun threw a look at him over her shoulder.
He was distracting her and while it was normally quite helpful, it was starting to wear on her nerves on account of the mental battle taking place within her. She was dredging up memories and bonds and emotions that she had buried for a very, very long time. Being an Empath was a very difficult role in itself, but she'd had decades to perfect it and it meant that she was strong enough to know when to lock the empathy away. Regulus had been invaluable, endearing himself to her with the way he'd always managed to skillfully change the subject or suitably distract her.
The look he sent in her direction was vaguely apologetic and mostly playful. He wasn't trying too hard to distract her, already knowing on his own that it wasn't what was needed in their present situation.
"George, darling, hold this right here and hold it steady." Jun thumped a fat candle on the tray and blew at it. The wick sputtered and fizzled out, a thin stream of smoke rising from it. She hadn't quite calculated that properly and it showed now, to her extreme annoyance.
George's lips twitched faintly.
Jun glared at him. "Well, don't just stand there, give it a shot." She turned away with a huff, having grabbed two more sticks of silvery chalk from the tray. Gathering up her skirt with one hand, she tip-toed over the neatly drawn sections, bending over to add a jot or tittle here and there.
With a half-smile, George blew softly on the candle. The wick flared to life, a steady, blood red flame. He frowned upon seeing the color, but worked to hold the tray steady. The moment the candle had taken the flame, the weight began to increase, trying to draw the tray down.
"What color is the flame?" Jun asked, twirling over another section and bending over to inscribe a simple spiral in a blank spot. "Reggie, make a little mound two paces to your left. I want it to explode."
"Uh, red." George flexed his arms, focusing on the flame and not the increasing weight of the little tray.
"Red?" Jun repeated. "Surely you can do better than that—no Regulus. A mound. A little pyramid. You know, a pile?" She gestured with her hands. "What kind of red, George?"
"Very—very red." George swallowed. "More like a rusty red?"
"Blood red," Regulus said, coming over to stand by George and looking over the younger dragel's shoulder. He'd poured the last of the explosive powder into a tiny little mound and then immediately exited the finished product. Jun's medallions were powerful and doubly so when they were active. He didn't trust it without her standing directly in the middle of it to counteract any temperamental magic. "It's very close to Blood red, which means you shouldn't be waltzing about in there, because he won't be able to hold this for longer than a few more seconds."
"Waltzing about? Is that what you think I'm doing? You're a beast, Regulus." Jun snorted. She came to a graceful stop just to the left of the center of her perfectly created medallion. From the folds of her sleeved blouse, she drew out the silver knife from earlier and tucked it into her mouth. "Stand back," she said, speaking with difficulty. "and hold it steady, George. I quite like my head where it belongs, not blown off into some unknown realm."
George and Regulus exchanged a gulp. George's arms quivered faintly. Regulus gently patted his arm.
"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad," Jun mopped George's sweaty brow with a handful of her skirt as she knelt on the stone floor beside him. "Honestly."
But it had been, at least for anyone who wasn't Jun.
Regulus was sprawled out on the floor nearby, his dark eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling. George was curled up, glassy-eyed and smelling faintly of smoke—Jun had just extinguished his external flames—and had yet to speak a word.
"Jun, love. I adore you, and you are my life, you know this—why must you continually insist on reducing what few years I have left to nothing?" Regulus somehow managed to find the breath to speak and did so with as much ceremony as he could muster. He had been prepared for a lot of things, but he hadn't expected that.
He couldn't recall ever feeling such raw, potent magic pouring out of the woman he was proud to call his wife. A tiny feeling in the back of his head reminded him that this woman was a powerful Empath, a Rune Mistress on top of that and a dragel to boot. It had been sheer luck they'd met, but she'd had a life before him, he was certain, even if she never spoke of it. They hadn't even started the journey to Nevarah yet and things were already exploding. Something told him that he was in for a hell of a ride.
"Because it's fun, darling." Jun squinted down at George and with a flicker of her hand, materialized a nifty paper fan that she began to wave over him, wafting away the final smoky wisps. "Don't try to speak just yet, give it a minute and try not to feed the fire on the outside. It only caught you off balance because you weren't paying attention. You're fine. You're on solid ground and I would never let anything happen to you. "Any of you." She amended. "Besides, I'm alright, aren't I?"
"That's not the point," Regulus huffed. He peeled himself off the floor and looked over to the fruit of their labor, a fiercely glowing white medallion with a nine-pointed star and three distinct transportation circles humming to life as magic rolled off of Jun and fed directly into it. "Is there a point?"
"I don't think there's a point," George groaned. He pushed away the fan and sat up with a grimace. He had a better grasp on his flames now, latching onto to them with a determined, single-mindedness. The explosion had startled him and he'd instinctively reacted with his external flames, operating on the belief that if he was flaming himself, then the flames around him couldn't hurt. But they'd disappeared almost as quickly as they'd flashed to life and he realized it was only to burn out the powder. "Floors need cushioning charms." He said, for lack of anything useful to say.
Jun laughed and patted his head, rising to her feet. She'd already cast subtle diagnostics over both of them to be sure that they could handle the trip, her magic and the portal she was about to invoke. The only reason she had remained unruffled was the simple point that it was her magic. She knew it inside and out, just like every crevice of her soul. "Men," she said with fond exasperation. "Honestly, you'd think I haven't done this before."
"You haven't!" They chorused together.
"I'm fairly certain you haven't," Regulus amended. He looked to George who offered a half-shrug of support. "Mostly certain?"
The redhead's shoulders shook with laughter. "As a matter of fact, I have. I did have a life before you two, you know." She tossed her head, then reached back to pull her hair into a thick, bouncing ponytail. "Now hurry up, we've only about ten minutes before this is fully activated and it will be the ride of a lifetime."
Regulus warily approached, having stopped by George to check the younger dragel over and be sure he was alright. "Now I'm worried," he said, plainly. He crouched down to sit beside George, offering himself as a brace so the younger dragel could catch his breath.
"Don't be. This is how I ended up here," Jun whirled around and leaned forward, kissing Regulus on the cheek and George on the forehead. "Now, step forward on my mark and only walk in a straight line and only on the lines that are green or gold. If you touch anything else, you'll be blown to bits."
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. "It'll be fine," he said, faintly, clapping George on the shoulder. "I'm sure it will be." He gave George another minute. "Think you can stand?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"With us, you always do." Regulus assured him. "Do not worry, everything will be alright."
George looked between them to Regulus's exasperated expression to Jun's cheerful one. He decided to settle somewhere in the middle and cracked an easy-smile of his own. He could understand this devil-may-care sort of attitude, it was the playful sort of air that he and Fred had always assumed when inventing their pranks and jokes. Now, he simply looked to Jun, waiting for her cue to enter the medallion. She was working powerful magic here, the kind that he'd never seen before and most certainly not this close-up.
Regulus seemed quite fine with it, as if the sheer magnitude was nothing new to him. There was almost something comforting in that realization and George understood why, a moment later, when Jun's tempered magic washed over him. It made his heart ache because it reminded him of home and Mum.
Stepping into Jun's transportation medallion was very, very noisy.
In fact, George rather wished that he had earplugs of some sort, except that having them would have meant using them and he certainly wouldn't have had a chance to do so with Jun shouting out instructions to them both. She'd explained beforehand that she was constructing a private pathway through which they would simply walk from this uncharted realm to Nevarah, which counted as a 'nevermore realm' because it did not touch any actively known plane of existence and required one to be either born there or Bonded to a native Nevarean, in order to be able to travel to it.
Ordering the rare supplies that that been required just to write the medallion had taken a few days and that was why their trip had been delayed. Of course, Jun was an excellent teacher, if nothing else and George was an exceptional student—when he put his mind to it. They'd spent most of their waking hours studying, sparring and learning more about each other in a way that was different, compared to any wizarding experience George could recall.
Now, with the wind rushing up from under him and the chatter of a thousand voices, he could barely focus on placing one foot in front of the other—remembering to make a straight line—to reach her outstretched hand. He had her left side, Regulus had her right and they needed to hold her to hand to be grounded, lest the portal blow them away.
It took all of his concentration to walk the three feet forward to graze the fingertips of her outstretched hand. The moment he touched her, the noise amplified by ten and the wind surged upwards in unrelenting gales.
Breathe through your mouth. Came the projected words. Don't look down—look forward!
George squinted at her, turning his head to face forward with some difficulty, the moment he caught a glimpse of what was before him, he almost forgot to breathe. It was a web-like tunnel, seeming to connect stars with strands of pure, glistening white light.
"This is called a Runewalk." Jun smirked. "It's not your standard 'portal or transportation object. Only those who are sworn to the Runes can access them. This will allow us to bypass about three weeks' worth of portals, portkeys and other irritating methods of transportation—as long as you don't pass out on me." Her grip tightened on each of her companions' hands. "There is also a time difference involved. Nevarah runs on different time, but I'm aiming to throw us somewhere into their current timeline, so everything will straighten out." She held up a hand at Regulus's expression. "You can ask for an explanation later and if I feel like explaining the magical physics of it, I will. If not, I'll find you a book," she said, matter-of-factly. "Now then. Remember to hold on tight and do not let go. Understand?"
George squeezed back, wondering at the same time, how a portkey could last three weeks. He decided he didn't want to know when he realized that the familiar surroundings of the comfortable home were now disintegrating before his very eyes. The wind blew cold, before he drew on his own talents as Jun had taught him and turned it into a tolerable warmth. A swirl of black feathers passed over him and he snuck a look to the side to see Regulus morphing from human-avian hybrid into a giant black bird, that hunkered down behind them, no longer needing to hold Jun's hand. Instead, he hung his huge black beak over Jun's shoulder, hooking it on her shoulder as if for extra insurance.
And then it happened.
Like the blink of an eye, a twinkling star in the sky, something shifted and everything moved.
Light and darkness swirled together and George could only hold on for the ride. He could've sworn that he'd seen planets as everything blurred past and then the ground melted away from beneath his feet and reformed into something else. He blinked.
And then there was green grass under his feet, a starry sky above and clean, unpressured air around him. He sucked in one great heaving breath after another and was vaguely aware of half of his face being pressed against something warm, soft and familiar. It turned out to be Jun as she stood beside him, carding a hand through his hair and smiling down at him with the most tender expression he'd ever seen on her face.
"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" She asked again, but there was a teasing note in her voice and he knew that she didn't mean for him to answer.
"Regulus?" George coughed out, ducking away from her hands as his stomach roiled.
Jun simply replaced her hand over his forehead and chuckled, following his movements so he couldn't quite pull away. The sudden coolness in her hands, soothed the aftereffects and after a moment, he calmed, the urge to vomit slowly fading. "There we go, better ne?" She patted his head, then took her magic hands over to Regulus, who was working on being more human than bird at the moment and having a terrible time of it. "I didn't mean for you to break out the feathers, darling," She cooed.
He shied away from her hands, much in the same fashion as George had—he would have remembered the burning magic that had traveled through her and into him as they had literally been pulled across realms and times too complicated for a single mind to fathom. "What was that?" He gasped out, hunched forward on his hands and knees. "All those things, the shadows-" he cringed, reaching feathered hands up to scrabble at his face.
Jun grabbed them at once, pushing back with some force to keep him from carving lines into his agitated face. "Regulus!" She said, sharply. "Please get a hold of yourself, man." She gave his arms a little shake and then straightened, releasing him when he went limp in her grasp. "We call those Fabrine. Those of us who are Nevarean, that is. To us, Fabrine are—dark or fallen, souls that roam about until a reaper or a hellhound comes to consume them or collect them. They are drawn to magic, moths to light and all that, they feed and prey on whatever is weaker than them."
"There was a lot of them down there," George shivered. He stood up and began to brush himself off, grimacing at the faint quiver in his muscles. This particular method of transportation felt as if it had yanked him in a hundred different directions for far longer than necessary, but he'd also been able to retain a very necessary hold on his magic, quite differently from the original dragel 'portals that Jun had pulled him through before. "Is that normal?"
"Fabrine? Normal? No." Jun frowned. "I'd say they're unnatural too, but that wouldn't be very nice of me." She relaxed, faintly when Regulus began to find his own feet. She hadn't stopped stroking his shiny feathers and he stretched forward, preening her wild red hair, before finally settling down for the transformation that returned him to his usual hybrid self. "How are you feeling now—both of you?"
"Land legs will come in a second," Regulus grimaced. "You could warn us next time, love." He butted her shoulder, affectionately.
"Where would be the fun in that?" Jun said, dryly. Her lips twitched. "Next time." She scratched a hand gently through his thick black hair. He leaned into the caress and a look of warmth was shared between them.
"Let's not have a next time," George suggested. "Should we warn someone?"
"Good idea." Jun rubbed her chin in thought. "I suppose we should—and I ought to report in before we start mingling about. Very well. Come on."
"Another one?" George groaned. He didn't think he could stand to stomach another Runewalk, but he didn't want to be the reason they were stuck where they were—wherever they were. So willingly came forward and followed Regulus's example, as the Torvak-hybrid motioned for him to copy his movements. They hugged Jun around the middle and she wrapped a strong arm around their shoulders in turn. "Should I hold my breath?" He asked, uncertainly. He wasn't sure that holding his breath had really helped much during the Runewalk.
Regulus turned his chuckle into a cough. "That is usually a good idea," he said, as Jun stepped on his foot. "It helps with the nausea."
"Temptrificus Ergen! Dragel royal, by permission granted to the house of Evanson, Acting Prince, immediate vicinity."
NEVARAH : ROYALS' LIVING QUARTERS : FRIDAY - AFTERNOON
"Thomas?" A grey-haired woman appeared in the main doorway, her silvery hair hiding one half of her face, a single golden eye causing her appearance to look even more aged than her agitated footsteps suggested. She came to a stop just inside the room and at once, zeroed in on Thomas. "Oh Thomas, thank Arielle, you're alright." She started forward and he met her halfway.
"Gloria." Thomas murmured. He clung to her for a moment, soaking up the comfort that came through their Alpha-Submissive bond, before he kissed her throat and she released him with a soft sigh. "I am alright. It was only a shockwave. It only startled me. Is everyone alright? They feel fine." He'd instinctively reached out to each of his Bonded the moment the quake had begun.
"Startled would be an understatement." Gloria feathered a hand over his face, brushing his dark curls back from his forehead, her eyes solely fixed on him. "Everyone was fine when I left them. I was just about to join the others for a soak at the hot springs, I'd just said yes and then I felt the break and I couldn't reach you fast enough-"
"You were very fast." Thomas praised, leaning into the touch of her cool hands on his face. "And I am quite fine—as you know I will always be, Ergen willing." He smiled up at her, but didn't protest the arm that immediately draped around his waist. "I don't suppose you know if the others-"
"Everyone is fine. Gage left to visit them individually and he made me swear I would 'port straight to you." Gloria finally released a sigh that had her shoulders slumping downwards. "I am glad you are well."
Thomas smiled. He stretched up on tip-toe, curving a hand around her neck to pull her down for a sweet kiss. She leaned down, accepting the token of affection for the reassurance it was meant to be. "I heard a Healer's report when they summoned Lady Kalizk and her triad." He paused. "It sounds as if it was only a superficial break."
"Let's hope it was and is," Gloria said, grimly. "Any casualties?"
"Thankfully, no. The report only said there were multiple injuries for the ranks of Pareya and Gheyo. No Submissive injuries."
Gloria nodded, briskly. That sounded about right and she was glad for it, because it meant that the attack hadn't caused much damage—not as much as it could have, anyway. "Where are you heading now?"
Thomas hesitated for a moment, then chanced a look over his shoulder to where Harry and the Deveraines were watching. "I was taking Harry to see Prince Raspen. He has a Merrow spell on him and we were hoping it could be removed before night, seeing as this is his first day at the Hunt."
"Oh?" Gloria's eyebrows arched upwards. "From which house?" Her gaze flickered to Charlie, then down to Theo, her lips quirking into an odd expression. She knew most of the high noble houses and most certainly all of those within the Earthen element, but there hadn't been any news of a recent Bonding for anyone that she knew.
"Ilsa's Theo." Thomas said, quietly. "Harry is his Submissive."
A faint look flickered across Gloria's face and she inclined her head, slowly. "I see." She did not say anything else.
"Are the Royals on the premises?" Thomas touched her arm to draw her attention back to him. "I know the Clan Chiefs are, but I haven't heard of anyone else."
"Everyone should be here," Gloria said. She looked up to the ceiling, mentally tabulating names, ranks and titles in her head, before nodding that yes, her answer was indeed correct. "Raspen should be on his private floor and his family may or may not be with him, counting the—aftershock."
Thomas smiled, pleasantly. "That's alright. We'll stop by and see if he'll see us." He squeezed her arm, again. "I am quite fine, Gloria. You should take them up on the hot springs, they're always the best on the first day and I know you always enjoy them."
His Alpha made a disgruntled sound in her throat, but her gaze flickered over to Ilsa, then Theo, before finally resting on Bahn. She could see that he was fine and that had been the only worry on her mind. She tipped her head to the side and turned away. "You will call?"
"Haven't I always?" His smile turned fond. "Do keep me updated, if anything is amiss."
She matched his own smile. "But of course, my love."
They left as a group, slowly acclimating to the fact that whatever had just happened, things were to proceed as normal. Harry didn't exactly like it, because the hair on the back of his neck had yet to stand down and his hands would quiver every now and then without his consent.
Charlie looked rather pensive the entire solemn trek through white walled corridors with Gheyos posted at every doorway. "Very—tight security." He said, at last, for lack of something else to say.
"It's mostly for the Royals," Delani smiled. "The Gheyos are harmless, unless you step on their toes, then they're vicious." She smiled blandly at the pair of Gheyos that stared straight ahead, unmoving, at their left.
Theo twitched, faintly and quickened his step, reaching out to grab one of Harry's hands.
Ilsa snorted from behind him, her face set in a less-than-impressed expression. She was flanking the rear of their little group with Greta opposite of her. Thomas's Gheyos, Mason and Alonso, headed up the front of their little visiting party. "Did anyone say anything?"
Thomas shook his head, faintly. "No actual reports just yet." He was mentally tuned into the security feed that monitored Nevarah, evidenced by a tiny yellow stone just visible from the inside of his left ear. He would reach up to tap it every few minutes since the quake. "We're very lucky there were no serious injuries."
Ilsa grunted. She looked as if she were walking to her death, rather than simply strolling through close quarters. Greta threw her a look. She didn't like it anymore than her lover did, but she was well-mannered enough to keep her displeasure to herself. The look she sent the shorter Gheyo had Ilsa's scowl darkening even more, but after that, no one said anything else for a while.
Prince Raspen's floor was actually rather close and surprisingly, they were admitted with very little fuss when Thomas stepped forward to speak to the two Gheyos on watch. The guards were kind and cheerful, speaking warmly to Thomas as he led their little group upstairs and to Raspen's waiting room.
At this point, having seen them safely to where they ought to be, Nara and Takar immediately excused themselves to 'port out and check on the other members of their own Circle. Delani remained behind with Bahn, Ilsa and Greta, with instructions to Takar and Nara to check in with her the moment they were sure everyone was alright.
"Please have a seat, Chief Gorgens, the prince will be with you shortly." A young woman, unbonded by the lack of visible bonding marks upon her person, was the attending aide who gestured them all towards the neatly arranged seating area. She had a visible earcap over each ear, one side golden and the other side blue, which she tapped now as she spoke, apparently communicating with someone else via the internal security system. "Is it an urgent matter?"
"Thank you, my dear." Thomas nodded, gravely. "It is a matter of some importance. I'd like to know if there were aftershocks and if so, if there is anything pertaining to them that I should know and he is more than welcome to tend to it first. We can wait."
"Of course. I will have some refreshments sent out?"
Bahn made a face and shook his head.
The movement caught her attention and she turned to him, clipboard tucked in the crook of her arm, pencil poised to write. "No?" Her gaze flickered down to the swell of his stomach and she half-smiled in understanding. "Some tea then? Ginger and honey?"
"That would be just fine," Delani said. "Thank you."
With another nod, the aide was gone.
Theo opted for a seat closest to the fire and tugged Harry along with him. Harry didn't complain as he settled himself on the settee and Charlie took up the remaining seat together. He could feel Theo's agitation and Charlie's suppressed worry and he didn't like either of them.
Delani and Bahn didn't settle down until Ilsa and Greta had taken up preemptive guarding positions between the visible exit and the private door through which the aide had left. They were all tentatively nervous, but attempting to maintain some projected calmness. Mason and Alonso flanked Thomas, who sat directly within line of sight of Ilsa. When the tea arrived, just as he'd done before, he served them all.
"What exactly will you tell him?" Ilsa spoke up, at last. It looked as if the tense silence had worn on her nerves and her right hand hovered at her waist, just above her sword hilt.
"Raspen?" Thomas clarified. "The truth, I expect—or rather, a simplified version of what you told me."
"What if they want to start a hunt?"
"What about it?"
"Will you sponsor him?" Ilsa asked, bluntly. "You know I can't. I haven't the pull for it and it will take some time to regain whatever following I have—at least for the present time."
"I hope the present time remains nice, quiet and clean for a bit," Delani said, half to herself. "But if you do feel a need to make a very obvious and bloody point in a public place, then do give some sort of warning."
Bahn managed a faint chuckle at that. "I would second that," he said. "If you could manage it. If you cannot, do not trouble yourself." His lips twitched and he smiled to himself in remembrance of Ilsa and the proud, fierce Gheyo he knew her to be. In all honesty, he wouldn't have minded seeing her clean things up.
"Thomas?" Prince Raspen's voice was soft and quiet, coming from the far end of the room—the opposite point from where the aide had exited. He was still dressed in his royal finery from the morning introductions, and his face, while young, bore a few faint stress lines. "Thank Arielle you are alright," he greeted the older dragel with a hug, showing the familiarity between their ranks for the friendship between them. The Gorgens Clan was well-respected and quite powerful.
Thomas had immediately risen to his feet and met the Prince halfway to their little group, offering a hug and a murmured greeting of respect. "The same to you and yours. Can they spare you?" He knew that the Prince was likely busy with the sudden unexpected situation of the quake and all the necessary formalities that would be required to investigate things.
Prince Raspen gave a faint nod. "We received word, actually, a few minutes before the breach—we were able to minimize damage, at least as best as could be expected with the given timeframe." He touched Thomas's elbow and gestured forward to where everyone else remained seated and politely waiting. "Shall we? I hear that you have quite a puzzle for me."
"Hopefully not as puzzling to you as it is to me," Thomas smiled. He led the way over to where Harry was anxiously perched on the edge of the settee. "Tea?" He asked, as a matter of course.
"In a moment, perhaps. Present the problem first and we shall see what we shall see." The Prince declined. He turned curious golden eyes to Harry's bright green ones, a flicker of warmth registered as he took in Harry's posture of forced relaxation. That simply would not do. He would have to set them at ease as soon as he could. He preferred respect over fear in any situation, unless otherwise needed. "And as simply as you can manage it, you need not be detailed."
"Of course," Thomas looked relieved at that and he gestured towards the settee, sitting only after Prince Raspen had seated himself. "You know of my Ilsa?"
"I do believe everyone does," Prince Raspen chuckled. He turned and looked directly at Ilsa, his golden eyes darkening to a light hazel. "I am very pleased to see you within our ranks once more, Lady Gorgens."
Ilsa swallowed. "Of course, my prince. I did not—mean to stay away for such a prolonged period."
"It is well that you have returned," Prince Raspen said, simply. "Continue, Thomas."
Harry fought back the thread of restlessness that was slowly settling over him. Prince Raspen had brought a peculiar scent with him from the very moment he'd entered the room and something about it was making his dragel excited. As far as he could tell, the scent was fresh and very nicely mixed with the earthy undertone that he could tell was Prince Raspen himself, but layered over that was something that vaguely reminded him of Charlie. A hint of smoke, a sliver of dominance and a musk that he could only think of as being—well, fierce.
That particularly embarrassing thought had him shaking his head, then cringing inwardly when it drew Prince Raspen's sharp golden-eyed gaze. He forced himself not to blush, even as he felt the telltale warmth surfacing, before thankfully, it faded away. He breathed a short puff of relief, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that Prince Raspen's golden eyes were quite nice and definitely more golden than Theo's. He did not want to think of anyone in comparison to Theo.
Not his Theo. His Theo was absolutely perfect. Harry blinked. Well, mostly perfect, he amended, to himself. Perfect enough, and that was just fine with him.
"I see," Prince Raspen said, at last. "That is quite a puzzle indeed." He sat back, propping up his chin with one hand, deep in thought.
Harry tried not to notice just how adorable he looked with his chin propped up in one hand and his eyebrows furrowed together. Inwardly, he fought the urge to squirm, forcing himself to focus on the words the Prince was actually saying.
"Have you ordered a hunt of any sort? It is within your rights." Prince Raspen said. The family Circle usually held the first rights and while a Royal or a Clan Chief could override them, it was common courtesy to inquire about such things first.
"I did not wish to take the liberty, my prince." Thomas said, calmly. "But I would not be amiss to having one assembled."
"Good," Prince Raspen straightened up and snapped his fingers.
His aide appeared almost at once, as if peeling herself out of the shadows along the wall, she approached, clipboard balanced in the crook of her arm. She bobbed a short, cursory curtsy, her eyes fixed on him. "My prince?"
"Fetch me Lord Cunningham." Prince Raspen said, briskly. "And ask him to see that his Hunters are ready and I wish to see his paid Gheyo as well." If there was anyone within their ranks that could track and hunt on pure instinct, then it was Cunningham and his lot.
"Of course, my prince. I shall see to it." She murmured.
Prince Raspen gave a dismissive wave, turning back to their group. "Now then, you said the spell was Merrow? May I have a look?"
"If Harry is willing," Thomas finally beckoned to the silent trio of the Nott Circle. "Harry, may I present his royal highness, Prince Raspen. My prince, this is Harry, his Alpha Theo and his Beta Charlie."
"A pleasure," Prince Raspen said. He rose to his feet in a single fluid movement, looking expectantly to Harry.
Wriggling out from Charlie's arm draped over his shoulder, Harry stood up, taking a step forward to be away from his Bonded, in case Prince Raspen decided to try any reactive spellwork. He felt as if he ought to say something, anything to distract his wayward train of thought. "Thank you for seeing me—us," he corrected, a fraction later.
Prince Raspen smiled. "Do not thank me yet, I have not done anything." He pursed his lips for a moment. "You said the Kalziks saw him? Lord and Lady Kalzik, her ladyship?" He asked, in reference to Surajini, for he knew her quite well and just how thorough her methods would have been. He'd been under the care of her talented hands before and knew to trust her healer's instinct.
"She did and said that while she did have an option to remove it, that it might be painful and she had no desire to cause him any physical discomfort if it could be avoided." Thomas explained. "She stopped by to visit and I asked her to take a look. She left with her triad because of the quake. They were recalling every available healer."
There was a faint wince at that and Prince Raspen gave a slight shake of his head. "Her pain tolerance is far above mine," he said, good-naturedly. "I would say that her mention of physical discomfort is probably quite close to being burnt alive." He gave a faint shake of his head. He had expected her entire Circle and family clan to have reported for the incident, so it was no news to him of her whereabouts. "This should not hurt," he began, directing his words to Harry. "So please do stop me if you feel any pain at all, alright?"
Harry nodded. "Sure."
"It might be bright," Prince Raspen warned. He clasped his hands together then spread them apart, a ball of energy hovering in the space between them, such a pale golden color that it was almost white. "And here we are," Prince Raspen said. He held the ball of energy in one hand and gently lobbed it towards Harry.
Instinctively, Harry threw out his hands, and felt the magical energy pass right through him—painlessly—with a faint tickle. He twitched as the odd feeling trickled over him and then a moment later, reared back when the ball came back through his chest.
Prince Raspen caught it in his outstretched hand and it was absorbed back into his body with little fanfare. "Well, that was utterly pointless," he said, cheerfully. "We'll have to have a Merrow brought in." His lips twitched. "Alcandor will kill me."
"Not in your sleep, I hope." A new voice cut through the air, a young woman, approaching from the same shadowed corner where Prince Raspen had entered. "Then again, the bastard has a flair for the wrong kind of drama without even trying."
"Come now, Ebony, that's hardly fair to him and you know he baits you because you always react." Prince Raspen turned to greet the fire Princess that drew near their little group, her long black hair swaying behind her, gown swishing softly as she moved with ease and grace. He stepped away from their little group and went to offer her his arm, which she took, a small smile on his face. They exchanged the usual polite kiss to the cheek, the custom of higher nobles who knew each other well enough to accept such intimate familiarity. "Is everything alright?"
"Quite alright," Princess Ebony looked him over from head to toe. "The information was good, which you already know and I need not repeat the standard report, of which I am also sure you already know." She released his arm turning to look at the others and her gaze softened as it rested on Charlie. "Fate has a way of bringing us together." She remarked. "Did you make up your mind already?"
"Make up his—who? For what?" Prince Raspen looked from her to the Nott Circle and back.
"Charles," Princess Ebony said, simply. "I offered to mentor him."
AIDEN : HELLHOUND : ARYTHMOOR ESTATE : FRIDAY
Aiden was in a delightfully dark mood when he received the report of his new consort's whereabouts. While he had originally been inclined to leave her be wherever that would have been—he had felt her magical signature when she'd been brought through the borders into Nevarah—the fact that the Hunt was about to begin had set him on edge.
Their kind—darklings, hellhounds and all other sentient beings of neutral darkness, such as Vampires—were allowed to run wild and free during the Hunt, so as long as they did their duty and maintained the strict security measures in place around the beloved capital city.
Nevarah, being a nevermore realm of light and general peace, was often a target for restless spirits, unhitched caspers and the occasional Spiritwalker.
It was also a magnet for the wretched, despicable creatures known as Fabrine.
The moment he'd been able to call some shambles of his council together, he'd order a border patrol and then he'd set in motion the formal announcement of a Reaping. One of the largest portions of Fabrine was made up of the restless spirits turning from their pure grief into true rage, a point of no return that often meant the individual was no longer afforded eternal peace or rest.
As a hellhound, Death's emissary in every breath and form, second only to her Grim Reapers, it was their duty to perform the cleansings. A heavy burden that he would carry for the rest of his eternal existence and one that each member of his pack shouldered from the moment they were turned into his service.
A soft knock on the door announced Melacor, before the young pup stuck his head around the door, a tangle of gleaming black paws and wet, pointed nose. Pink tongue lolling from his mouth and wisps of shadow rising from his hound form, Melacor trotted over, circling 'round the ornate desk to awkwardly scrabble up onto the newly available lap.
With a muted chuckle, Aiden helped him up, settling the affectionate pup with a few good rubs and allowing a lick or two to his pale face. "I see you've been practicing. You hold your form very well," he praised. Melacor barked in happiness. "Yes, yes. I'm very proud of you. It seems you have been paying attention in your studies and as soon as I can spare an afternoon, you shall be duly rewarded for your brilliance and talent." Aiden leaned away as Melacor yipped in excitement. "Yes, yes, I know. Change back before I am deaf in my undead ear."
There was a twist of black-grey shadow and then the corporal black puppy fluxed into pure, wispy shadow, until it reformed into a small, childlike figure and when the tendrils of magic faded, young Melacor sat, perched upon his Alpha's knee, earnestly searching that pale face for signs of approval.
Aiden gently bumped his chin to the boy's forehead, a low growl of approval in his throat as Melacor tentatively wrapped skinny arms around his neck, relaxing in a way that he would never allow the rest of the pack to see. "I hope you are bringing me good news and not pointless drivel," he said.
Melacor brightened at once. "I am, Lord Aiden." He said, softly. "I found the exact coordinates for ah," he bit his lip, unsure of what to call the mysterious consort that he knew so little about. It wasn't exactly his business to know everything about his lord, but he did know more than the rest of the pack gave him credit for. Lord Aiden was the closest thing he'd had to a decent father in years and he'd done his best to earn the respect and responsibility that was his reward.
Aiden sighed. "My consort. You can say it. 'Tis only in title anyhow." He rose, easily settling the boy on one hip and gathering up the rest of the report on his desk. "Hold this." He instructed. "And keep talking." He exited his office through the hidden passageway that led to his private quarters and listened to the rest of Melacor's report.
"She was brought over with a group of Wizards from the Wizarding World. They got in to Nevarah because of Councilman Terius Baronsworth who is now Terius Snape, and they are living in the family tower that belongs to the Baronsworth Circle." Melacor held the paper file carefully. "I traced your signature to a specific floor and then a room on that floor. That's got to be where she is."
Aiden gave a slow nod, stopping to set Melacor down as he stepped into his bedroom. "Excellent. Thank you for seeing to her quarters. I will—likely—entrust her care to you, please be prepared to handle it in addition to your regular duties."
"Yes, Lord Aiden." Melacor immediately hurried across the room to fetch Aiden's preferred traveling cloak. "Is there anything else I should tend to in your absence?"
"I shouldn't be gone long enough for it to be an absence." Aiden muttered. "Fetch me two of those, would you?"
Melacor shifted uneasily at the mention of those, but he dutifully stopped by the nightstand and opened the top drawer. Inside the drawer were several miniature boxes in black with ornate silvery designs carved on the front and some with gold and others with red. His hand hovered over them, unsure. "Which ones?"
"The silver is fine."
He selected the two closest to him and trotted over to where Aiden stood in front of a tall, floor-length mirror, focusing on his magic to make sure his human-esque appearance held. He knelt so Melacor could settle the cloak around his shoulders and do up the fastenings, accepting the two little boxes without comment. The top of each box bore his seal, an elegant rose insignia. Pressing the top of each box in turn to his lips, he sucked softly, inhaling the trapped the soul that refueled his dark nature.
The boxes shriveled away to dust at once, the moment the life-source within them was consumed and no longer sustaining the preservation spell that held them in limbo. Aiden licked his lips and rose when Melacor patted his shoulder gently in a wordless gesture to mean that he was finished. "Thank you," he said, stiffly. "See that there is appropriate—human food, on hand. This—consort—will likely be in need of some sort of sustenance and I doubt she can appreciate our true diet."
A ghost of a smile touched Melacor's face and he nodded. He would see to it.
Focusing on the faint pull of his own magic, Aiden drew sharply on the thread he'd left attached to Hermione. This would 'port him directly to her side and hopefully, he could bypass any wards and additional security. It wasn't as if anything existed to repel Death anyway and as one of her chosen emissaries, he would be able to pass through them, unharmed.
If he was lucky, this wouldn't take longer than a few minutes.
If he was lucky.
SNAPES'S QUARTERS : NEVARAH : FRIDAY
The problem with being the most brilliant witch of any age usually encompasses a host of annoying adventures and irritating little quirks that serve to remind said witch just how human she may or may not be. For Hermione, her most recent annoyance had come in the form of a fellow that reeked of death and darkness just in his funeral-like fashion and pale, red-eyed appearance. If she'd known any less of vampires than she already did, then she might have thought he was one, however, as a veritable Ravenclaw in Gyffindor skin, Hermione had always done her homework—early to boot—and knew that the broody agent of darkness that had—for want of a better word—rescued her was most definitely not a vampire.
She had silently cursed him from the face of the earth to hell and back, right along with Severus Snape when she'd first awakened from the frightful sleep that he'd put her into. It was a sleep where she was very much conscious of just how dark and bleak nothing was. Nothing was simply that, absolutely nothing. A void filled with the absence of everything.
Being the only speck of life in her mind had nearly driven her to madness, but it was hard to even approach the lowest form of madness when she discovered just how trapped within herself she was. At that point, Hermione had found herself reciting her lessons for that entire year over and over in her head, turning each piece of information over in her mind, searching for something that worked or didn't.
It was a simple trick, one that her mother had taught her and one that they used with new patients at the dentistry office. Then of course, there had been the arrival of one Severus Snape.
That was when the cursing had started.
Hermione was far too frustrated to care that it probably wasn't the least bit ladylike and certainly not proper for a young witch of her age, but in all honesty, all she wanted to be was awake and aware. She knew that somehow, Severus Snape had found her and—remarkably—the dour man had not hexed her for stupidity nor left her to die, but rather had handled all of her care personally, displaying a surprising knowledge of rudimentary healing talents with precise and impersonal hands.
It was hard to be mortified when she realized that he was definitely not taking any liberties at all with her—not that she had thought he would, good Merlin, no!—but still, it was somewhat reassuring. He also occasionally spoke to her with the same acerbic tongue always used in class, when growling at her to keep her bloody hand down and not waving about in the air lest she disturb the air currents and somehow cause poor Neville's cauldron to blow up yet again.
It was almost as if he knew she was awake.
Maybe.
She'd been taken somewhere else, she knew that much, where, she had no clue. It was hard to follow the conversations around her without a single visual reference to ease them along, but she knew that Harry was somewhere close by and surprisingly, a few familiar voices—Teacher Terius, Professor Snape and Draco—along with voices that she didn't know, Theodore Nott and Charlie Weasley.
Theodore and Charlie seemed to be quite familiar and intimate with Harry now—and if that didn't count for utter mortification, Hermione didn't know what did—she would rather have been anywhere else than confined to a lucid sleep of sorts while hearing some of their sleepy conversations and the grunts, groans and growls that she really hoped weren't for what she thought they were.
Harry was quite distraught over her, she knew that much—at one point, he'd all but thrown himself over her and refused to leave—something that had both touched and alarmed her in the same instance. Alarmed, because she hadn't expected it. She had been fully prepared to stand up for Harry, simply because he was her friend, but touched when she realized that their friendship was deeper than she'd fully understood before. He cared about her and not just as a smart, bookworm friend, but as someone equal in heart and magic.
It had warmed her bruised heart in a way she hadn't thought possible and then the guilt had come, because she did know that she had ignored him quite terribly for the past few weeks—months, even, if she was honest—and just because she had her own problems and didn't know how to solve them. Perhaps if she'd dared to tell him, he might have been able to help. Out of everyone, Harry wouldn't have judged her, she knew that for certain now and it almost made her want to cry.
But she'd cried enough tears, more than enough tears before she'd left to die. She'd left him a letter, but it seemed as if he hadn't received it and that was good, in a way, because at least she wouldn't have to explain it when she woke—if she woke—it would be one less wound to bandage on their friendship. She hoped he would still be her friend, before she realized that yes, he would be, because he was loyal—even when she didn't deserve it.
Her mind tortured her with thoughts of how she'd greeted him at the start of the year and how nosy she must have seen, trying to overcompensate so he wouldn't notice that she was falling apart at the seams and then—there was always a then—she remembered that painful, terrible moment in the bathroom where she'd done the unthinkable and oblivated him.
Of all the stupid, stupid, stupid!—things to do, she'd done the worst. If he ever found out—oh who was she kidding, he was Harry Potter, The Harry Potter—of course he would find out, for all she knew, he could have broken the memory charm already, after all, she hadn't had the heart nor the concentration to pour the kind of magical energy required for it to hold.
She'd been too weak to do so and it would have killed her inside to actually follow through.
At first, everything had been fine, but then Lavender had approached her with a question that had brought all her doubts to the surface. Things had been good with Ron, until they went bad and then, Lavender had come along. She'd asked that pointless question, that ridiculous phrase of whether they were dating or not and her world had crumbled. She hadn't been able to remember anything definite and so, she'd foolishly gone to Ron to ask.
He hadn't given her a straight answer, but he'd been insistent—as he usually was—and she had convinced herself that he preferred actions to words and that what they'd shared was proof of their love and surely there was only one kind of love, wasn't there? A true, perfect love? But then she'd come downstairs and Lavender had shaken her head as if she had a right to judge her and they'd argued—and she would never forget the smirk on Lavender's face where she'd claimed that it wouldn't be worth the trouble of bothering with Ron again, that if her precious Won-won preferred bushy-haired swots, she would simply wait until he grew tired of her, because she knew how to please a real man.
Hermione had thrown up that afternoon. Then Harry had come to help and she'd Obliviated him for his efforts.
Merlin, she was a terrible friend.
But Ron—he didn't even have anything to say when Hermione had stumbled across them, he'd simply blinked up at her with that stupidly adorable look of confusion on his face, the expression that said oops, I've been discovered—the kind that he gave when Snape glared at them for whispering in class and that had said more than any words could have.
Of course, with all of that aside, there were more pressing things to deal with, namely, one snippet of information that had worried her to no end. See, Harry and the others had let the Snapes—and did that realization make her shudder—look after her while they went off to take care of things and they had spoken of hellhounds.
Hell. Hounds.
Hellhounds, as if they were real. As if they existed. As if they were real, living creatures that could indeed drag her down to some terrible, fire and brimstone eternity. That kind of hellhound.
And then they'd proved it.
She had nearly died all over again, from the sheer shock and absurdity of it all when they'd lifted her shirt to check her stomach—granted they had preserved what little modesty was her own—but knowing that they were right, that had truly burned. What did that mean? Where would she end up? What would happen to her now? And what on earth had she ever done to deserve any of this?
The only blessing out of the bleak lot had been the lack of headaches and burning magic that had drained her for days on end with the cacophony of voices in her head since inheriting that blasted silvertongue. The absence of that immense pressure and the lack of physical weakness had relieved her of a burden she hadn't even known she'd been carrying.
Inwardly, she shuddered of the nasty potions that Snape had forced down her throat, she knew why he hadn't spelled them into her stomach, it would have ruined the potency of them and the man knew his work, he had been the youngest potions master of his age, after all and she had found herself moving closer and closer to clarity since that dreadful moment when that eerie, red-eyed hellhound—for that was what he had to be—had saved her from certain death.
Time passed with excruciating slowness and it embarrassed her to no end when Snape tended to her on a daily basis, casting the necessary elimination spells to keep her body in proper function, and coaxing new potions down her throat. She was thankful for the cheerful Calida, who had tried and somewhat succeeded in brushing her hair into a semblance of order, while wiping down her face with a clean cloth and applying a bit of face cream for the sake of her delicate skin. That had been a gesture of kindess she hadn't expected from a young woman that she didn't know anything about. Teacher Terius had painted a rune on her face—with his own blood, she was sure, the man was obsessed with blood magic—for protection and then Draco had spoken to her once, about finding her wand and placing it beside her in a little wooden box.
The Snapes were certainly an odd bunch, she would give them that. She couldn't understand why they were fighting so much, as it seemed that there was no need to, but they also seemed to be somewhat out of sync, as if they were short-handed and she could understand that. It was almost like a soap opera on the telly. She could tell that Draco was bored and because of it, acting out—after all, hadn't Ron always done that? She knew all too well just how many times she'd had to distract him and sometimes even Harry, just so she could finish her work—or keep them out of trouble.
The latest development between the Snapes had been both sobering and troublesome though, because while even she could tell the men cared about each other, in typical men fashion, it seemed that they were too thick-headed to realize it on their own. A ridiculous argument had broken out over some prank Draco had played and on top of Snape's frazzled nerves, that hadn't gone over very well at all and Calida was exempt, being pregnant and in possession of a formidable temper of her own, which meant that Teacher Terius bore the brunt of Snape's temper as a very irate Alpha.
Hermione had felt sorry for him, especially after Snape had ordered Draco and Calida out of their quarters for the 'private talk' that really hadn't had much 'talking' in it at all. Terius had made a soft, keening sound that had felt as if it would rip her barely beating heart in two. The sadness permeating the room had been overwhelming in the aftermath of Snape's exit and she was almost glad that he'd sought some form of comfort by staying near her unmoving self, even if there was nothing she could offer him at all. She was also glad that she couldn't see his face, because something told her that the strong man was probably quite close to tears, torn between instinct and common sense.
He was barely there for a mere handful of minutes, before the temperature in the room had dropped to a sudden, definite chill and a tingle of fear and familiarity washed over her. She was very aware of where that last feeling had come from and she didn't like it one bit. She felt Teacher Terius's fear as a tangible jolt from the rune pressed to her face and it seared into her skin, hot enough to draw a cry, if she'd been able to speak. Then she felt a streak of his magic washing over her and a blissful coolness sank into her skin, before it faded away.
Somehow, she knew that he had removed it and she didn't have to know why, because the chill grew deeper and a hissing voice began to grow stronger. She silently screamed for him to stay, even as she heard him back out of the room and run, his panic very real and very close. When a shockwave of magic blew outward from somewhere to her right, Hermione knew she was no longer alone in the room.
"Run. Yes, run," the voice hissed, furious in its anger. "Who said you could take her?" The words ended in a growl and she felt the chill ease just a bit, a flicker of magic passing over her with careful inspection. Her body shivered and heaved, a detail that registered with surprising slowness as Hermione understood the sleeping spell she'd been under was now being undone.
Familiar hands—and how did she even know them, so soon?—slid beneath her body, strong in their care and impersonal in their touch. She hoped if it was that dark, disagreeable fellow—it had to be, who else could possibly feel this tentatively familiar—that he would remember to take her wand. She didn't want to leave it behind. But then she felt and heard the rumbling growl from where her ear was pressed to one solid, chest and a frightening jolt of magic washed over her and she knew no more.
AIDEN : HELLHOUND : ARYTHMOOR ESTATE : CONSORT'S QUARTERS
When Hermione opened her eyes, it felt like the weight of the world came rushing back to rest on her impossibly young and small shoulders. She ran through the quick checklist in her head that every girl did when finding themselves waking up in a strange bed—clothes, check, magic, check, virginity—a rustle to her left drew an immediate reaction.
With strength born from pure adrenaline and little else, Hermione lurched upward into a half-sitting position. She found herself staring straight up into blood red eyes, just inches away from where her face had been, a familiar face framed by pitch-black hair, and ridiculously pale skin peeking out from an unbuttoned collar and rolled shirtsleeves.
Had he ever told her his name?
Hermione shook that thought from her head, even though the movement made her half-dizzy. She didn't know where she was and what she was doing there. Staying calm was nowhere in the picture.
"Get away from me!" The words were hoarse, as her voice was rusty from lack of use and Hermione scrabbled in the soft cotton sheets, hoping to find some sort of weapon—even her wand, however impossible—and snatched up an oblong throw pillow that was half propped up beside her. "I want nothing to do with you!"
Aiden blinked at her, a long slow blink with those blood red eyes, before he straightened with a deliberate flip of his inky black hair, offering a mocking bow. "As you like, my little lady." He then turned on his heel and stalked to the door, pausing to speak to the young boy who opened it for him. "Feed it and amuse it, Melacor. I care not how you do so. She is not to leave this room."
A/N: Whew. This was another monster chapter. Apologies for the long wait. I didn't mean for it to take quite that long. Happy Valentine's Day! ;) I have two new oneshots up in my profile, one with Harry/Wikhn and another with Harry/Charlie. Feel free to check them out. Upcoming chapter will have Harry's spell removal, Charlie and Ebony talking, as well as a glimpse at the Snapes/and the rest of the Weasleys, as things start heating up. (and yes, there's plenty of courting coming about too). I hope you enjoyed the glimpse of Jun. Reg and George, now that they are in Nevarah, guess how long it will take for Harry to run into them? Thanks for reading! ~Scion
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STATE OF CHARACTERS:
Theo-(with Charlie, Harry and Deveraines)
Charlie-(with Theo, Harry and Deveraines)
Harry-(with Theo, Charlie and Deveraines)
Deveraine Circle members-(Bahn, Delani, Ilsa and Greta-with Harry and Co. All others are off doing their own thing.)