Hello hello, everyone!
So, I took two days off to read one of Sindie's fics, The Moment it Began, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Also, hello to everyone new aboard this story- but why won't you speak up and tell me what you think, or where you think I am taking it? It's a joy to read your thoughts.
So, onwards! Chapter 19.
***
Rasmus pulled out his wand and brandished it a little in front of Harry, as he was looking up at him bleary eyed and haggard. He smiled a little in challenge.
"I can make the dream go away for a while. Do you trust me to cast on you?"
Harry sighed.
"What do you plan to do?"
"Charm you not to see blood dripping everywhere," Rasmus leaned on the back of sofa nearest to him. His knees were shaking and his chest felt a little constricted. He wouldn't be able to keep up his persona of superiority long. But he didn't want to take Harry to Nikos and force his already exhausted godfather to further spend energy before he could sleep. And Rasmus knew that Nikos wouldn't sleep before he was satisfied with whatever Hodd had to tell him.
"You won't knock him out, or something nasty like that, will you?" Ron spoke up. "You know; because technically he won't be seeing the dream any longer."
Rasmus glared at him but said nothing. His fingers tightened around the sofa back.
"Rasmus, only if you're sure," Hermione stammered, seemingly ambivalent between having Snape's son cast on the Boy-Who-Lived or not.
Rasmus smirked.
"Is it because I'm just out of the infirmary or because I'm a Snape?" he asked sarcastically, turning his wand lazily towards her, leaning a little more on the sofa.
"Maybe both?" Ron said under his breath. But Harry Potter winced and pulled his glasses off, pinching the crown of his nose.
"Rasmus… I bet your father told you well enough we didn't quite see eye to eye while he lived," he said, trying not to shut his eyes- because when shut, the image of the dream with the waves of blood threatening to drown him was more vivid. "But he did for me things few would even conceive, at the expense of… well… everything," Harry kept rubbing at his temple. "Will whatever you do hurt or tire you?"
Rasmus' expression became set. Yes. But it would hurt Nikos more.
"No, not at all," he lied evenly.
"Then go ahead," Harry nodded. "Thank you."
Rasmus nodded and approached, then sat- his body sent a pang of relief up his spine as he did- opposite Harry.
"Look at me," Rasmus said softly as he leaned forward, and Harry flinched, making an odd grimace that the Slytherin couldn't account for. Nevertheless he complied, and Rasmus began waving his wand in perpetual figure eights that gradually became more and more spiraling. Harry's eyes dilated, and then Rasmus began to chant:
"Adrotos apostasia goetus glossan, angelos oneirou prostasian."
The words were unlike that of the usual spells the Gryffindors had been used to hearing and employing, and they rolled off Rasmus' tongue musically, mesmerizing even Ron who did not share Hermione's fascination with novel magic.
From Rasmus' wand a silvery-golden essence ensued looking like a stream of morning, glowing dew and lightly engulfed Harry's head, then was absorbed through his ears and nostrils as the older boy breathed in, and sank back a little as Rasmus ended the spell.
For a moment, nobody moved- but then Harry opened his eyes and grinned with relief.
"It- it's gone! I don't see the dream anymore, I only see what's there!" he exclaimed with glee and happiness, then grabbed Rasmus from his sagged shoulders.
"Whatever it was you did, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me," Harry grinned.
Rasmus smiled thinly, feeling dizzy.
"I do actually have an idea," he murmured. Hermione approached then, a glass of water in her hands, while Ron approached as well with much more enthusiasm than before, sitting down next to Harry as Hermione handed Rasmus the water and waited for him to drink it.
"What was that spell?" she asked. "That was ancient greek, wasn't it? The language you chanted it in."
Rasmus nodded.
"I don't know how Potter factors in this, but seeing a dream superimposed on actual waking vision, that's a condition I know well. It's called Vortis, and it happens to those who use or have used their abilities to expand the limits of the mind," he said, drinking the water.
There was silence.
"Harry has never tried to expand his mind limit," Ron blurted out, breaking it with an incredulous expression.
"Gee, thanks, Ron," Harry said sarcastically. Rasmus couldn't help a lopsided grin. But it was Hermione's reaction that lifted all the frivolity that tried to seep into the atmosphere:
"B-but… but isn't Vortis potentially lethal?"
Rasmus said nothing.
Harry huffed.
"Well that's just typical around me, isn't it, 'Mione? I wouldn't worry, I'm still around."
"Why would seeing a dream in the same time you're awake be lethal? Freakishly creepy, okay, but why lethal?"
Rasmus shrugged.
"Because Vortis is really just a symptom. It happens because something jars the patients' mindwaves to be affected by… other things."
"Harry was trying to use some pretty intense locating spells. Maybe that's the culprit," Hermione nodded. She bit her lip.
"From the little blue book he was looking for in the bookshop before school started?" Rasmus asked, nodding towards Ron.
Harry nodded. Rasmus grinned mirthlessly.
"Did you even read the warning that these spells are for advanced Legilimens or Augurors or Devins?"
"Harry never reads the introductory notes of books," Hermione answered with a rather dry tone. "But that was why I thought to come to you before going to anyone else with what happened."
Rasmus nodded, and at that moment a bubble popped out of nowhere and chimed once.
"That's my cue," he said and got up carefully, not wanting to show just how tired he was suddenly feeling- and not from physical exercise, but from the burden of emotions, past and present. "I need to go to the infirmary. My godfather's probably there trying to fix Hodd. You can come along if you like and if Pomfrey will let you."
***
Leaving Erna Frideswide's office, Nikos' grin faded gradually, the potion in his hand and the energy it sealed in it drawing his attention as the potion mistress' warning echoed in his ears. It's illegal for a reason. Nikos sighed and glanced at his watch. He didn't have much time, and a coma was never an easy thing to break, wizard or no, healer or no. He would need the Apperception just to manage to do it all before whatever Dark Magic was creating the strong ripples encrypted in his chart were completed and allowed their full effect.
So, just half-way to the infirmary where the comatose Slytherin was- the Headmistress was taking a big risk with not having notified the parents in time- Nikos stopped, uncorked the tiny spherical vial and swallowed the contents in one swig. He winced immediately, as the potion rushed up like acid towards his brain, through his heart, down every tiny little nerve of his nervous system. Apperception hurt. Nikos leaned against the wall with both hands as tremors began taking control in bursts, and his heart beat faster and faster.
No, control it! Control it!
He punched the wall, forcing his mind to focus in pain he controlled, away from the acid, away from the rush that threatened to consume him rather than aid him. It's illegal for a reason. Nikos punched again and again, until his knuckles were skinned and bloody-
-and the acidic rush of overwhelm was done.
The Greek Healer sighed, backing off the wall and straightening up, setting his shoulders. He smiled to himself, his pupils wider than usual, and crackling energy itching at his fingertips. He never felt more rested in his whole life, more powerful, capable of anything and everything- even ruling the world, even grasping at the seams of the cosmos-
"Steady, steady, Nikos lad. Don't let the potion speak for you," Nikos muttered to himself in Greek, and then began walking towards the infirmary again. The Apperception was extremely dangerous, a double-edged knife. It was hard to control not only from the moment it was ingested, but throughout its effect for it could easily fool a wizard into thinking himself invincible, unable to tire or be exhausted, and end up killing his own self just from sheer disregard for the body's and the mind's physical limitations.
He breathed in, reciting the warnings in his head as he reached the infirmary's door. Madame Pomfrey was glaring at him from her office as he walked in. He nevertheless smiled at her jauntily.
"Good morning, my dear Pomfrey!" he said, and she appeared flustered as she got up. Too much. That's too much exuberance, Niko, tone it down, he ordered himself. He pulled his wand with a flourish.
Poppy approached him with a decidedly suspicious look on her face.
"Are you on anything, Mr. Galanos?" she asked, peering up at him as if he were something in a petri dish.
"Ah ha ha!" Nikos waved her off. "Of course not! Now, where's that pesky prankster?" he sauntered towards the only bed still occupied in the infirmary, where Hodd lay immobile.
Poppy followed him, feeling more and more alarmed. Was the man drunk? If so, she would need to restrain him before he damaged the student further. But he didn't seem drunk. Or quite all there. And way too energetic for someone who, according to Professor Vector, had been up all night casting serious, taxing magic. But then again, his moves as he swished his wand to prepare Hodd for healing, showed him to be in top form as far as Poppy could tell. Maybe it's just him.
Nikos pulled a stool next to the bed.
"I think we're quite ready to check under the Hodd," he chuckled to himself. Poppy did not understand what he was chuckling for and gripped his shoulder.
"Remember, Mr. Galanos; Hodd will be my patient after you are done; not yours."
"The matron calls the shots; got it," Nikos nodded more than he needed to and grinned again. "Not to worry, I'll ask what I need and leave him in your hands."
And without pausing even a moment, he lazily swished his wand and cast the diagnosing spell so powerfully Poppy's eyes bulged.
***
The Golden Trio took it easy, walking back towards the infirmary, and Rasmus nearly lagged behind. He didn't like the looks he was getting, being seen by the students walking to breakfast surrounded by Gryffindors, and these Gryffindors especially. Finn had disappeared apparently, or he was already in the main hall piling up on pancakes.
"Could I please ask you a question?"
It was asked gently, and in a quiet voice, by Hermione. Rasmus noticed that Harry and Ron were up ahead, while she had matched her pace to his. He shrugged.
"I may not answer."
"What did you cast on Harry? I mean, I know it was a fix for Vortis-"
Rasmus shook his head. He unconsciously scratched at his forearms, where the traces of the lesions began to itch.
"It's not a fix. Just a temporary relief remedy. It's a greek spell, adapted from Asclepius' original ancient chants. It's rough translation would be 'the ethereal mind shield'."
"Oh," Hermione said, and her heart clenched. Something in the younger teenager's expression and the ease with which he cast the spell told her he had used it often in the past. Since it was now widely known, thanks to the Prophet, that Rasmus' mother had dabbled in dangerous magic, it wouldn't surprise Hermione if…
But Rasmus remained silent, teeth clenched, and she had enough compassion and insight to know that if she asked further, Snape's son would never, ever answer.
***
Isis slipped on the golden finger-sheathes. She never used wands- feeble magical conduits- when she could have enhancers to channel her magic through. In front of her there lay her lover, swathed in the bandages that bound him and kept his body in the state all mortal Pharaohs had mimed- but not accomplished. For her lover would rise, while they would rot, hollowed out and stuffed with linen as they were. A just punishment for their insolence to strive to be like them, when they had been essentially muggles.
Isis smiled and splayed her fingers, calling the canopic jars to her. Her lover's canopic jars did not hold his organs, as everyone was led to think. No; they were there to receive the organs of others, so that with her magic her lover would be reanimated. Dolohov and the straggling remains of the pitiful gang Tom Riddle had banded had done a good job bringing her victims that filled the requirements for the Stomach, the Intestines, the Lungs- and most important of all, the Liver: the one organ through which her lover's Heart would beat again.
She glanced to the left, where the canopic chest lay- the vessel of dead matter that would hold the flesh of past vanquished power along with the flesh of the dead vanquisher. This is where the Hearts she retrieved under the guise of Filch's form from the graves of Dumbledore and Snape would reside, their rancidity and decomposition fuel to her lover- until she retrieved what Gryffindor and Slytherin stole from her.
Then she would return to the cradle of the ancient world, together with her lover, and resume her reign that had been stolen from her so shrewdly.
"My lady," Dolohov said with a respectful bow, "we are ready to begin."
Under the power of his wand, he was holding a live jackal immobile. Indeed, everything was ready.
Isis turned to the wrapped up, ancient and enchanted bandages of nettle and milkweed that held her lover's body, waiting for reanimation, and began to speak in her own, native, ancient tongue of power:
"I piece you together once again, my Ausar, Osiris, Heart of Hearts. Receive the blood of Death into your veins, let your Heart pump it and wake you. Leave your position in the underworld and make your underlings and enemies keep it for you…"
Isis weaved her gold-wrapped fingers in the air until the gold began to glow and shift like fire. The black of her pupils seemed to widen until all of her eye was onyx, and her olive skin became bronze under the power of the spell the ancient witch invoked.
Dolohov did not dare move, since he had been ordered to keep the jackal still until Isis killed it, but when the bandages began to unwrap, and a hand with a greenish tint emerged, clawish fingers with dead, raisin-black nails on them scratching at the seams, he couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't just made a terrible mistake, he had placed the winning bet.
***
And that's that! I hope you like this. I must admit I am used to far more feedback from readers, so why don't you procure some more reviews for me? You too, lurking readers, I want to hear your thoughts, as I am shooting for something rather experimental here.
For sure you all now have caught at how far back this evil is going to take us? (it's not a small story after all… who was I kidding?)
Griffin Raven: Thank you for your very interesting review! I would wait before fully interpreting the dream's significance, but you are right in that most will think it's Harry's guilt that is procuring it. I didn't much appreciate Snape's manner of death either, but I think JK thrives on that sort of thing. Rasmus wants to avoid his father's portrait at the moment… heh heh heh.
Sindie: Thank you very much! I am trying something rather bold here, so here's hoping it succeeds. I think it will, but I'm still keeping my fingers crossed that readers will feel as much too.
Zoe Bright: Isis is suspicious eh? That she definitely is! Harry is pivotal in this story, as is Rasmus. I am planning to update daily in the weekdays, barring crisis management with clients :)