§
And quickly followed by peace, ran war.
Crimson eyes gazed deeply at two maps, side by side. The first was old. The brown tinge of age around the edges and deep lines in its faded face scattered across the scaled picture of the British Isles and mainland. The Irish sea went around them, a foaming mass of washed-out blue with small caricatures of the selkie, bowtruckle, and dragons. The superstitions of that age, a people believing in giant sea monsters ready to eat them at any given moment.
In their stupidity they feared. Fear is weakness. That is why those brainless fools of yesterday are gone—they were to afraid. The viewer thought, glowering.
The other map was the same size as the first, but it was starched straight and perfectly white. To contrast, the black lettering sprawled across it, along with veins of blue and red for roads, bridges, and pathways. Tiny dots marked cities and instead of mini horrors, the newer map had a compass at the bottom. In fact, the only thing remarkable about this map was at the bottom, it had a small tallying number.
Ours: 31,592
Next to that, was a small green figure. Along the map, the green people were scattered. Mainly, the largest percent was cluttered in one outer crop where he was standing right now. Of course, this spot was unplottable to any other maps, invisible unless you already knew where it was, and instead of the kind memory wards the ministry used, this place was protected with a stronger ward. If anyone happened to somehow simply wander to this place despite the fact that in order to get to it, you had to know where it was, unless they had a dark mark, the crucio curse would be cast upon them. It had not happened yet, but Lord Voldemort took no chances. He trusted his sentinels to hear the screaming if it would happen. The said person was now watching the maps critically, small green figures making their way across the lands, down to where he was. And in fact, he was in the very lair where all things commenced, Necro Repsi.
"My lord," A muffled voice from the outside disturbed his thoughts, the the Dark Lord turned coldly.
With a swish of his cloak, Voldemort paced out and opened up the enchanted holly door. A cloaked figure was kneeling before him, hood drawn high and white mask placed so only the cold gray eyes could be seen.
"What news do you bring me, Lucius?" The hissing lisp of his voice, high and velvety so easily secluding others with toxin.
The man removed his mask, allowing the pale billows of blonde hair to free and cold aristocratic face to show. Lucius kissed the hem of his master's robe, and only when Voldemort nodded did he dare stand.
"Forgive me for disturbing you my lord, but the werewolves have arrived. Their leader wishes to speak with you."
"Grayback... I will come out to greet him then. He has been a powerful ally.
True to his words, the dark lord strode out of the room, his dark aura shadowing with power.
Dementors, Giants, and finally the werewolves. With them in my army led by the Death Eaters all should go well. Should it not however, I do have an emergency plan. I will wait to use it however, much more work must be done on that spell to ensure its success. But I know who I could get to help me...
§
The party had quickly made their way up to a deserted classroom. As the witches and wizards enchanted the doors and seals of the room, making it spy-proof and unfindable. Their numbers had grown in the short space of time it took to get everyone cluttered into the large, empty place with starry blue walls. All together they numbered the members of the Order that had infiltrated Hogwarts, the golden trio of the time, a wizened headmaster, the transfiguration teacher, and potions master. It only took Harry a moment to analyze the connection between the people. Order of the Phoenix... And soon he knew why they had been called.
"Remus, do you think you are well enough to tell us all the tale of how you came to be in such a state that a miracle was needed?" Dumbledore broke the quiet, shocked shuffling of the room.
Professor Lupin had insisted that he was well enough to walk, and walk he did. In fact, Harry had never seen his father's best friend so happy. Even in his old moldy robes, the dusty blond of his hair seemed to stream with less gray, his kind, prematurely lined face had gone back to its previous years. His stride was taller, and though he did not stand tall—as he never would, the good man no longer hunched himself in the shadows. Yet it was the eyes, the once tragic, deep eyes of brown were softened a little. The pain, the scars that his long life of exile had left would take longer to heal and some never would fade. And sorrow filled bitterness would always mark his wake, but he was also glowing with something the werewolf never had ...hope. Tonks, it seemed, shared his happiness. Her hair was once again a vibrant pink, bright red eyes winking in her pale face. But, there was a shadow lingering there. Nymphadora had gotten older, she had faced the deepest fear, and lived in the shadow of her dreams and the face of war. But she was still their, Tonks was happy.
Blair... she did good. Potter thought in the silence.
In response to the blue-eyed wizard's question, the former werewolf began his tale. From what he could gather, it seemed that Moony had been sent to patch things up with the werewolves. He had begun to get through when Fenrir Grayback had arrived. The devilish monster had scared the people who had been outcasts all their lives, sent them cowering in the shadows of their own horrors and then brought them out with the sickly light of false hope. This hope was the world coming, the new order of society, the rise of Lord Voldemort. He had managed to rally the werewolves against Lupin, and had chased him through the forests and mountains. His savagery gave Fenrir a physical advantage over the weaker, contained kin. He soon had Remus hunted down, and torn apart with the very fangs and silver claws that had first cursed the last Marauder as a child to present adulthood. That was when members of the Order, young scouts had found him and brought the ex-professor to the nearest outpost, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There he had a brief moment of conscience in which Madam Pomfrey had given him a pain potion, and then he had drifted off into a red-washed place between deathly sleep and painful unconscious. He had only awoke when the fiery tips of Kryeen's spirit phoenix had faded and his eyes met his dear friends and colleagues all around the room.
"Thank you very much for sharing Remus." Dumbledore said politely after he had finished his tale.
Still, his eyes burnt with a cold light as the great warlock continued. "Now, before we have any comments, we must here the story of Harry's duel with our Professor Kryeen and of his rescue, if both parties are willing to oblige."
No one denied it.
So the famous boy-who-lived, along with Ron and Hermione, began to tell about their Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher's little test. It was all perfectly fine until of course, Hermione and Ron went. Then Harry's turn came. Harry told them about what he had seen, his memories, but held back the bit about the black-haired girl. He would of course, tell Ron and Hermione. But no one else needed to know about that—not until he understood it. And Harry Potter would not have told anyone about the horrific child, and perhaps the events that followed could have stopped again, right there. But Albus Dumbledore played his hand now, as a well-developed Legilimency, he could tell his favored pupil was withholding some information.
"Harry, are you sure that is all you saw?"
The boy looked down, debating whether to bring up the girl. Finally he added in a low voice. "I... I think I saw her memories, Blair's I mean. There was a girl... a little girl with pale skin and dark hair. She was in a dark room, chained to the wall I think and... eating something... someone, I think. Her eyes... they were red and crazed and she had been beaten. I don't know where she came from but..." He trailed off.
There was a moment of digesting that information until good Shackelbolt thought to tell their side of the story.
The doors, the walk, meeting the girl, her warning, finding Harry and Blair. And so now, with all three stories told, it was time for questioning.
"Wait, Celia helped you? She is a Slytherin though!" The youngest Weasley male exclaimed in surprise.
His bookish friend gave her classic 'hmph'. "Oh Ron, stop being stupid. Celia has helped us before, remember? Not everyone has such stereotypical views on the houses."
"Oh yeah well not everyone carries a pulpit with them!" The red-head retorted quickly.
"Miss Magnatine is a very special girl." Professor Snape's chilling voice broke through their fighting. "She is quiet, intelligent, and polite; unlike some of her peers." His black eyes glared over at the arguing two, resting on the boy he hated the most.
The emerald-eyed wizard clenched his fists to hold back an angry reply when a soft knocking was heard at the door.
"Impossible, this room is warded from students and even other teachers from finding it!" The strict Professor McGonogall noted, surprised.
"Apparently not." Mad-Eyed Moody growled, drawing his wand along with nearly every other person in the room.
Pointing it at the door, Alastor nodded. "Come in."
§
The history of Fenrir Grayback, while quite fascinating, has very little to do with this story, and so will be skipped over. However his current presence is actually more than an amusing little detail in this tale, as you shall soon discover.
Currently, the said werewolf was sitting across from Voldemort. The head of the werewolf pack, head of all these creatures in Britain, was renowned for forcing his change to come upon them. While it gave him the primitive drive and talented senses of the wolf, this force did had a side-effect. It could be seen clearly on him as he ravished himself upon the carcass of the deer, a tall and once proud buck. Obviously gray fur cascaded from his forehead to his lower back, and small puffs of it lingered along with the golden pupils, slightly elongated nose and claws. Such a beast could never be fully human again. Blood dripped down his almost-snout. The werewolf licked it, the glow of madness, of blood lust that is too crazed for any animal, too thirsty for any human.
"You have been a powerful ally Grayback." The dark lord spoke when his guest had finished.
Panting, Fenrir began to speak, his voice rough and growling. "It was hardly difficult. My people saw your way, a path to our freedom, once that human pet was out of the way."
"Did you dispose of him properly?" The snake-like wizard questioned, his voice hissing and tone frigid.
"Scouts found him before I managed to squeeze his blood dry, but no one could live through those wounds. He was a weakling in the beginning anyways.
Lord Voldemort nodded, his flat face stoical. Inside however, excitement began to thrill his new body. Everything, everything was coming together, piece by piece. Soon he would initiate his plot, and the fall of the world would come. Soon then, soon would rise a new society, ruled by him eternally. The old man and the foolish boy will fail!
"Tell me then, lord, what is your plan of attack? I have gathered faithful troops—creatures of night wishing for a new life. We all thirst for this. The vampires come soon, the werewolves already gathering. What is your plan?" The barbaric leader snarled slightly, finishing with his gory meal.
Voldemort graced Fenrir with a look that shoved up far more fear in a being then the words of any others. A stare that showed the pitiless depths of his crimson eyes, no resemblance of human soul left inside. In response, the half-man shifted on his feet, giving a low, uncomfortable growl.
"Do not forget your place, Grayback." The slicing voice of his lord sounded. "You and your kind have been powerful allies and will be rewarded in my reign. However, my plans are unknown in their entirety to anyone except for me. The fewer ears that hear, the less mouths that talk. I would advise you to trust in my judgment." Advise of course, meant demanded. But Voldemort had more important agendas ahead then to waste time flat-out threatening a werewolf and possibly having him cause trouble.
Fenrir cringed slightly, his wolf ears falling back along his head as he gave a sharp, snarling reply. "Forgive me, my lord. I shall ask no more."
With that, the Dark Lord dismissed him, and Fenrir left the room through the iron-carved door. For a moment, the testy wizard took in his surroundings. The Necro Repsi was a fortress like no other. It covered an entire island, all except for a one mile perimeter of cliff, sand, and foliage. Past that, was his wall of spells- unplottable, invisible, spy wards, truth wards, the crucio barrier ran at last next to his proud sentinel of lower-level Death Eaters in their full black cloaks. The enchantments ran throughout the island, undetectable webs of traps and magic. A single large manor- surrounded by an ancient wall with ancient spells of protection from weather and enemy from the Founder's Time rung across its black peaks. The manor itself was large enough for a dungeon that ran underground the entire island, old enough to rival Hogwarts, and with as many spells and wards as even Gringotts could not imagine. For this fortress was built in the time of greatness, in the time of Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, and even Salizar Slytherin. Truly, it was a place to be reckoned with. Even without its timeless power, the Necro Repsi was filled with protective geography. Straight out of the sea, tall walls of stone raised to plateau for the snakes. Steep, high, and dangerous the sides fell out as cliffs. Along the perimeter ran thorny bushes, poisonous flowers, and large rocks. The overgrown grasses hid an sign of the army. And all visitors had to wait offshore, on boats that Voldemort controlled.
This was the lair of all lairs. So kind to even leave the cold iron bars showing and intricate artwork bathed in colors of dead black and bloody red. Beautiful, haunting, powerful...
Much like someone else I know.
§
"I'm sorry if I frighten you, Mr. Moody. However I...had a feeling I might be needed to answer a few questions." The blue eyes looked through the door, her fair hand still clenched from rattling the door gently.
"Celia?" Harry asked, confused.
He shot a glance to Ron and Hermione. Ron was looking wide-eyed and gave a shrug of confusion to his friend. Hermione had a slightly jealous disdain on her face.
Boys will be boys and girls will be girls.
Harry gave a confused shrug back, and then returned his attention to the new visitor.
Everyone in the room except for Mad-Eye had put their wand down.
"Alastor, I will have to ask that you do not threaten my students." Dumbledore warned his friend calmly.
The grizzled auror muttered under his breath, but withdrew his wand with a sharp question.
"Your a seer girl?"
"A seer..." The boy-who-lived repeated under his breath.
He thought back to the times Celia had simply been there, at the exact moment and known exactly what to do... pure coincidence? And those eyes, those beautiful, ethereal blue eyes that pierce your very soul and through. Then he thought of Professor Trelawny, in her stuffy attic and extreme, fantastical voice. Celia... Trelawny?
The teenage girl looked down, the long brown locks shading over her face, covering a small blush that was creeping on her smooth cheek.
"It's... It's something I was born with. I only just learned to control it, Professor Kryeen was doing lessons with me..."
The pendant! Potter thought back to the room with Celia, Blair, and him.. was that strange pendant part of her training?
"Miss Magnatine, had I known of your gifts," Snape began, his greasy voice as frozen as his black eyes. "I would have arranged a suitable teacher for you."
"Severus, calm yourself. Obviously, Professor Kryeen has done a good job with the girl." The wise headmaster searched his pupil, who continued to look at the floor.
"I was merely unaware that Blair was constituted in the seer arts, Headmaster." Though the Potion Master's tone and poise showed no disrespect, his tongue lashed at the woman's name.
Of course you were unaware... You are all so unaware.. A voice, familiar, musical, echoed along the walls.
Mad-Eye's wand was out again before anyone could blink.
"So maybe the girl got in the room because she foresaw it. But what the hell is that and how did it get in?"
"Daemon?" The brunnette looked up, as the translucent form appeared.
§
Lord Voldemort had again entered his study. It was the most private room, one that not even a Death Eater dared to approach. Located at the end of the third floor hallway, it was easy to identify because it was the only wooden door in the entire fortress. The room itself was well-finished, a fine green carpet, slate gray paneled walls bordering around a large, spiraling bookshelf. The place was filled with the low aura of magic—the new spy-proof charms its current master had placed, and the older ones that seemed to tickle Necro Repsi. In this room, the Dark Lord had found that the bookshelf held a nearly endless supply of books—history, magic, even an occasional cookbook. All he had to do, was think about what he needed, a new spell, the history of London, and the bookshelf would kindly bring him layers of the material. It was here, sitting on the large, throne-like chair of ash wood, carved with delicate artistry to continue the sea-voyage that was engraved on its matching table; that the magic bookshelf had brought him it. The book.
With a rare, flickering smile filled with a selfish humor, Voldemort sat down in the tall chair, and summoned the tome with a flick of his wand. It seemed very old, wrinkled, yellowed, weathered, and useless. But this volume has become his most priceless treasure. It was filled with an ancient power, knowledge beyond time and space, power to destroy everything there was, power to conquer, to kill. Understandably the book was written in the dead language, Latin. But then, it was the Necro-Ect, the oath of those who lie. In his study, the most evil wizard of the time had found the book of the dead. And for many nights and days he had stayed locked in his study, unable to learn enough to sate his thirst. The more he learned of this power, of Death's own hand, the more he desired it. And when it became an obsession so delicate, the book had granted him a way to achieve it.
Currently, the pale-spider hands rung through the pages carefully, coming to a certain place. A small murmur of a laugh escaped his parted, lipless mouth as the crimson eyes trailed over the spell again. It was intricate, delicate, deadly. He still didn't understand it all. But she will. So Voldemort gave a bitter smile and sat back in his chair, reading the book in his hand. He was in his home, in his lair.
The lair of the sepent.
§
There was a short background of the boy given for the benefit of those who didn't know. After all had quited, the phoenix began to speak again.
"Hello Celia, Harry." Daemon greeted with a polite smile and nod. His eyes then surveyed the rest of the room.
"You two are... Ron and Hermione?" He asked, turning his bright eyes on the two.
They nodded, and Hermione gave him a smile back. Her eyes glowed and Harry knew her mind was zooming with studies and old magics.
"You would be Snape," He continued down the people, a very slight cool in his voice as he gave the name. "Dumbledore... and Lupin. I don't know anyone else now do I?"
"It is nice to see you again, Daemon." Albus greeted his guest cordially.
Moody had taken some coaxing to not zap every spell he knew at the boy, and even know his large blue eyes was fixated on his translucent form.
"Daemon, why are you here?" Harry asked.
He had always felt a bit at ease with the boy. After all, he had seen him through the phoenix, even if he was with Blair.
His eyes suddenly grew serious, long red hair fawning out, a few bangs over his face.
"She saved you... didn't she?" It didn't really sound like a question, but Remus still gave an answering nod.
Daemon shut his frosty eyes, and when he opened them again, a strange smile was placed on his face. Not polite, but hopeful and almost... sad.
"I knew there was a sentimental side of you still. Even if you won't admit it... Blair."
The called woman suddenly appeared from a corner of the room. Not even Moody had noticed her entry, and it bespoke even more of some inhuman aura. Yet when the boy spoke the words, her golden eyes flickered with annoyance, and somehow her face grew darker. It was odd and in some way deeply frightening, to see a candle flicker into dark so easily.
To see her look so mortal, even for an instant.
"Professor..." Dumbledore began, first to speak.
"Shut up old man." Blair replied warningly, striding to the door.
Harry felt anger rising in him again at her simple attack at nothing. But then, the teen realized why she was offense. She was found. At that moment, a sparkle of understanding reached him. Kryeen had been caught, and she hated it. So now she was looking for exit, the door, and refused to acknowledge her capture.
"Come on, Blair. Even if you refuse to see it, there is some good in you left, isn't there." The translucent teen said again, a pale smirk on his face.
The trio was quite certain that had anyone else said those words to the woman, they would be flayed out in a matter of a moment.
Her sand-colored skin touching the doorway, slender fingers gracing it as she paused. Kryeen turned around, and she suddenly looked older and almost... sad rather then angry. The look made Potter's stomach turn. It wasn't right on her.
"Do not speak such false hopes..." The fiery red-head turned the door, walking out.
"...Brother."
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A/N: I am sorry that Draeg did not appear in this chapter, but he will be coming back, so for those who forgot him(shame on you!) look back at chapter 19. Any ideas on just what Voldemort is planning? Anyone see Daemon being Blair's brother? Post me a review with any comments, questions, or rambles about the story! I love all my reviewers who inspire me! Dinero y Amor es tu!