Chapter 2: ÆSC FÁEL


"Potter."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around to see Draco Malfoy not with his usually entourage. Instead, Millicent and Pansy were at his shoulders and looking decidedly twitchy. Taking in the odd situation, and Malfoy's odd formality, Harry inclined his head.

"Malfoy. What can I do for you?"

Ron opened his mouth as if to insult the Malfoy heir or the other Slytherins, but Hermione gave him a sharp kick in the shins. Malfoy looked at them, tense as if he wanted to insult them, but thought better of it and turned his attention back to Harry.

"A few of us in Slytherin think that you have a chance at defeating the Dark Lord," the blond came out and said, blunt and to the point. Rather unSlytherin-like, Harry thought, when they favoured the innuendo and hinting and metaphors their social dances depended on. "We feel that backing you would be our best choice."

Harry frowned. "Wont' that get you guys in trouble? I don't want you all getting hurt for supporting me."

The girls exchanged a look and Malfoy actually smiled. "You leave that to us, Potter. Will you grant us amnesty and protection?"

Harry looked at Malfoy; really looked. He could see the signs of sleepless nights hidden either with Muggle makeup or glamours; he wasn't sure which. The fact that there were quite a few halfbloods and muggleborns in Slytherin in the early years led Harry to believe it might be cosmetics. Pansy and Millicent didn't look any better.

It was then he realized that they were in a side corridor, no nosy paintings and no students were using it as a shortcut at the moment.

"I'll do what I can," Harry replied. "Seventh floor, tomorrow night, the hallway with the heavy door—you'll know which. Bring those like minded to yourselves. You'll be welcome."

Draco gave a nod of understanding. "Potter. Granger. Weasely," he said in parting before he turned in a dramatic swirl of robes and walked off towards the dungeons.

Harry could feel the caution and surprise emanating off of Hermione, while Ron just seemed to be flabbergasted.

"He was polite," Ron finally spluttered. "He didn't insult any of us."

Harry just smiled at Ron's antics and started counting. He bet a knut that Hermione would whack him or chide him to be quiet by the time he reached thirty-five.


It was the muggleborns who had come up with the idea of sending Hedwig out to find Harry. Figuring he was somewhere, and knowing that an owl could find anyone anywhere, which was somewhere, then wrote a quick note and gave it to the beautiful white owl.

"Find Harry," the first year Ravenclaws had told her.

She had hooted imperiously before launching herself into the air and soaring out the window. While she was out searching for her master, Hermione and various other intellectuals and the Ravenclaws set to book searching.

"You think it was aliens?" A Hufflepuff asked. The muggleborn was probably a first year, but the younger years in that House were on the small side, so he could very well be a second or third year.

Someone scoffed. One of the Ravenclaws, Henrietta Yewling, looked up from her book; blue eyes sharp. "There is little to prove aliens exist."

"But what about—"

"No," a Slytherin said. "Just no; we have to find Potter before we can prove…aliens..exist."

"Has anyone seen Ghost Hunters?"

There were a few 'Yeah's from the muggleborns, and a few 'what in Merlin's beard is that?' from the purebloods and a few halfbloods.

"You see, it's this show where muggles hunt ghosts and the supernatural," the kid went on to explain. And as he did, ideas formed and were stormed back and for the between the gathered students. Hermione apparated to her parents house to use the internet.

She had shopping to do.


Harry felt like crap. He could expound upon it, and wax poetic on his state of being, but it would circle round and boil down to him feeling like he was trampled by a hippogriff.

Crap.

The wizard tried to move, he was comfortable but stiff, but that sent a paroxysm of pain shooting throughout his body. If he had had the energy, he would have screamed; probably curled up in a ball. As it was, a tortured moan escaped him and his hand twitched.

"You're hurt. Don't move," Someone said. A part of him screamed that the voice wasn't in his list of recognized voices, another part didn't care as long as he got help. A third part just wished for the voice to put him out of his misery.

"Ugh, why do I hurt?" Harry tried to ask. It sounded to him like garbled grating moans. He winced and protested more when he was hoisted into a sitting position, a cup being pressed to his lips. Grimacing, he swallowed the liquid with little protest, and was surprised to find a cool, refreshing taste to otherwise plain water. The refreshing turned out to be a potion of some kind when a tingling sensation ran through his body, centering on his aches and pains and soothing the fiery pain to a constant ache that gave Harry the feeling that it'd wear off eventually.

Blinking owlishly, aware that his head still ached terribly, Harry looked around his surroundings.

There wasn't much to see.

He was in a cave, that much was obvious. There was, what he assumed was since he'd never been muggle camping, a small stove, a lantern, a huge motorcycle, a few blankets and sleeping bag. His gaze eventually came full circle to the person holding him. A goofy smile took up his face, and his head wobbled a bit as a rush of heat spread through his body. The person's expression, which was quite blank but managed to convey concern all the same, went from blank-concerned to blank-frowning.

It made him want to laugh.

"I knew I probably shouldn't have mixed a potion and an elixir," he muttered.

Harry hummed. "S'it going to kill me?"

Blue eyes, very blue eyes, weighed whatever information it was he had about potions and elixirs before saying, "it shouldn't, but—"

"Hello, I'm Harry," Harry replied to the frown, ignoring whatever the man was going to say after what his mind translated as a 'no'. "Sorry about the manners! My head feels a bit muzzy."

"I'm Cloud, and I would be worried if you didn't feel 'muzzy' with the fever you have," the man, Cloud, replied. He wasn't too worried about the kid not remembering his name; although he had a high fever, it was less than it was earlier that day when he had woken up the first time. He wasn't sure if he should ask about the beasts that he had been; not too sure if that was rude for him or not.

"Hmmmm. Fever," Harry hummed. "That would explain a few things."

"Just relax and try to get some more sleep," Cloud suggested. The exSoldier watched as Harry hummed again and settled back down to promptly fall asleep. Cloud checked the various bandages that covered wounds that wouldn't heal by materia, before he himself settled down for some rest. Not that it would come, and not that Cloud really needed it; sleeping every night was more of a habit than a need. His taut body was racing with adrenaline and worry. The two of them had introduced themselves earlier, and it was clear that the boy—Harry—didn't remember any of it. His own body temperature was higher than normal, Cloud thought he remembered something of a resting body temperature of about forty degrees, but when he had checked the youth's forehead, it was quite warm to the touch.

Worrying indeed.

But what had him curious, a bit worried, and wary, was the boy's casual reference to magic, and the fact that he seemed to hold a beast within him similar to Vincent. Only time could tell if the boy was truly dangerous. Cloud winced as lightning struck nearby, the roar of thunder deafening and made his ears ring. Knowing he wouldn't sleep tonight, he got up and settled himself near Harry to keep an eye on the boy.


Draco sneezed and his eyes watered. "Where in Merlin's beard did you find that tome?" the pureblood demanded using one of Harry's favourite swears.

Hermione gave him a look. "The library," she said archly. "Really, I think I'm the only one that's even entered the library here."

"Aten ar-Heq-t has a lot of interesting bits to it," Draco said, then he smirked. "The recent addition of a Quidditch Pitch by its last owner has most of us occupied."

"Quidditch isn't going to help us find Harry," Hermione acerbically replied.

What had gotten into her today? Draco wondered. He knew none of the purebloods in their movement called her a mudblood since she hexed the last one into Madam Pomfrey's kind care.

"Have the others gotten the computers and the rest moved to the Table Room?" Hermione asked.

"As far as I know they have," Draco responded. He eyed the ancient, dusty tome. "Would you like to take this there, or stay here?"

"Here is fine," the witch replied. "It's not like I have anything solid at the moment."

"Do tell," Draco obliged as he sat catty corner from Hermione. If he had sat across from her, the tome would have prevented them from seeing each other. "What have you in mind?"

"Well, you know the theory that magic is sentient?" Hermione began.

Draco nodded. Most purebloods accepted magic as a wild thing that graced their lives. It was the halfbloods and muggleborns that started polluting their history and society with their whims and fancies.

"There's also a theory that says that magic is in everything, everywhere; water, plants, animals, people. When we die, our magic returns to this sentient body of roaming magic."

"That," Draco stated with a confused and disgusted face, "is a convoluted idea."

"But the magical community in India believes in reincarnation, and there are instances of remembered past lives, that could, in theory anyway, support this idea," Hermione argued.

"How does this have anything to do with Harry?" Draco sighed.

"You remember the strange readings we got with the EMF the muggleborns were saying the Ghost Hunters used? The one that I bought and we tweaked for magic?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"That spawned this," Hermione simply put. "That amount of magic from a simple spell cross—a portkey and a Summons—isn't natural."

"Harry does have an inordinate amount of innate magic," Draco drawled.

"That might have something to do with it. Here," and she produced another dusty, albeit thankfully smaller tome, for Draco.

"THE NATURE OF MAGIC by ÆSC FÁEL," Draco read. "What's with all the older books and tomes having every word capitalized?"

"Importance has always been my guess," Hermione absently replied as she flipped a page.

Sighing, Draco conjured a cloth and wiped the book off. Being as dignified as he was, he wasn't going to go into a sneezing fit again; Malfoy's did not have allergies.

All things are connected with magic, Draco read. Puzzled, he checked the print date.

"The book is magical," a voice from the door said.

Draco and Hermione looked up from their reading to see Sirius leaning against the doorframe. His grey eyes took in his cousin's son. "It's magical," Sirius repeated.

"We know it's magical, but I couldn't read it," Hermione said as she looked up from her book. "The language was too arcane for me."

"That's because it's tied to the bloodline," Sirius nodded at the book.

"The Black bloodline?" Draco inquired. Sirius nodded. "But I'm not a Black."

"Technically, you're half Black as Narcissa, was a Black," Sirius pointed out. He ignored Draco's scowl as he entered the room and sat down. "And why are you reading that book in the first place?"

"You remember our dinner party?" Hermione asked.

"The one where you were teaching the muggleborns and halfbloods decorum and dancing?" Sirius replied.

"Yes," Hermione paused. They hadn't told anyone about Harry, not even Tonks, and no one had inquired thus far. It was the summer holidays after all, but still; if anyone had the right to know, it was Sirius Black. "Well, we didn't tell the Auror's the whole truth."

"What do you mean?" Sirius' grey eyes were puzzled.

"Harry was at the dinner," Draco finally said.

Sirius' sharp mind was getting the clues and putting them together. "No."

"Harry was transported somewhere by portkey," Draco told his cousin. "We're trying to find arts that will help us find him."

"I think I know something that might help," Sirius replied. "I have to go." And with that, the man disappeared with a crack of apparition.

Hermione shot Draco an acid filled look. He demurely ignored it, as any pureblood worth their salt would, returning to his book blithely stating, "Someone had to tell the mutt." Draco shrugged at Hermione's continued dark look and turned back to his book, flipping the page and reading the introduction.

'Magic connects all things, is in everything, creates everything; thus, everything can be considered magical on some level…'


Sirius was absent from dinner at Aten ar-Heq-t, a rare novelty. He always made it a point to gather everyone that was currently at Aten ar-Heq-t together and catch up with them on what they were doing. His absence, a very adult presence despite his immature and childish nature, was a bit worrying at the break in tradition.

The cuisine, however, was aptly prepared by the house elves for the absence of an adult as requested by the kids; Seamus had Belgium waffles with more whipped cream than strawberries, Ron had chips, Hermione had two roast beef sandwiches with all the trimmings, Millicent had fried eggs and sauerkraut, Pansy had onion rings and a hamburger, Draco of all people had sausages in maple syrup. Justin had beans on toast with melted cheese and an egg. The oddities went on and on.

Sirius reappeared at dinner, in the middle of the dining room, startling everyone present. His cocky grin told them all they were lucky he hadn't appeared on the table itself.

"Well?" Draco inquired.

Sirius walked from one side of the room where he had apparated in, to the other end and the head of the table, to the left of which Draco sat. He promptly handed his cousin's son a book.

"THE ORIGIN OF MAGIC by MERLIN," Draco read.

"Holy shit," someone down the table swore. Hermione just assumed it was Justin.

"Is this where you've been?" Draco asked as he opened the cover and saw what appeared to be Latin scrawled across the pages.

"I knew there was a book in one of the Black vaults that you could use," Sirius began. "I just wasn't sure which one it was in. I finally found it in Belatrix's vault, although I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be in Regulus'."

"Thanks, Sirius," Hermione said into the silence. "I'm sure there'll be something in there that will help us find Harry."

Sirius smiled wanly before heading out of the room and calling for Dobby.

"That is a sad man," Someone down the table commented. Before anyone could say anything, there was a scrabbling on the window.

"What's an owl doing delivering at this time of night?" Ron asked as he shoved too much food to fit comfortably in his mouth.

A few people down the table shrugged, but it was Seamus that finally opened the window. A very sodden Hedwig flew into the dining room with a disgruntled hoot. Everyone's eyes lit up and hope whispered up and down the table. She flew to Draco at the head of the table and held out her foot. Once the message was gone she jumped over to Ron and started to eat off his plate.

"Oi!"

"'Harry, If you're reading this, please let us know where you are and if you're okay. The Resistance'," Draco read.

"Fuck," Someone swore.


Sirius had cried last night; one of the reasons that he had left Aten ar-Heq-t. Draco, and Seamus, always seemed to know when he wanted solitude and sought him out to ask questions about something. Sirius just assumed that the two were checking up on him in a round about way. Although, some of the ones Draco usually asked pertained to something to do with pureblood culture.

Still, Harry had been his responsibility; had been since Lily and James were killed. Wormtail had seen to him being in Azkaban for years, but as soon as he escaped, he had seen to Harry. Now, with him missing, it was like Sirius had failed his best friend. His charge had gone missing.

But Sirius soon realized that moping wouldn't bring Harry back, wouldn't assuage his friends and bring them peace in their disturbed afterlife. So he got out of his hiding spot in Grimmauld Place and went to Diagon Alley. Being the head of the Black family, he had access to any Black Vault. Sirius had gone through all of them, having a vague idea of the book he needed but knowing he'd know when he found what he needed.

And he had, oh so many hours later, Sirius had found the tome. The book by Fáel would help some, but the book by Merlin was used in its references, and would probably give a better picture to what the kids needed.

Knowing he should probably have never left Aten ar-Heq-t, Sirius supposed he should return. Glancing at the clock, he knew it'd be dinner time, so the animagus apparated into the dining room. He heard someone swear as he startled them. Draco and Hermione watched him as he thought one might watch a wild and unpredictable animal.

Knowing him, and his recent binge, Sirius thought he may very well look like one. He walked with all the etiquette his horrible mother had taught him, for all he really wanted to do was curl up in his room and sleep, maybe eat something eventually, to where Draco and Hermione sat next to Harry's empty chair and presented his cousin the book.

He spoke his piece, hardly hearing the words he said, answered a few questions then left in the silence he created. The door to the dining room shutting ominously behind him.

"Dobby." Sirius finally called when he reached his rooms.

"Yes Mister Sirius Master Sir?" the quirky house elf inquired. The elf's ridiculous attire helped to bring a true smile to his face. Who wore multiple sock for mittens and five hats?

"Why are there socks on your hands?" Sirius finally asked.

"Dobby was cooking and handling hot things, Mister Sirius Sir," Dobby promptly replied. "I's not be wanting to burn myself."

"No that wouldn't do," Sirius agreed. "I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to bring me some soup in my rooms."

"Dobby can do that!" the elf enthusiastically replied. "Is the Master Sirius Sir be having a preference of any kind?"

Sirius was about to say no, he didn't have a preference, but the thinner the better, paused; a sudden childish stubborn streak flashing through him. "The kind witches give kids," Sirius replied, a smile growing on his sad face. "With a crock of butter and some bread if you have some."

Dobby nodded enthusiastically before disappearing with a pop.

Sirius left his bathroom, toweling his hair some time later. He could never tell how long he was in the shower; something about the running water soothing his mind to mush. James would probably make some comment about being surprised it wasn't mush, and compare him to a skrewt or something. He looked up at a pop to see Dobby.

"Dobby thinks he got it right," the house elf worriedly said as he presented a tray with a covered bowl, bread, butter, some fruit, and tea. Sirius lifted the lid and smiled. He saw the letters floating about amidst the vegetables and pieces of beef.

"It's perfect Dobby," Sirius softly said. "Thank you very much."

"Dobby is glad to help anytime, Master Mister Sirius Sir!" the house elf babbled in delight before popping out.

Smiling for the first time in days, Sirius sat down to eat.


the wind even carries it; through the fields, forests and over the seas breathing life. It sustains life, creates life, takes life; carries emotions and feelings. Many have argued over it, but I feel it has a sentience all its own; for if we, as intelligent beings, are created or shaped by magic then surely it must act and feel as we do to create us so perfectly.

It is aware in ways we can only assume; as I have never been dead before, I cannot speak in absolutes and say it is aware as we understand it. However, all my experiments and research points to the fact that magicwillreact if provoked enough through blasé, thoughtless actions and wavering commitment to Light or Dark. When this happens, almost always retribution is dealt swiftly. Very few can assuage and talk the magic out of its course through pretty words.

I have seen that happen only once in my many years.

All this evidence leads to only once conclusion:

Magic isalive…

-excerpt from THE ORIGIN OF MAGIC


Edited 24January2015