Chapter Nineteen : Telling Stories



"My services are always open, please return if you need more information."

Sirius remembers those words spoken to him by Burke before his departure, and can't help but wonder if the crazy old coot knew all along. Burke's a strange old wizard, his lack of physical vision only adding to his mystical aura. Sirius places the book inside of a footlocker, locks it, and exits his room with a determined twinkle in his eyes. His footsteps sound down the corridor, reminding him of the vastness that's the Delacour Manor. Rounding a corner and travelling down a spiral staircase, Sirius enters the living room, where Fleur and her younger sister, Gabrielle, are sprawled across traditional daybeds.

"There's, uh, something I forgot while I was out yesterday," Sirius says quickly, not waiting or expecting Fleur to respond, let alone sit up and take notice of him. But, Fleur cranes her neck towards Sirius.

"Did Severus speak with you?" she asks sweetly, expecting the answer to be a no.

Sirius grabs his black fur cloak as he replies, "Yes, early this morning. Camp Phi, February 16. I assure you I'll be ready, as I expect the of rest of you." Without another word, Sirius heads hastily out the door.

Once securely away from the mansion, he Apparates into the underbelly of Hecate Alley, a wizarding centre that's bustling with life. Glancing around with his telltale elven eyes, he quickly finds the peddler of Stories Never Told. Burke is parking his wares on the corner of the wand shop, opening for the afternoon business.

"I welcome you back, I knew you'd return." Burke glances up at the black-haired wizard, and Sirius shudders under Burke's gaze, wondering what it is he sees through the skins where his eyes should be. "Answers to your many questions you will find here. Come closer, come closer. I have gifts for you, the last of the elves in this decade. Scrolls, spells, runes and artefacts. I promise you will find them of use. Now, what was your name again?"

Sirius goes to open his mouth, but is interrupted by Burke.

"Ah, yes. Sirius Black. What can I help you with, Sirius Black?" Burke reaches into a drawer and pulls out several scrolls and a large box. The box is made from mahogany, carved with vines and star-shaped flowers. He slides the lid open, and Sirius cannot help but to peer in, but he sees only darkness.

"I was hoping you could answer a question." Sirius straightens.

"Anything for a relative of the infamous Steel. Now, what is it that plagues you?"

"If I am truly a descendant of the Kalian royal family, then why were these tales not passed down in my family? Why did I have to read about it in some book? Shouldn't this be a sign of power? Of esteem?" Sirius picks up one of the ivory scrolls and unrolls it, only to stare at a blank page.

"You needn't have known till now. Why burden you with the knowledge that you are different than everyone else, and forever will be? That your elven ancestors caused many wars in the early twentieth century, and because of them wizards such as Grindelwald caused the deaths of many innocent people." Burke's voice is nearing a whisper, Sirius has to lean forward just to hear him.

Sirius then regains his posture. "But they were the Moora. It was their fault that Rasputin caused a revolution and that Grindelwald gained power. The Kalian had nothing to do with the drow." He begins to walk around the kiosk, but upon feeling Burke's internal vision burn into him, he turns his attention back towards the blind wizard.

"If the Kalian were more like the Moora, they could have overpowered them, but the Kalian didn't meddle in the affairs of the other clans. They let the Atika die; they let the Moora plunder the countryside of Russia, burning crops and villages. Raping and killing the women, but not before disembowelling their babies before their eyes. They beheaded men and tore some apart by their horses. Others were lucky enough to be slain with swords and daggers, and left for dead.

"If the Kalian knew the sort of power they wielded, if they took the chance to use their magicks in battle, they could have killed the Moora with two words. Do you know what those words were? Avada Kedavra. You know of it, I'm sure you do. Every witch or wizard in the world knows of the deadliest of the Unforgivables. It first came into existence into the wizarding world because the Moora stole the knowledge from the Kalian, giving it to Rasputin, and then to Grindelwald. And from there, it spread to Grindelwald's followers and others. So, in essence, the Kalian are responsible for the fate of the elves."

Sirius wrinkles his nose, disgusted once more with the Moora. But this happened so many years ago, his family shouldn't have been ashamed of their pasts; none of those deeds are stained on their souls and on their flesh. They are not responsible for all in their race.

"Those are powerful words," Sirius says once the images of eviscerated babies and men's bloody body parts have taken flight out of his mind. "Who is to say that the Moora wouldn't have slaughtered the Kalian as they did to so many of the humans?"

Burke turns without notice, walking around his kiosk, his hand never lifting from the rotting wood. "Moora? Kalian? Whatever are you talking about, Young Sir?" Burke tilts his head and reaches out. His hand lands on Sirius shoulder, and Sirius leaps back. Burke's touch is cold and seems to draw heat from his body. With the warmth, Burke is brought back to the present and his conversion with Sirius. "Ah, yes. Elves. Moora. Kalian. Sirius Black. Tell me, have you ever known for the villains to win?"

"Yes!" Sirius shrieks, and then, embarrassed, he calms down. "Look at your neighbour, Britain. Malfoy has his Death Eaters torturing those people, while some of them remain untouched. Who is he to say who is to die and who is to live? Who made him the almighty God of the world? People are dying out there, and if we put our minds to it, we can stop it. Just as the Kalian could have stopped the Moora."

Burke smiles warmly, beginning to grow fond of this quarter-elf. "If only every army was filled with more Sirius Blacks than we could ever need. Your spirit is strong; it would have helped in battle. But destinies are written in stone; we are merely actors acting out a predetermined page."

"That's not true. We are not actors."

"If you believe that, then why did your leader pass the order for those to travel to see the old sage, Peru-san? She sees into the future, sees what's in store for human kind," Burke counters, smiling smugly to himself.

"Divination only lets us see glimpses of possible futures. If we know too much about our paths, then they will not come to pass. Not everything is written in stone--we have the power to change our fates," Sirius declares; it is a strong opinion that's carried by many fellow wizards and witches.

"Hmm." Burke nods. Clearly satisfied with Sirius's answer, he doesn't press the issue. "Now then, what was your name again? Wait! Don't tell me, I'll remember! Uhh, Severus? No, that's not right. Steel? No, he's long since vanished. Black . . . I remember a Black . . . Ah, you are Sirius Black! Now, what is it you seek, Young and Nameless Man?"

Ignoring Burke's behaviour, Sirius asks, "What else of the elves do you carry in your wares?"

Burke nods. "I have been saving these especially for you, the last of the Blacks." He takes the scrolls and box he withdrew earlier, knowing Sirius would ask for them. "These scrolls hold information about the elves, as well as a few spells, which they created. You may find a few that you recognise, while others will be new to your vision. This box . . . I must admit that I do not know what lies inside this box. I have looked, but I see darkness. I touch it, but I feel no magic; I only feel the presence of your family line. It belongs to you, and I've waited for you to arrive for as long as I haven't been able to gaze upon the physical world."

Sirius takes a scroll, the same one he handled before, and finds elven writing now on it. He glimpses at the others scrolls, around seven in total, and places them on the counter. He'll study them later, for it's not them he's curious about. Reaching inside of the box, he withdraws an oval amulet, just smaller than his palm.

The amulet is a light hue of purple, and is made from pure, raw amethyst encrusted with white gold. Holding it in his hands, Sirius feels the power surge through his fingers, leaving behind a tingling sensation. It's magickal, that's apparent, and the currents that flow from it are of healing.

"So tell me, please, what is that stone?" Burke asks, eager to know what's been in his possession for quite a few decades. He parts his lips, running his tongue over them.

Sirius knows, he doesn't know how he knows, he just does. "It's a healing amulet. Belonging to . . ." he stalls, the name on his tongue, but he's unsure if he should speak it. Like Voldemort and Grindelwald, it's a name that would strike fear in the hearts of the elves.

"Steel." Burke's unafraid, for he once served this drow.

"Why would a drow possess a healing stone? An artefact of white magick."

"Why wouldn't he?" Burke replies, an amused look playing across his thin white lips. "A dark elf on his rise to power with the infamous Grindelwald, unsure about who he can trust. Assassins were hired, many were killed, and if Steel had not had the amulet, mortal weapons could have touched him. He was immortal with this stone; he was shot, and nothing happened. Stabbed, and nothing. Magic is hopeless against it. It's one of the most powerful artifacts that the elves possessed, and Steel stole it from his uncle before he was exiled."

Sirius nods, understanding. "So why was it left for me? Wouldn't Steel have left it for his people?" He places it gently back into the carved box, drawing it closed.

"You are the spitting image of Steel, all you lack are the pointy ears."

"Physical appearance has nothing to do with what's on the inside," Sirius retorts sternly.

"That's true, and to this day I don't know why he left it to the half-breeds. Maybe it's because you are the last of the elves, although you are only one-fourth of the species. Steel is a relative of yours, although distant. And blood is thicker than any magick," Burke informs. "Blood is thicker than any magick or alliance. Just remember that. Now, anything else I can interest you in? Snake scales? Garlic? Werewolf teeth?"

"No," Sirius says as gathers up the box and scrolls.

"No? That'll be forty galleons, please."

"Do you realise you're charging me for what is rightfully mine?"

"Oh? I am, am I? Well then. We'll see what we can do about that. Here, take this scroll." Burke extracts a small, grey scroll from his robes. "Take this and those treasure. Twenty galleons please."

Sirius pays the wizard, and as before, Burke bites one of the coins before placing them into a pouch. Burke then turns away, unwilling to deal with Sirius now that their business is over. Unrolling the scroll, Sirius reads the words "Blood is thicker than any magick or alliance" from the parchment, written in a loopy hand. He Apparates out of there, eager to study the scrolls and wondering when he can bring this all up with his commanding wizard.

Severus Snape, who has been standing in the shadows of the wand shop since he followed Sirius from the Delacour Mansion, approaches Burke with a long stride. He circles the stand several times with a distrusting sneer across his face. Burke, aware of him, stands.

"Can I help you?" Burke crosses his arms, standing only up to Severus's shoulder.

Severus surveys the wizard and clearly doesn't like what he sees. "What was that about?" He picks up a jar with bat guano, and replaces it quickly, disgusted. "What business did Sirius Black have here, Old Man?"

Burke smiles toothily. "The elves are destined to return."

* * *

The commanding wizard of the Last Alliance decided upon his first arrival to the Delacour Manor that the smallest room in the centre wing would serve as his office. He had bought a sizable oak desk from a small shop in Marseilles; the top is stained black and there are three drawers on each side. A grey filing cabinet sits beside the curtain-drawn window, and from wall to wall stretches a dark blue rug. Above the radiator, a shelf houses many more books and parchments, and a large box holds an expensive cloak. Dusty sunrays filter through the light blue curtains, and the room is layered with a soft light.

"Sirius, I'm not saying that you shouldn't believe that old man, but don't you find any of this a bit odd? Answers don't fall into our hands like this. This wizard used to serve Grindelwald, so what makes you think this isn't a ploy, a ruse for our demise? People rarely change their robes," the alliance leader speaks with apparent concern in his voice. Before him stands Sirius Black, having finally found the courage a week past his journeys to the peddler, Burke, to bring up his findings.

"I know he speaks the truth. I can feel it. Everything he told me and everything I read, it makes sense somehow. And knowing this might be in our best interests, there's magick in these that humans have yet to discover." Sirius places a few of the scroll translations onto the desk, pushing them towards the black haired wizard.

"You shouldn't have gone alone, who knows--"

"He wasn't alone, though," Severus intervenes from the doorway, arms crossed.

"Snape, shouldn't you be preparing for battle?" snaps Sirius.

Severus saunters towards the two wizards, his usually pale face alive with a disparagement and amusement. "I could say the same for you, Black. But, I've been waiting for this moment for the past week, ever since that delusional wizard fed falsities into your weak-willed mind. You would do well to listen to our commanding wizard, he is wise beyond your years, and dare I say it, maybe mine. Who knows what enchantments are on those scrolls? Do you realise what you've brought into this house?"

If Sirius was in his animagus form, he'd be baring his teeth at the moment. With a look of scorn aimed towards his Slytherin equal, the grey-robed Sirius retorts, "I've read those scrolls over and over. If there were any enchantments, I would have detected them. I am not a fool, I tested them before I brought them into the lady's house, and look, Snape, we still live. Your concern is irrelevant and immature."

"But for how long? What else have you been keeping from us?" Severus growls.

"The answer to that is what else have I been keeping from myself? These are--were--my people's last legacy. The magickal currents flow strong in these artifacts, as you in no doubt feel, commander. We'd be fools not to prepare ourselves with these spells as well." Sirius glances sharply towards the heir of Merlin, who nods in agreement. He was busying himself with the scrolls while Sirius and Severus quarrelled, and found them most helpful. Plus, as Sirius said, the magick does flow deep.

Severus's eyes widen in shock. "You can't be serious! Trust that crazy coot!? Who knows what type of mind control he has over Black, and you are fool enough to trust his words! I should have known, you've always favoured him. Or maybe you've been enticed with the enchantment as well!" Much to the surprise of the others, Severus reaches for his wand, and points it towards Sirius. " 'Break the vessel and the power will be shattered.' You remember that lesson, don't you?" he sneers towards his superior, disgusted with the both of them.

"Severus, put away your wand," the leader drawls, fear having not crept upon his thin shoulders yet. To him, this is still a childish rivalry.

"No," Sirius whispers, taking the situation into short consideration. "No. If Severus thinks that I am the enemy, then let him proceed with his course of actions. And he will see that he is wrong."

"That's mutiny! Snape, Black! I order you both to stand down!" he screams, his voice cracking as his face grows ashen. A surge of bile rushes up in his stomach, lingering in his throat, his heart drops into his boots. The commander always had the nightmare that he wouldn't be able to lead an army, he'd fail as he has failed in the past. The lives of those people in Britain, as well as the lives of his army brothers rest in his hands. It's an unsettling feeling.

Sirius glares into Severus's black eyes, a glint of ivory lilac drawing his attention to the depths of Severus's pockets. Sirius withdraws his wand. "I've always known that it'd come down to this, Snape."

And before the ashen Severus has a chance to cast a spell, or the heir of Merlin can scream, the words, "Avada Kedavra!" ring through the small office.

Severus's face loses all expression as a vast green magick smacks him in the chest, knocking him back several feet. Everything moves in slow motion, with a steady rhythm beating behind his temples, and it takes several seconds for him to realise that it's his heart. He sees the mouth of his superior drop, but no sound comes from the astounded young man. With Sirius still standing with a serious expression, Severus hits the ground, and it feels as though his soul's being ripped from his body.

"Jesus Christ!" the commander cries, hysterically thinking the worst. "Sirius Black, what is it you think you just did!? Do you know what you just did!? Bloody hell!" He rushes to the lifeless Severus's side, shaking him by the shoulders. "I should have you drawn and quartered for what you just did!" His heart thumps a thousand beats per minute. Sweat rolls from his hairline, down his brow, and drips to the floor from his nose.

"I know exactly what I did," Sirius responds coldly, crossing his arms. "Trust me, I never hurt Snape."

Much to the leader's surprise, Severus groans, twitching his hand. "I'm going to kill you, Black. Slowly. Painfully. And enjoyably. I'll enjoy every moment of it. Trust me," Severus whispers hoarsely, as he stiffly sits up, unable to feel anything besides his headache from the blast.

Kneeling beside Severus, Sirius reaches inside one of the Slytherin's pockets, and clasps his hands around an ivory lilac jewel, the same one he saw glisten before he meaningfully cast the killing curse. Holding out his hand towards his companions, he asks, "Now do you believe me? This stone has the ability to grant the bearer immortality. Just as Burke said. Just as what's written in the scrolls. Still think I'm a delusional old wizard dreaming dreams of the past? Then Snape is dead right now."

The heir of Merlin takes a deep breath with his hand on his chest, forcing his heartbeat to slow. Glaring at Sirius, he stalks out of the room. He doesn't need to speak; Sirius knows that his superior is not pleased with his actions, as a word of warning would have proved to be helpful.

"Study the elf's spells!" The commanding wizard slams the door shut.

Severus sneers, amused with the events, but his hatred for Sirius burns stronger, a flame that will never extinguish. "Tell me, what if I hadn't stolen the amulet? What if it was something else I had concealed in my pocket to show the commander?" Severus growls lowly, eyes casting daggers at the smug Sirius, who's proud of his discovery, and even prouder that they now believe him.

"That was a chance I was willing to take."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy leans over various volumes, locked deeply away inside of his chambers. Books embellished in black or brown leather, or grey metal surround him as a fortress. Only one is opened across his large desk, the pages old and torn from age. The book holds necromancy spells such as exorcism, raising the dead, controlling the wills of others, and death. Grey eyes study how to raise the dead, as he has been for the past few months. When he does leave his studies, it's only for important business, such as the birth of his second son.

The second heir. The one with the eerie red eyes and pure white hair.

The demon child.

It was Lucius's idea to name him Fyre, he had said that there was a fire in his eyes, and it wasn't merely about the colour. The child was different, that much was obvious, but how different Lucius and Marie wouldn't know till the far future. But, that deals with a different story.

Fyre Angelus Malfoy lies forgotten in his mother's loving embrace, while Lucius studies ancient spells, which no man has ever performed. Necromancy is a string of the dark arts that even Voldemort didn't follow. It has been said that it's impossible to raise the dead; it's never been done before.

Lucius has decided that he will be the first to succeed in such a spell.

With an angry sigh, he slams his book shut and hurls it across the room. Bang against the wall it lands, and it drops onto a pile of other useless volumes. He selects another book, this one from a pile to the right of him, and opens it. Flipping through the pages, he stops at another version of the forbidden spell.

Raising the dead is a lengthy process using many black market items--human blood, sometimes the blood of an innocent creature. Sacrifices such as a newborn child, unicorns or other mythical creatures are sometimes called for. Lucius has been through five spells that called for the blood of a griffon, and three where the mother of the deceased had to be sacrificed.

Griffins have been long since been extinct in this world. The last recorded sighting was nearly an eon ago, and no one knows how they disappeared. It's rumoured that Godric Gryffindor was a Hereditary Animagus; he had the ability to turn into a griffon at will. That ability was passed down through his family line, but has long since been forgotten.

Lucius marks his page, sets his book aside and chooses another one. He prepares to open it, but a knock on his door speaks otherwise. "Enter!" he orders, after clearing his throat. He hasn't spoken to anyone in a few moonrises.

"Sir?" A young man enters, his voice strained and shaky.

"I asked not to be disturbed. What is the meaning of this?" Lucius demands.

"I--I know, m-milord." Sweat drips down the man's brow, and he nearly jumps out of his shoes as Lucius slams a book closed. "B-but, you see, Camp F-Phi is under attack . . . b-by a small force c-calling themselves the Last Alliance, and"--the Death Eater stops to swallow--"g-g-gargoyles."