A/N: so I know it has been a really long time since I've updated this, but anyway here's the new chapter. Unfortunately I still down't own Harry Potter and all its franchise...
Thank you Kefalion for being the awesome Beta you are! Your patience with my irregular muse is truly angelic!
HORROR AT THE MINISTRY!
FIVE AURORS FOUND SOULLESS IN THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC!
By Rita Skeeter
This morning, at the early hour of five o'clock, Ministry Guards stumbled upon a disturbing sight in the Atrium of our beloved Ministry. Five Aurors who had been tasked with the delivery of the purged to the quarantine zone, were found in a heap, robbed of their souls.
"They lay sprawled in a heap, as if they had fallen out of the phone booth of the visitor's entrance," Eric, 38, explained to the Daily Prophet. "Their eyes were glassed over and it seemed as if they had been subjected to a Dementor's Kiss."
Although the five Aurors were indeed without their souls, they miss the other tell tale signs of a Dementor's Kiss. For instance, closer inspection of the bodies found the lack of pin pricks around their lips associated with the Kiss. On further inspection of their clothing, the investigating Aurors found a horrendous cruel message.
"There was embroidering on their robes, in a deep gold color," an Auror, who wishes to remain anonymous, explained to this reporter. "It was in Latin, and said 'Matri Magicae Iudicum'."
For our readers who are not as well versed in Latin, it translates to 'By Mother Magic's Judgment'. This is a phrase that comes from our ancient myths, and tells us that the perpetrators believe they have acted on Magic's orders.
"Which is ridiculous," one of the Unspeakables scoffed as this reporter tried to find out more about this. "Judgment is only possible through the Family Magicks of the Old Houses and they would never leave such embroidery on the victims. Furthermore, these people were not of those Houses, so they could never be judged."
Rumors are spreading among the Ministry Workers that somehow the Creatures and Beasts are behind this attack, especially since these five Aurors were tasked with bringing the purged Hogwarts students to the quarantine zone.
This reporter asks; when this cruel attack will be revenged?
Draco Malfoy had to do his utmost not to tear the paper apart in as his hands had turned into tightly clenched fists. He couldn't believe it! A Judgment! His eyes instinctively turned to the teacher's table, searching out his godfather. He could guess why the attack happened, but not how. He realized that this was retaliation for finding Thomas poisoned so cruelly.
But again, how? What kind of creature or being could even call upon Judgment? He had never heard of one that could. Although, he had to concede to himself the ability to do so would be a gift anyone would keep close to the chest. He tried to recall the myths and stories his parents told him growing up. He could vaguely recall a story about the Higher One that was the balancer of magic, the guide of nature. But he could not remember how the story went.
At the High Table the reactions to the article were mixed. To no one's surprise, James Potter was spitting fire in his rage. He could not believe what those Beasts were trying to achieve. He leaned back with a pensive frown upon his face. Maybe it was time to discuss the dormant wards with the Wizengamot. If those vermin tried to rise against their betters, it was probably time to eradicate them in a more permanent way.
Albus Dumbledore was abhorred with the fate of these men, but he was elated that Fawkes had been right. Dumbledore was one of the few who had been raised with the myths of old, or anyway, one of the few who were old enough to be raised thus with such stories as truth. He knew now that Fawkes had been right. There were still Regals in the world, at least one. He leaned back in his golden chair. No one had heard a thing about Regals since the Elven-Giant Wars. The long and extended line of Regals led the Elves from the front lines. It had cost them. For two centuries the world had thought it had cost them the existence of their entire kin. It now seemed that they had used that war to blend in with the background.
He knew about the honor Regal Elves were given by Mother Magic. Balancers of nature, hearing the call of Her in their very being. A heavy responsibility indeed, but one the Elves had always carried with the poised dignity they were known for. And it looked a lot like they were about to step back into the spotlight. He wondered why they had not acted sooner. His shoulders stiffened as he realized that the Regal who was behind this Judgment was probably acting the way its kind always acted; on the guidance of Mother Magic. It meant that times were changing.
Harry Potter stared at Neville on the other side of the Gryffindor table.
"What do you make of this?" he asked the silent boy.
Neville shrugged. "I don't know mate, it seems like they were taken good."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. He had been observant last night. He had seen Neville's jaw stiffening when Dean was subjected to the torture by Auror Dawlish. He had heard the whispered conversation Neville had with Seamus once they were back in the dorm.
"I- I just don't know what they'll do to him," Seamus had been close to tears, as his whispering voice broke.
Neville had grasped his shoulder firmly. "You know just as well as I that they won't kill him before they reach the Dark Alleys. And Dean," Neville had swallowed. "Dean is a Dark Elf, Seamus. You know what that means down there. She will not allow them to kill him. She'll intervene before that time. And … I don't know, but I have this feeling; like things will be taking a turn soon. And I'm not the only one. Bane and Firenze have already seen signs. They have been speaking about Venus colliding with Mars for some time now. And, and… " Neville had faltered before making a decision. "And before we left for the summer, Firenze said that Mars was ready to shine a light on high."
Seamus had looked at his friend with watery eyes. "So you think this madness will end?"
Neville had chuckled. "Of course it will. Listen; this that's happening now? It's tyranny cloaked in legality. And just like Voldemort created his own downfall, so will this regime come to an end. Dictators always do that."
Seamus had chuckled bitterly. "Well, I hope he'll find his revenge if this madness will end bloody."
Neville had bared his teeth malevolently. "I'm positive he will, mate."
The conversation had stopped as Ron Weasley stepped out of the bathroom.
With some uneasiness, Harry had realized that the boys he had shared a room with for five years had kept more secrets than he could've realized. But somehow, he didn't seem to care what that secret meant, more that they did keep it a secret. He had understood of course. His father was the biggest advertiser for the laws that they condemned. He , Harry, was a danger to the people they knew and treasured.
But he was sick of it! He hadn't slept last night, lying awake thinking about Dean and the conversation he'd heard. And he continually came back to Sirius. Sirius had taught him a lot, light-hearted and mischievously. Between those pranks and jokes, there had been something else. As Harry grew up, Sirius' face became more lined, more so than aging could be credited for. He never spoke with his father anymore, not that Harry knew of anyway.
Sirius was an Auror, he followed the line of the Ministry. Right? On the other hand, what Sirius had taught Harry seemed to be the complete opposite of the Ministry line.
"Men is a strange kind, Harry. They preach that they are the most intelligent creature out there, but try to contradict the statement with its very actions. Some call it complicated, like life is. I try to keep it simpler, though. You know what's right, and strength of character is decided by the way one dares to keep oneself along that measurement. One can do many a wrong thing, for the right reason. Or one can do right, but for the wrong reason. Not just outcome matters, Harry, but the road one travels to come there. If one tries to dismiss this as spiritual piss-posh, one can expect retribution. For how many kicks can a dog endure, before it finds a way to become a Cerberus?"
He had heard many different variations of this lesson over the years. He had never really understood what Sirius had meant. Of course one had to do the right thing? That was obvious, wasn't it? Now though, he wasn't so sure it was as simple as he'd always thought it was.
Maybe… the thought came slowly and carefully. Maybe Sirius had been trying to tell him to look closely at the laws his father helped to create. Harry almost shook his head in denial. No! His father was a good man. He had been trying to make Britain a safer place, a place where no other family had to feel what it's like to lose a parent to the Dark. Harry forcefully pushed his doubt aside. It was just hard because he had seen Dean as a friend. And maybe Dean was not like that, but in general his father was right. The Dark needed to be contained.
Comforted with that conclusion, he focused on his breakfast of eggs and bacon.
Sotiria was keeping vigil beside the boy lying on her bed. She had not slept at all the past night, thinking about what had happened. She had made the first move, nudged on by Gaia. There would be retaliation, severe retribution. She was feeling so many things in this moment.
Anticipation for the war to come, the chance to come out of hiding and show these wizards exactly what happened when one murdered the Regal Elf. She wanted to avenge her father like an angel descending from heaven with righteous fury. Pity, for those who would most definitely come to harm in the crossfire. She knew that the wizards would not hesitate and come aiming for the young and unarmed. She knew that the vampires especially would retaliate in kind. And Gaia have mercy on those who would come face to face with the Dark Elves she knew were still on the outside, waiting vigilantly for the signs of war. And those were starting to appear now, with the news of the Judgment spreading.
She felt worry, for the young Dark Elf currently occupying her bed. He had been thrust into a world he had no knowledge of. He had barely adjusted to the wizard community. The community of the Dark Alleys was a different story all together and to adjust to his new gifts would be a difficult journey. As the first of the Dark Elves to be found at Hogwarts he was expected to retaliate. The first kill of the Dark Elves would be his, a prisoner taken to him alive, as the traditions of his kin dictated. And he would take the sable from Elrake, the leader, and cleanly cleave the head of the prisoner's body. His Elven side would relish in the revenge, and his human morals would shrink back from the bloodlust he'd feel.
Sotiria felt more than that, not to be underestimated, fear. She feared that she would lead all those that looked to her for guidance astray. She feared that she had somehow misinterpreted the nudges and signs of Mother Magic and that the consequences would be catastrophic for all magical creatures and beings because of her mistake.
She was roused from her contemplations by a groan the boy on the bed uttered. Dean Thomas was returning to the land of the living, and by the sounds of it the awakening was not the most painless.
She put light hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Dean. Just breath slowly," she said, trying to comfort the boy. "The dull burning will ease soon, just breath."
The boy tried to listen to the soft, musical voice that was guiding him. He heard the voice telling him to take slow breaths. Struggling to do just that, he found his eyes again and he slowly opened them. Even though the light was dim, he had to close them almost all the way again for the burst of pain to subside. Slowly he adjusted to the light of the candles and opened his eyes all the way.
"Welcome back, Dean Thomas," a melodious voice sounded next to his head. His eyes shifted to find the source of the voice, and he had trouble to catch his breath. The woman who spoke to him was of ethereal beauty. She had long tresses of deep red hair, deep blue eyes and an encouraging smile playing around her lips.
"Ugh," he tried to speak, but managed nothing more but a pained groan.
A flask with liquid was taken to his lips.
"Only small sips, it's heavy stuff," the beautiful woman instructed.
Dean complied, taking only two small sips before his head fell back on his pillow. "So, am I dead?" he asked the woman. To his surprise, she chuckled merrily and flicked some errant locks of hair over her shoulder.
"Far from it," she answered him. Her face turned somber. "Though once the cleansing starts, you'd wish you were."
Dean's mind was clear of any fog now, comprehending that he was not, as he suspected before, dead. "Cleansing?" he asked, with a heavy dose of suspicion lacing his voice.
"That excruciating pain you felt when they shackled you?" the woman asked.
Dean nodded, signaling that he remembered alright.
"You have a Creature Inheritance that came up during your birthday. You're a Dark Elf, Dean," the woman looked into his eyes to make sure that he'd heard of them before.
Dean's breath caught in his throat. He'd heard the horror stories. Assassins, creatures who liked to kill wizards in the dark. And he was one of them?
"Oh, don't stress out like that, Dean Thomas," the woman chastised him. "`Most of what the wizards talk about them is just a fable."
Dean was trying to process this, but the pressing matter took precedence. "You spoke about cleansing?" He hackled into cough. The woman didn't hesitate but pulled him up so he could breathe easier. He sent her a small smile of gratitude.
'The shackles they put on you in Hogwarts?" Dean nodded his remembrance of them, and the pain. "They were made of Black Scale Iron dipped in salt. The most lethal combination for Dark Elves. I've cleansed your wounds, but had to wait for consciousness to cleanse the rest of your blood."
Dean looked the woman in the eyes. She looked almost pained with the prospect of the cleansing. That could only mean one thing.
"It'll hurt?" he asked her in a flat voice. He was not unused to pain. His mother's boyfriend liked to show him how important he was.
"Like a bitch's first delivery," the woman answered him bluntly. It made him like her more. He appreciated that she didn't sugar coat the pain that was to come.
Without any more words she raised a thick strap of leather to his face. He nodded his acquiescence. She slid the leather in his mouth, adjusting it so it didn't cut the corners of his mouth. He knew she was a friend, somehow and he knew she deeply regretted the severe pain this would cause him.
"Let's do this," he mumbled around the leather. Anything was better than the pain of a lingering Cruciatus that was poisoning his system.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, before nodding for him to bite down on the leather strap.
He heard her begin to chant. That was the last he heard, for the pain caused roaring in his ears. He was shaking, trembling and almost seizing on the bed from the pain. Still, the woman didn't relent and kept on casting the magic that would cleanse his system … if she was to be believed.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally subsided. In its wake, cool relief was left. He sighed with the pleasure of not feeling his muscles seize in the burning he had felt before.
"Sleep, Dean Thomas," the beautiful voice of the woman sounded once again. "Once you wake, I'll explain everything to you."
And although he wanted to understand right now, the temptation of sleep was too great and he succumbed to it with relaxation of every muscle in his body, finally ache-free.
Sotiria sat back, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. The poison had penetrated more deeply into the boy's system than she had first thought. It turned her thoughts grim. What had they done to the poor boy before dumping him? There must have been at least seven salt injections, for the poison to hurt that badly.
She leaned back in the wooden chair she occupied. She suspected that Dean would be asleep for around four hours. She stood up and slowly walked to the treasured chest in the corner of the room. Her chest, everything of value to her was there. She slowly slid it aside, baring a part of floor with roughened floorboards. Sinking to her knees, she caressed both the chest and the wooden planks before her. She knew what she had to do, but it frightened her all the same.
How much she loathed her job wasn't important, it didn't matter. It signified the meaning of waiting, of lying low. She knew that time was over, she had to find a way to quit without further notice. The Irish Half-Veela called Shiovan would seize to exist. It was the identity she used for her work, and anything outside the Dark Alleys. Those who also had contact with the outside world knew that she went by that name.
It was a security, a safe guard so that no one knew there was a Regal Elf in the Dark Alleys. The leaders knew what she was of course; they were much too smart and too knowledgeable not to know. That didn't mean that the rest of the Dark Alleys had to know before the time was right.
She donned her heavy coat and a thick scarf to ward off the autumn winds. She wouldn't need to don the outfit ever again after this, thank Gaia! She was finally behind the days of lingering and letting herself be submitted to lonely and creepy wizards. Shiovan was dead, Sotiria was on the rise.
To no one's surprise, her quitting was followed by a severe hexing and cursing. She took it all, without any whimper or protest. She could take it, and them all. She would have to take it, or the entire village would suffer for it. She had told her boss that she would be expecting cubs by one of the higher omegas in the werewolf pack. Pregnant, she was of no use for him. He cursed her, trying to cause a miscarriage. It was all in vain, for she wasn't pregnant. It did affirm her belief that when open war was upon them, he would be one of the casualties.
Sotiria made her way back to her home, hoping Dean was still asleep, it wouldn't be good if he had to wake up alone.
Everyone she met during her walk, greeted her respectfully. It was clear that the word was out, at last. Everyone in the Dark Alleys knew she had called upon Judgment. And it seemed that most knew of the significance. The secret was out at last. She wasn't just any High Elf, oh no, she was a Regal and thus, she was treated like the royalty she was.
It made her feel uncomfortable. Unlike her father, she had not done anything yet to earn such respect and deference. Her father had protected werewolves, vampires and goblins from the wide tides of Dark Magic that lingered in these lands. She had only watched thoughtfully as the wizards tried to eradicate everything that wasn't what they perceived as normal.
When she closed her door behind her, a pair of dark eyes was watching her suspiciously. She wanted to scream in frustration; Dean had awakened before she had time to make it back to her place. And by the look in his eyes, he didn't trust her right now.
"Do you recognize me?" she asked in the same tone of voice she had used to sooth him during his seizure on the same bed.
Dean looked at her closely. He didn't recognize her face per se, but her voice… it felt the same as his mother's. It held the same connotation as his mother's had when he was sick. It would mean she cared for him before, wouldn't it? "You, you helped me?" he croaked, uncertain.
Sotiria smiled sympathetically. "I know this is all a great shock to you, Dean Thomas. Allow me to explain what's happened to you since you arrived with the train at Hogwarts."
Dean nodded his agreement. The train ride was one of the last cognitive memories he had before excruciating pain became his reality.
Sotiria grabbed his shoulder in a comforting grip. "I warn you, it may be hard to hear for you. But I've always thought honesty with pain was preferable over lies with comfort."
Dean involuntarily snorted at that. All his home life was about confronting the pain he felt, because that was his reality.
"Like I told you before, not that I expect you to remember, you came into a Creature Inheritance when you turned sixteen," she started to explain.
Dean was shocked. He couldn't understand how. He knew all about Creature Inheritances, he was no fool. He had many friends outside of the mum Gryffindors. Inside Gryffindor, people didn't talk about that. Many of them had parents who worked to uphold the law; Aurors, Wizengamot members, etc. It was suicide to address such issues inside the Red Realm, as the common room was called. Outside of it though …
Dean was a smart kid, and many of his fellow students figured that out. He was never too high on popularity to help out anyone he could with their schoolwork. In exchange, they educated him on wizarding customs and laws. As such, he learned how cruel the laws around the quarantine zone really were.
Quarantine Zone, he snorted mentally, that was the word the Ministry used. Now that he apparently was here, he preferred the name one of the pureblood Ravenclaws taught him; the Dark Alleys. It seemed more dignified somehow, instead of the segregation of those society didn't like. He turned his attention back to the woman that was his host.
"During the Purging," Dean didn't miss the hate the woman infused the word with, "your Inheritance was singled out clearly by the potion. In order to subdue you, they called upon the foulest of methods," the woman paused for a second. "They used the ultimate weakness of your kind."
It was silent for a second.
"I don't understand," Dean admitted.
"Elves are Higher Beings, Dean. That means they are faster, stronger, and can endure much more than a wizard can. But once subjected to their mortal weakness…" the woman faltered, swallowing loudly as a memory overtook her.
Dean understood. When she started talking about the potion, his memories came back. How he had confidently up-ended the vial that was passed to him. How different the potion felt when it was inside him, the wiggling and the squeezing and the burning. How the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards faces had turned into masks of gleeful cruelty. How the true pain and burning had started once the shackles were put upon him.
"And now we are here," he mumbled to no one in particular.
She nodded at him with a small smile. "Indeed, now we are here, though it could be much worse than it is at this moment. Years earlier, we didn't have so much. Now, we can safely introduce those who are dumped into this place. We have safety, structure. Those things were not there at the beginning."
"What is your name?" he asked shyly.
"Sotiria." She sounded and looked like a queen, with her ramrod straight back and her head held high. "Sotiria Rexina, Regal of the High Elves."
Though Dean didn't know it, it was the first time she introduced herself as such, but she figured it was finally time. She had declared war, with an official assault. She should claim her position. It was time there was a monarch amongst the Elves. It was time for the Elves to claim their position at the top of the hierarchy.
Dean stared at her in shock. He was taught the rules of the wizarding world. He was also taught there were no Regals anymore, that the line had died out two centuries ago, yet here sat a beautiful woman claiming that all he had known was not true. His disbelief showed on his face.
Sotiria smiled mysteriously. "We can see that believes and values are changing, Dean. We needed to make a choice. The Regals still hold their place with the Elves, but we've let ourselves fade into the myths as far as the rest of the world is concerned. With the launch of the segregation we decided to hide completely. No Elves, but one relic dumped in their zone. She was from an old line, her features told them that. But no one knew precisely what line it was. She was immediately given a job that further demeaned her pedigree."
Sotiria waved her hand dismissively as Dean tried to cut in.
"What they didn't realize is that she let them, for she knew what Mother Magic wanted of her, what all those waiting needed of her. And one thing my father taught me is that the life of a Regal is always in service of Magic and her creations. So Shiovan was hired. She claimed to be an Irish Half-Veela. But she quit the job today, she is with child. She will now be part of the pack for the cubs she is carrying. She'll die in childbirth, leaving behind a stillborn."
Silence reined in the small room as Dean tried to adjust to this sledgehammer of information.
"What happened last night?" he finally asked. He saw her features darken as she clearly recalled the events.
"They got what was coming to them," she spat out. "You know what Regals are, I can tell. Do you know what we can do?" Dean nodded wordlessly. "Mother Magic passed her Judgment… " Dean absorbed that statement. "And found their minds and souls wanting. The first stone is cast."
Dean decided it was time he let her know what he thought about it all. "Look, I know you don't know me at all. But I can assure you, I never had anything against you guys, I mean us."
Sotiria smiled and interrupted him. "Au contraire, Dean. You are Dean Thomas, son of Emily Thomas. You are supposed to be in your sixth year at Hogwarts, in the house of Gryffindor. Your best friend is Seamus Finnigan, a name well known to us. He has a very strong affection to the pyromanias, I believe. Your home life has changed quite a bit since your eleventh birthday. It was the summer your mother remarried. Your Head of House and the School Nurse have both expressed their worries over what happens between your stepfather and you. Pain is something you have been acquainted with for years. This summer you stayed in the house of Lord Potter for two weeks, spending time with his son Harry Potter who consequently is one of your close friends. Not your best friend though." She was silent for some time, leaving Dean to gape in incredulity. "How am I doing so far?" she asked with an enigmatic smile.
"How-how do you know all that stuff?" he stammered.
Sotiria laughed heartily. "For over a decade and a half we've been forced to live here. Do you think that we have no sources on the outside? Many of your former professors and class mates have been helping us for years. You'll be surprised by some of the names."
Dean looked eager. Sotiria chuckled and shook her head.
"You'll find some out on your own, some you'll never hear. Not unless you become part of the Council."
"What is the Council?" he asked, disappointed that she was not sating his curiosity.
"The Council consists of all Creatures and Beings that live here. The leaders of each kind are part of the Council, they govern and rule the Dark Alleys."
Dean listened to her and felt his eyes starting to droop. He didn't want to go to sleep however. They hadn't even talked that much yet about his newly exposed heritage. Sotiria saw his struggle against fatigue and pushed him down on the bed.
"Sleep, Dean Thomas. Let your body heal. Tomorrow all the information will still be here. Just promise me one thing tonight."
"What's that?" he mumbled, truly fighting his heavy eyelids now.
"If by any chance, you wake up and I'm not here; don't go out alone. You're new and with what I've done to those White Robes, everyone venturing out on the streets is in danger. You do not know how to fight yet, so it'll be tempting fate to go out." Her face showed how serious she was with him. "After all this, and you're healed we'll conquer the Dark Alleys together. We'll let you find your inner balance, so that you do not have to be afraid anymore and can be as strong as I know you are."
With a caress on his cheek, she left him to himself. He leaned back on the pillow, thinking about the woman who'd just left the room. Suddenly, it truly sunk in what she really was and what that would mean.
"Oh… oh my God," Dean stammered. "My guide in the Creature world is the freaking queen herself."
Sotiria walked out of her apartment into the darkness that quickly fell over the Alleys. Deep in thought about how to get in contact with the outside world, she almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her arm. She quickly spun around and to her relief saw Remus standing there.
"We just got the word," he spoke quickly. "The Hit-Wizards are coming and they have numbers."
Sotiria didn't waste another moment and ran back to her door. A quick glance told her that Dean was out like a light. She made her way to her treasure chest and unearthed the blade that had been waiting for her. As she held it, she felt it singing and almost trembling with anticipation in her hand.
Within five minutes she was front and centre on the main road. On the other end of the street, she could see a hoard of wand lights coming her way.
"Remus, get the children to safety in the Hall. All of them. Make sure those with children, especially the mothers, are there with them." The warewolf nodded and made to follow her orders. "Fighters to the front!" she commanded. "Nymphs ready for healing!"
The first battle was about to begin.