A/N: And now, the resolution of the Most Evil Cliffhanger I left you with last chapter (and yes, the capitalizations were deliberate).
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Nasuverse.
The walls fell away and the magus stood beneath a starless sky as black as pitch amid an endless sea of ripe grain, stretching out farther than the eye could see. There was no perceptible source of light but everything could be seen in perfect clarity, standing stark and shadowless. The plain was featureless, save for a mound in front of him, rising from the plain. Its crest was adorned with a golden monolith, twice as tall as a man. Around the crest of the small hill were twelve stones, half as tall as the central one and as dark as it was radiant.
A cold fear settled deep in Asharu's stomach, twisting into a vicious knot. This was not simply an imitation of a Marble Phantasm. It was one. He could feel the thrumming power and reality of it, having none of the constant degradation and reconstitution that was inherent to the precarious existence of a Reality Marble. If this was a true Marble Phantasm, and one powerful enough to so completely overwrite the World, its creator must be truly powerful. Elementals and True Ancestors were the only beings with the ability to create a Marble Phantasm and either were immeasurably more powerful than he. The magus' magic circuits burned as they were opened, letting mana flood in in preparation for whatever might come.
A voice sounded over the gentle rustle of the grain, hissed and sibilant in the tongue of snakes.
§Yessss. I knew that I could smell something on you. You are not like those man-worms, are you? Step into my temple, young one.§
The voice was heavy with authority. There was no mistaking its words for anything but a command. Hoping for the best, Asharu began to ascend the hill, assuming that the 'temple' whatever-it-was spoke of was the black henge.
The only warning that the young magus got was a slight rustle of the corn.
From inside the circle, swiftly uncoiling from where it had been lying concealed by the stones and chest-high grain reared a vast, sinuous shape, a serpent of impossible proportions. The head alone was almost half as long as he was tall, split by a maw of knife-like fangs, and the body was nearly as thick. The third of its body that loomed over him was itself at least three times as tall as the young wizard who stumbled back, instinctively empowering the protective ofuda he kept on him at all times, for all that he knew that even the ten no tate* would do little against whatever this thing was.
It did not look healthy, though.
Its scales might once have been greenish, but were stained black by the unidentifiable ichor which oozed sluggishly out from between them. At the base of its head and continuing down its neck, bony, black-stained spikes protruded from its body, spearing through the flesh and forming a skeletal parody of a cobra's hood or, perhaps, a halo. Its breast was hollowed-out and concave, suggesting that perhaps its ribs had been plundered to form its 'crown'.
The thing's head was distorted, empty hollows on the sides that might once have been eyes were filled with flesh and scales, while its forehead was unnaturally flat and bore a single, baleful yellow eye. There was no white, only a golden iris which shone like the corona of the sun, surrounding the eclipse that was its dead black pupil. Its movements were strange, as if it was being moved not by muscles within but by some outside force, like a great, grotesque puppet.
Perhaps worse than its appearance, though, was the smell that filled the air. It smelled like something rotten and long-dead, sick and diseased. Furthermore, the mana around the thing swirled with thrumming power, its strength only exceeded by its malevolence. It felt like oil and glass shards scraping against his skin, and rand with the sound of a band of smashed trumpets, a remnant of a once-grand refrain twisted into hideousness.
It spoke again, its jaw moving in a parody of the subtle motions of parseltongue. Its words seemed to vomit themselves into existence independent of flesh or tongue.
§You are come to my prison of these last thousand years, half-breed, as I called you. I scented your nature on the air, and for one such as myself, a human with blood of the Divine might provide some amusement. So, tell me half-breed, what do you call yourself?§
Asharu swallowed before answering. It was the wrong thing to do.
§Tell me your name, flesh-worm!§
§I-I am Asharu, son of Semiramis, daughter of Derketo,§ answered, the young magus hastily, trying not to shiver at the power and fury in the thing's words.
The head of the thing lowered, its cyclopean eye rolling in its skull as it examined him from different angles. It seemed to have calmed, but Asharu nonetheless remained still, hoping not to provoke it again. §A curious one indeed.§
The serpent's mouth flopped open in what might, on a more human visage, have been a grotesque smile. §I was once known as Crom Cruach to the men of the Green Isle to the west of this benighted place, god of the harvest, the growing and the blood that made the fields fertile. I was the sacrifice and its bounty, the death and the birth.§
The newly-named Crom's head raised up once again, swaying high in the air and a manic note entered it - his? - voice.
§I was a god, and then they came, killing my followers. They came in the winter, when I slumbered within the earth and stole my humans! Stole them with the iron and the fire and the spears and the swords! They smashed my temple, broke my stones and took my gold! Burned my blood-fields, and when I woke, there were no songs for me, no new blood on the ground, no shoots to welcome my coming. And I was weak, so weak that their new gods took me and cast me away!§
The great sun-eye flashed down to hold Asharu in its rictus stare. The boy's skin felt scorched under that gaze, stinging like a thousand needles. He was silent, though. There was no telling what this being - a former Divine Spirit fallen to the level of an Elemental, it sounded like - would do to him if he interrupted it.
§And I wandered, so weak, and came to this place, before the four built this tomb of stone and voices. I slept, and tried to regain my strength, and while I slept, I was once again set upon, bound, imprisoned, shackled while they built their stone-pile from my power and my strength!§
The possessed serpent swayed, its words descending into a riot of unintelligible sounds. The grains scratched against the bare skin of Asharu's hands and he realised abruptly that they left thin lacerations there, paper-thin lines of red scored by glass-sharp leaves. Raising his hands above the reach of the plants and trusting to his sturdy clothes to keep the rest of him from harm, he waited until the thing's mutterings had trailed off entirely before speaking.
§Great Crom Cruach, what do you wish of me?§
It turned sharply to regard him, as though it had forgotten his presence there and he had surprised it by speaking.
§I wish only to speak with another,§ it replied, far softer than before; §My imprisonment has been long, dark and silent. I felt the Divinity within you, and wondered whether you were like myself. I see now that you are but a half-breed, but you may nonetheless provide some entertainment. I felt the Grail of Burning Chains ignite within my walls, and even now I scent its shackle on your soul. Tell me of how such a thing has come to be.§
§You know of the Goblet of Fire, honoured spirit?§ The magus felt like he was laying it on a little heavy, but the elemental seemed to be accepting of what he said, if not overly happy-looking. If it had indeed been trapped down here for the millennium since the school's founding, perhaps its mind had not survived as well as its power seemed to have.
§The great Cup of Choosing, regalia of Creidhne the Brazier, of the young Tuatha de Danann. I once spoke with him, when Nuada of the Silver Hand called the gods of the Green Isle to banquet at the silver fortress of Tir na n'Og. The moon was low, and I duelled Lugh himself, my fangs and Gae Assail...§ The spirit seemed lost in memories, staring off into the distance as if to relive that ancient battle. Shadows of a vast serpent and a spear-wielding warrior danced across the cornfields, wraiths borne on immaterial winds. It was almost a minute before he focussed once again on the black-haired wizard in his shadow.
§I could break its geas, you know. Bring me the Grail, and I will consume it and free you.§
The offer came as a surprise, and Asharu had to restrain himself from immediately considering the difficulties with retrieving the Goblet from the keeping of the Ministry. Something that his mother had drilled into his head years ago was that making a deal where magecraft, magic or spirits were involved was a dangerous affair at best, and suicidally foolish at worst. There was no such thing as a free lunch.
§If I may ask, great Crom Cruach, why would you desire such an artefact?§
The possessing elemental paused, as if considering something, before speaking again.
§The accursed bonds which keep me trapped use my own self as their power source. I am bound within myself. The Goblet is a fragment of a Divine Spirit, one which is free, unlike myself. Its power would allow me to break free of my bonds that much faster. No mortal magic can last forever, and even Salazar's bones could hold me for another century, had I the power of the Grail of Burning Chains.§
§Salazar Slytherin?§ Asharu was surprised. All the texts he had read had referred to Slytherin as a vile figure, the Judas of the Four Founders.
A quiet susurration emerged from the great serpent, growing to a hissing roar. With a start, Asharu realised that Crom was laughing.
§You are surprised? That was my final revenge on Salazar, the one who first devised the plot to entrap me and who later sacrificed his very soul so that his descendants would have no need to bind themselves to the castle as he did. I have whispered in the minds of every man, woman and child who has dwelt within my walls and I have made his memory dirt. He, whose cunning overcame even myself has been made the patron of causes which he would have despised! He, who sacrificed himself for his friends and his children was remembered by them as their betrayer! Thus is the vengeance of Crom Cruach! Even the King of Serpents which was set to guard me was subverted and made my host. Salazar may be beyond my reach, but I shall not rest until all his works are dust and bone!§
The possessed serpent had been becoming ever more animated as it spoke, until finally it was whipping from side to side, ranting at nonexistent figures and the starless heavens above. Asharu took the time to consider his options with regards to Crom's proposal, making use of the split attention that all magi learned early to listen to the spirit's tirade at the same time and taking care to seem attentive, lest he offend the creature.
Despite the temptation of freedom, giving the Goblet to the spirit without knowing anything else about the background or context than what it was willing to reveal would be the height of foolishness. On the other hand, simply refusing outright might anger it enough to attack him, and the magus was not so prideful that he could not admit that such an enemy was far beyond him. Delaying tactics, then. The great serpent calmed over the course of a few minutes, before Asharu felt that it was safe to speak again.
§Oh great Crom Cruach, I ask that you give me time to consider your most generous offer.§
§Ssssss… Very well. Leave, now, and bring me your answer when I call you again.§
As it spoke, the endless rows of corn faded, becoming first indistinct and then transparent, as if they were made of glass. The rustle of the stalks and their pressure against his legs faded away, becoming like whispers on the breeze and the faint touch of air. Through and beyond the fading world, grey stone serpents stood like petrified trees, their many branching heads butted against the ceiling. The basilisk's corpse fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, a thunderous crash marking the impact, but it could do nothing to draw Asharu's eyes from the sight at the far end of the hall.
A skeleton sat, enthroned upon an ornate chair. Its bones were bare of any flesh, but green with mould and algae. Hanging from its shoulders were scraps of what was perhaps once a magnificent robe, now rotted and near-vanished with time. Around the brow, a circlet of runes was inscribed like a mockery of a crown. They writhed invisibly with the same gold-black radiance which throbbed and pulsed like a strange sun within the ribcage, where there might once have been a heart.
Asharu turned and left the grey hall of serpent-trees. His paces were steady as he ascended the stairway, but he dared not breathe until he reached the corridor at the summit and the doorway had ground shut behind him.
After his return from his 'audience' with Crom, the first thing which Asharu did was go to bed. He knew that when he told his mother, she would get that blank what-on-earth-did-you-do look and demand all the details. Details he really, really wasn't up to giving before getting a good night's sleep.
It was to a grey morning that he awoke the next day, after a night disturbed by dreams of endless golden cornfields and the black serpents which laired there. Deciding that putting it off any further would just be a waste of time, he descended into the space-expanded trunk where Semiramis' puppet-body was kept and sent her the message that he needed to talk about something.
The conversation went as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.
The basics had been got out of the way first - that apparently the castle was built on top of a fallen Divine Spirit and that it wanted him to free it. Then had been the detailed explanation, a play-by-play of the entire thing, from the opening of the door in the alcove to his leaving the Marble Phantasm. Asharu was thankful that he had put all that effort into practicing Belutu,** as trying to recall in the exacting detail which his mother had asked for would have been much, much harder without it.
The whole conversation took nearly an hour and a half and by the end of it Asharu could see that his mother's mind was whirling with schemes, ideas and plots. Eventually the discussion was curtailed by a vital meeting on Semiramis' end, and she left the puppet-body to sag bonelessly, along with the suggestion that he find whatever he could on the history of the Goblet of Fire.
That, in turn, led to a long and tedious day spent scouring the Hogwarts library for any information on the cup The librarian was of little aid, a thin and sharp-faced woman named Irma Pince whose hair was drawn up in a bun so tight that Asharu was surprised that the hairpin could survive the torsion and who seemed to care more for the sanctity of the books in her domain than for actually helping anyone. It ultimately turned out to be a fruitless endeavour, as the only solid information on the Goblet which the wizards seemed to have was that it had been used to sanctify a number of treaties, that this was the first time it had been used for the Triwizard Tournament - easily explained by the fact that it seemed that the Tournament itself had been hijacked as a gambit to get him back, although by who, exactly, was still up for debate - and that using it required that it have a 'recharge' period of eighty-one days.
He had been thankful that he had taken the time to write out an ofuda before leaving his rooms which would prevent people looking for him from registering his presence, as he had overheard more than one group discussing where he might be in hushed tones at one or another of the library tables.
The only real highlight of the day had been an interesting conversation he had had with an auburn-haired student named Hermione Granger. She walked with a cane and a limp, putting as little weight as possible on that leg. She looked tired, but nevertheless lead him in a spirited debate over the pros and cons of water-element based healing, from a wizarding point of view. She seemed to grasp the principle of how water-based healing magic worked by conceptually 'washing away' ills, and then allowing the body to 'flow' into the spaces which remained, rather than brute-force healing, which simply caused the body's processes to increase in speed.
The issue with the former method was that it required far more skill, as the power had to be precisely controlled and directed, instead of relying on the body to simply restore itself, a level of control that most wizards lacked. Furthermore, it also required an advanced knowledge of the workings of the body itself, the kind usually reserved for doctors and professional surgeons while wizarding healers tended to rely on basic knowledge of anatomy and trust to their magic to fill in the rest. Several times he had to restrain himself from referencing techniques and concepts endemic to advanced healing magecraft, which there was little chance that she would know of and almost none that she would be able to use, himself being the only one he knew of who could use both magecraft and wizardry.
He had asked, once, why she was so interested in healing magic. She had replied with a sad smile and a tap to her left leg, the one which she kept the weight off. "I want to try and help people like me," she had replied, "People who've been hurt and won't get better." Asharu didn't ask for details. The kind of damage that conventional magic couldn't fix wouldn't come from a source that you wanted to talk about.
Time passed swiftly, days melting into weeks of frustration at the utter lack of information on the Goblet, even in the books brought in from outside the castle via owl-order (the british wizards' obsession with using owls as a postal method mystified him). Fortunately, there was respite from the monotony in the form of new acquaintances, both the other Hogwarts champion and another, whom he had met while taking a break from his research outside on one of the towers.
The wind tugged at Asharu's braid as he dangled his legs over the parapet of the Astronomy tower. It was mid afternoon and the sun shone wanly over the hills tox the west, too feeble to provide much warmth and not close enough to the horizon to burn in oranges, reds and golds of evening. Faint voices floated up from the grounds below, where children chased one another upon the grass and elder students sat together, talking inaudibly and pointing at each others notes and books.
The height reminded him a little of when he had sat on the edges of the hanging Gardens, back in Fuyuki, and watched the city set out beneath him like a kingdom of ants, all hurrying from one place to another. It was especially beautiful at night, almost like a living thing with roads for veins and cars as blood glowing with the lights of their headlamps.
Such was his distraction that when his thoughts were interrupted by a shuffle of shoes on stone from behind him, he started violently and whipped his head around to see.
Behind him stood a dark-skinned boy around his own age, holding a heavy-looking book and dressed in the black robes and green-and-silver tie of a Slytherin student. His hair was a black fuzz against his skull. He looked surprised to see the magus there, as if this was a part of his daily routine and it had been interrupted by the other boy's presence.
"Oh. You're here." He sounded as surprised to see Asharu as the magus was to see him. It occurred to him that that was probably the reason that his concealment ofuda hadn't hidden him.
"Um, do you mind if I sit here?" the other boy asked, gesturing to the parapet next to him.
"Sure," agreed Asharu, "I'm Asharu. Not Harry Potter. You'd hope that people would understand an adoption and a changed name."
The other boy snorted.
"Yeah, good luck with that. Blaise Zabini, by the way."
"Nice to meet you."
The pair lapsed into silence as Blaise manoeuvred himself into place. The book sat on his lap, unopened, as he turned towards the black-haired magus. "So, why are you up here?"
"Just for some peace, I guess. Being up high helps me think."
"Hmm. Well, what are you thinking about? Do you think that talking about it might help?"
'OK, that's weird.', thought Asharu, suspicious of the other's sudden friendliness.
"It's nothing, just… history. Why're you here?"
A flicker of something painful passed behind Blaise's eyes. "You've not been here long, have you? You know about the houses?"
Asharu nodded.
"I'm in Slytherin, and it's full of mini-politicians. You've got to have a 'mask' on all the time and Malfoy doesn't help with how he antagonises the other houses. I come up here to get some air."
The green-eyed wizard nodded sympathetically. The parties which he went to with his mother sometimes were like that, full of the sons and daughters of politicians and corporation leaders trying to imitate their parents. It was tiring, and that was only for a few hours at a time.
Blaise shook himself, as if he was shaking off the somber thoughts hinted at by his expression.
"So. Where did you go before coming here?"
Asharu debated whether or not to tell him the truth and, if so, how much.
"I went to Kyōi no Mura in Japan. It's been quite strange, actually, with how different the magic is between here and there."
Blaise cocked his head to the side in an oddly birdlike gesture, conveying an unspoken question.
"We don't use wands." Asharu elaborated; "We mostly use foci like this" he showed his wooden ring "or ofuda."
"Ofuda?" Blaise asked, confusedly.
The magus reached inside his coat and palmed one of the dozens of paper strips magically bonded to the inside. He showed the ofuda to Blaise. It was a simple one, designed to be placed on a surface to reinforce it against attack. He usually used it in combination with using his ring focus to raise earthen barriers.
"Looks like Ancient Runes to me. Less angular, though."
"They're traditional kanji." Seeing the incomprehension on the other's face, Asharu elaborated. "The pictographic alphabet of Japanese. They translate roughly to 'Guard this thing, spirits of the earth'."
"Huh. That's… different. Doesn't it take a long time to write out all of those?"
"Less than you'd think, once you've learned the symbols, and the thing is that you can write out whatever you want to and the ofuda control what happens, instead of you having to learn new spells yourself. That's provided you do it right, of course."
"And what happens if you do it wrong?"
"Just about anything, really." Asharu answered, "The whole point of an ofuda is to get the magic to obey what is written. If you do it wrong, the magic will still obey, it just won't do what you expect it to."
"It must be quite difficult," commented Blaise, squinting at the characters inked on the paper. "What kind of things can you do with them?"
In answer, the green-eyed magus placed the ofuda down on the stone and fluidly dropped off the edge of the tower.
Blaise let out a strangled cry and jerked forwards to look over the edge, dislodging his book from his lap in the process and sending it tumbling into space. It did not fall far, though, before it was caught by Asharu, who stood seemingly on thin air, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
"You…bastard," said the dark-skinned boy, clearly restraining himself from more indecorous language. Asharu simply grinned as he walked upwards towards the top of the tower, as if climbing a set of invisible stairs, and set himself on the edge again.
"There's an ofuda in each shoe," he explained "They form a platform for me to stand on."
"That's no excuse for scaring me like that." replied the other "Can you imagine what they'd say if Harry Potter fell to his death straight after talking with me?"
"Oh, so you're worried for me?" teased Asharu, delighting both in the faint blush on the other boy's face and the way that he could feel the stress of weeks of fruitless searching falling away.
Blaise thumped him on the arm. "Bastard." he repeated, but there was no heat in it.
Asharu rubbed his arm and grinned. This was fun.
He and Blaise had spent more time together after that, when the magus had time and the wizard wasn't studying or in class. Their conversations meandered, from their families - they had discovered something of a common ground in their mothers, even if Semiramis' origins and nature remained firmly under wraps - to their favourite types of magic. When both had realised that the other was bisexual - the consequence of an embarrassing episode involving a prefect, a night-time 'stroll' through the halls and an underpowered area-effect concealment spell - the pair had begun what they jokingly referred to as a flirting-war which had culminated in Blaise's declaration (complete with conjured flowers) that Asharu was his soulmate.
The days and weeks passed in a near-blur of books, parchment (never paper, because apparently the wizards hadn't discovered the joys of writing material that didn't smell when it got wet) and teasing. It was almost a shock to the green-eyed magus when he awoke to the morning of the 24th of November.
The morning of the First Task.
*Literally 'shield of heaven'. A powerful protective charm channelled through a set of ofuda.
**Literally 'dominion'. Essentially a technique by which one exercises control over their own mind and memories. Like fandom occlumency, except based off of magecraft, rather than wizardry and the fact that using it you can actually edit your own mind, personality and so on. There are techniques by which this kind of control can be extended into the mind of another.
A/N: I cannot stress this enough: Harry/Blaise is not the final pairing, nor is it really any pairing at all. Blaise is, basically, just having fun, as is Harry.
I'm not entirely happy with the ending of this chapter, but I was getting fed up and I knew that if I didn't get the chapter out soon, it was likely that I wouldn't for a few months. And I'm not that evil. Really.
Anyway, I hope that all my delightful readers have had a wonderful new year so far and that their undoubtedly stellar moods will extend to leaving this poor author some reviews. (Engages puppy-dog eyes).