One of the Praetorians stepped forward, positioning himself to the right of his compatriots standing at aim, raising his gloved hand, with a loud voice in the silence of the dome, he shouted, "Three, two..." Hermione closed her hand firmly around the void shield array, letting her magic run through its veins, the reassuring translucent grey barrier crackling with indescribable shapes stood between her and the Praetorians. She gritted her teeth, already feeling the intensity of the magic needed to maintain such a rift in the fabric of reality. "...one, SHOOT!" yelled the Praetorian as he lowered his arm.
She closed her eyes, so intense was the multitude of flashes of light, focused solely on the array as the thunderous sound of a thousand thunders echoed beneath the dome as the esoteric Hansian weapons spat out a continuous rain of flashes of flame and steel. The clash of this firepower against the voïd-shield arcane, unknown even to her, gave off a terrible screech, similar to red steel plunged into icy water.
Her breath became hoarse. Every second spent under fire, pouring her energy into the array to win this insane bet, seemed to last a century. She couldn't open her eyes again, even through her closed eyelids, the light given off by the fire of the Hansians' weapons was almost painful. Her ears were ringing as the air temperature rose dangerously high. Fifteen seconds, only fifteen seconds left before it stopped.
The thunderous noise was continuous, the vibrations of the thousands of shocks hitting her barrier of void were like the incessant blows of an enraged titan. She bent her knees, her spine arching as she smelt the scent of her own flesh burning around the array, the pain of her hand against the white-hot metal of the array becoming unbearable. But she didn't let go, even as the world seemed to grow distant, as she could literally feel her magic pouring out like a broken dam into the small fractal metal web burning in the palm of her hand.
Two, One... The thunder abruptly stopped, the only sound being the high-pitched whistling in her ears and the echo of the thunder of weapons rumbling ever so faintly beneath the high dome.
Her array escaped her, falling to the ground, smoking, the metal glowing red, the smell of burnt flesh making her nauseous. Her hand ached, her breath came in short gasps. She didn't have the strength to get up.
She couldn't believe it, she'd done it. She had never managed to keep the void shield active for so long. But at what cost? She could feel her blood coursing through her veins, the little magic she had left burning her flesh. Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted off the ground. "Stupid girl..." She heard Severus's deep voice vibrate within the chest of the man against whom she suddenly found herself leaning.
Through the continuous ringing in her ears, she heard voices, conversations, she was transported... She felt herself being deposited on a cool, soft surface, people bustling around her. Severus's voice still close by, his hands on her shoulder, reassuring. She was unable to open her eyes. Her eyelids were far too heavy. She felt so exhausted that she could not even react when she felt the cold neck of a bottle being pressed against her lips and an icy liquid running down her throat. The voices around her faded, as if she was hearing them through a thick layer of cotton. She felt weak, the pain had gone, she…
oOOOo
The mattress was soft beneath her, and a light but warm blanket covered her up to her chest. A regular ticking sound echoed through the room. She felt exhausted, detached from the world. It was only with a Herculean effort that she managed to open her eyes. The ceiling was a cream-coloured wood, with darker beige knots. Her bed was surrounded by pale yellow curtains, and a large machine made of copper, steel, wood and glass was set up just beside the bed. A number of gauges displayed information that she found herself unable to understand, and a multitude of small cogs and straps moved silently within its structure. She winced as several tubes of what she assumed was rubber emerged from the machine to join a series of small catheters installed in the hollow of her left arm.
The regular ticking continued, echoing from outside the curtains. Where was she, what on earth had happened? What was she doing dressed only in a thin white silk nightdress in a strange room in what she assumed was a hospital. She bent her right arm to bring her hand to her forehead, a thoughtless gesture to try and bring back recent memories. Suddenly, her eyes focused on the thick bandage covering the whole of her hand and the blackened veins running down her arm like the scar left by the passage of lightning through her flesh.
At this sight, everything came back to her at once: Svorak's Hanseatic League, their need for an alliance with these people, their refusal, her gamble to withstand thirty seconds of fire from their praetorians to prove the power of her void shield array... She sighed, the stress had got to her, what had gone through her mind? She could have asked for a power stone by explaining the array's energy consumption, she could have negotiated a little more for the proof, but panicking at the first refusal from the Hanse and acting on a whim, she had ignored Severus telling her to wait. She was an idiot... What would Aster say if she found out what she had done? A slight laugh escaped her... Aster would surely be proud... What a bad influence the young vampire had been on her... Normally, it was Aster who acted impulsively like that.
Bitterness clutched at her heart, she couldn't conceive the horror Aster must be living in this hellish prison, day after day, feeling herself slowly being devoured by her need for blood. Time was running out, and by her action, she had cost them who knows how many precious hours... or days, she didn't know how long she had been in this deplorable situation.
Her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the curtains being parted. Surprised, Hermione turned her head to see the new arrival. The machine must have detected her awakening and alerted the person who was supposed to be monitoring her... or so she assumed.
She stiffened, could she never get used to Hansian masks? She hadn't expected to see a healer wearing one, but she should have known better. Given its guild-based structure, the Hanse also had to manage medicine through guilds of healers and apothecaries. The woman was dressed in a long, pale green dress with arabesques of silver thread around the edges, and a snake wrapped around three reeds was sewn onto her chest. Her white mask let her blue eyes and blonde hair show through.
Hermione tried to say something, to formulate one of the many questions racing through her tired mind, but stopped herself when the only sound that passed her lips was a painful moan, her throat dry, as if she had swallowed all the sand of a desert.
"Good morning Miss Snow." The stranger said, putting cushions on her back to help her sit up. She quickly inspected the large machinery next to the bed before nodding. "Your condition is stable, but you are advised not to use magic for the next two weeks." She said as she filled a crystal glass with clear water before diluting a fine green powder with a thin metal stick, the water taking on an emerald hue. "Drink this please, a prescription will be given to you and the hospital will provide you with the medication. It is very important for your convalescence that you follow your treatment to the letter." she concluded, pressing the rim of the glass to her lips. Hermione let herself do so, letting the liquid run down her throat, it tasting of a strange mixture of mint and honey, soothing her sore throat. Had she been intubated?
"I'll go and get your companion, he'll explain your situation." She said before retreating to the curtains.
"Thank you," croaked Hermione with difficulty.
The carer stopped and gave her a small nod before disappearing. Leaving Hermione alone again with her thoughts. What had happened? Had the Hanse agreed? Refused? She was leaning, or at least hoping, towards the first option, given that she was alive and well.
She did not have to mope for long, because barely a few minutes later, with the metallic sound of curtain rods being pushed aside, Severus burst into her private space.
He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, his gaze so cold and intense that she could not help but swallow painfully. When he became so fierce that she couldn't help but tense up under his gaze, he pulled up a chair and sat down at her bedside.
"You only just escaped death, Miss Snow. I expected more composure from you. The procedures for the array test should have been discussed so that they could be carried out in conditions that would not put you in danger." He said in a timbreless voice.
Hermione felt a warmth of anger in her chest. "The council was about to end, we were on the brink of being thrown out with a final refusal, and without them, saving Aster is impossible." she croaked.
Severus sighed, "It was pressure, the council wanted to push us into a corner, they wanted to see how far we were prepared to go. The terms of the shield test could have been negotiated. In the future, you must remain cool-headed, Miss Snow. Aster needs you to behave like an adult, not an impressionable child. I should have expected this kind of mistake from you. Try not to commit it again."
Hermione nodded slowly, her eyebrows furrowed, she didn't like what she was hearing, but what Severus was saying made sense... being in a nation made up of merchant guilds, she should have been more aware that it was all a big show... her lack of experience had almost cost her her life.
Deciding to change the subject rather than dwell on this painful topic, she asked. "How long was I out?
"Five days," Severus replied. It felt like a bowl of ice water spilt on her head. A week! They'd wasted so much time already! Aster! She jerked to her feet, but was immediately laid back down by Severus, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze stern. "There's no need to panic, Miss Snow." he said.
"But! One week, Aster will..." she cried, her sore throat making her feel like she was talking through sandpaper.
"I got things moving". Severus said quickly, deciding to go straight to the heart of the matter to avoid the teenager having a panic attack. "I've spent this week negotiating the terms of our agreement with the Hanse. Your presence wouldn't have moved things along any faster."
"Did they agree?" Hermione asked. Relief audible in her voice.
"Indeed, however, I had to accept certain conditions," confirmed Severus.
She looked away. She should have expected it, the negotiations for such an alliance were not a straightforward matter. "Any conditions?" she asked, hoping that the Hanse had not taken advantage of the situation to abuse the Asphodel. She was clearly in no condition to think about all this, just thinking about it gave her a headache, but it was better than being alone in this room, letting her worry and helplessness over Aster's situation eat away at her.
Severus nodded, his calm was infuriating, could he not show that he too shared even a little of her distress? Beside him, Hermione felt constantly belittled, as if being emotional only demonstrated her immaturity. And she couldn't even blame Severus, he didn't blame her, and seemed to be that way naturally. "The Hanse asks that you explain in person how your shield spell works, as well as assisting in its implementation on battleships. In exchange for this, the Hanse has pledged to provide seven battlecruisers for the raid on Azkaban."
"Sounds perfectly justified to me." Hermione said, to tell the truth, she had expected more difficult conditions.
"The Hanseatic League is also requesting that Asphodel give its consent to the use of experimental weapons for the destruction of Azkaban." He said in a more serious tone.
Hermione gritted her teeth, she didn't like it at all, but what could she do... "I see, did they go into any detail about these weapons?" she asked with a touch of trepidation.
Severus frowned, "They have, but they haven't detailed how they work. They refuse to tell me any more than that they are magical disruption weapons, and some sort of bomb that harnesses the hearts of wards..." He paused briefly to choose his words, staring into space. "It appears to be a bomb that creates a magic amplification loop by grafting itself onto a system of wards like a parasite. The older the wards, the more powerful the explosion. They want to test it on Azkaban." he said. This description reminded Hermione of what Aster had warned her was one of the main risks of creating mage craft arrays, power loops... difficult to spot and predict, the source of the death of too many young mages... from what Aster had told her. This... weapon testing project was making her very uneasy...
"It's a statement, isn't it?" She said in a small voice, trying not to damage her sore throat any further.
"It's becoming increasingly clear to me that the Hanseatic League sees the downfall of the Statute as a possibility in the medium to long term. Their preparations seem to have already begun..." he sighed.
Hermione remained silent
for a moment, trying without much success to grasp all the implications that the fall of the status would have. "What about you, Severus? Do you agree with them? That the Statute will soon collapse?"
The man leaned back in his seat, the smallest sign of surprise visible on his face. "I can't say. However, given the recent muggle technological advances that are increasingly likely to expose us and the growing geopolitical chaos in the magical world, it seems to me to be a distinct possibility. At the very least, I imagine it won't be long before the existence of the statute comes back into the spotlight, even in nations sympathetic to it."
"I see." Said Hermione, too tired to engage further in this conversation. "Has the council of guilds said how long they'll need to have the fleet ready?" She asked.
"About two weeks. But clearly that will depend in part on you and your ability to replicate your magic." Severus said as he leaned forward, his face hard, his gaze intense.
Hermione sank into her mattress, swallowing reflexively. She felt smaller and more fragile than ever, and yet so much was resting on her shoulders.
oOOOo
Severus was walking briskly, his black frock coat stiff from lack of use and uncomfortable, too tight for his taste. His trousers pressed tightly into his high leather boots, which were just as suitable for walking as for an impromptu fight. His long, mid-calf length, midnight-blue robe billowed behind him in the wind and with the speed of his walk. Embroidered on his chest was an asphodel in front of the moon, the symbol of the diplomats of the organisation he represented on this day.
Needless to say, he abhorred the very idea of wearing any kind of symbol on his person, exposed for all to see, as it brought back bad memories and reminded him that he would have died before he could be freed from the weight of the duties imposed by his masters. But wearing the asphodel on this day, he felt freer than on any of his missions for Dumbledore or Voldemort. Today, it was for himself that he was acting, for one of the main reasons that kept his carcass attached to this world. If his goddaughter was gone, his last anchor would be torn away, and he would find his freedom in the nothingness.
Perhaps that was what Dumbledore did not and would never understand. Albus lived for others, all his life he had acted for the common good, but Severus had never seen him act for an individual, devote himself body and soul for that of another. In fact, it was the reason he had finally managed to defeat Grindelwald.
Oh, Albus knew about love and its loss, of course, the man was full of them and would be until his last breath. But unlike him, Albus would never know devotion. The placing of a particular soul before his own. Albus would no doubt call it madness and obsession, would say that sacrificing the whole to save the part was what made men monsters. And would he really be wrong? But he wouldn't understand, Albus is too wise to understand. That for a man like Severus, what made his heart beat, what made the blood in his veins quiver was not the infinite number of stars in the sky, but the warmth, the power of a single sun. And that without it, he would fade into the icy night.
Was that wise? No. Was it good? He'd had proof to the contrary. But it is what he is.
He paused for a moment to consult the map that had been sent to him. A curious piece of parchment with enchantments that he would have liked to dissect had he had more time. One drop of his blood, and the card had been connected to a network of portkey supports, the very existence of which sent shivers down his spine. If his suspicions were correct, Hymgaabal had a longer reach than he had expected. A network of magic stable and powerful enough to allow teleportation was within the reach of only a limited number of nations. It must have cost a fortune to create...
No sooner had he activated the portkey than he found himself on a beaten earth forest track. High beech and oak trees with proud branches supported thick green foliage shaken by the wind surrounded him on all sides, the path winding between the trunks, in the middle of a carpet of dead leaves forming an ochre mosaic on the ground bearing witness to past autumns.
Not wishing to keep his interlocutors waiting, he set off at once, losing himself in his thoughts. Barely a few days after sending his letter requesting a confidential exchange with Sarah, he had received a reply, telling him that the meeting would not take place in the usual place. The fact that Sarah took him seriously enough to put in place this kind of measure gave him hope for his mission. If all went well, he would leave with the support of Hymgaabal, and the assurance that Great Britain would be unable to intervene in time to prevent the attack on Azkaban. And if the Veelan nation proved as difficult to convince as he had expected, the documents he kept preciously in his shoulder bag would enable him to secure their support, if what he had understood about the Veela from his many interactions with Sarah over the last few years was right.
Sarah... When he first contacted her for information about what had happened during the assault on Karrasinqi's home in his search for Aster, he had no idea that he would develop such a friendship with her. It would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy their regular afternoons spent together talking, debating or just being quiet in each other's company. To his own surprise, he had been happy to concoct a few potions with her after Sarah had expressed her curiosity about his main activity.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lip; it was beyond him that he, who was convinced that he was socially dead and had difficulty maintaining more than a few relationships, could have befriended someone so brilliant and passionate. Perhaps it was because he felt much older than he was. After all, for a wizard, his early thirties were roughly equivalent to the end of adolescence for a muggle... and yet, already, he felt so old, as if he were a vase that had been broken too many times and then put back together again. At times, he wondered if it was healthy for Sarah to be around someone as damaged as he was... But he couldn't bring himself to stop seeing her, not only had she become one of the few people he could call a friend, she represented a way out, a window opening onto the stage in which he was just a puppet. And having tasted this light, he found himself unable to give it up.
He hurried on, although he couldn't help feeling happy to see Sarah again, even in such circumstances. Miss Snow had stayed in Jerbyen to modify her shield magic and adapt it to Hansian warships, and he couldn't stifle a hint of anxiety at the idea of leaving the young girl alone in the clutches of these people. Although the Hanse's reputation as traders was immaculate, the workings of their society and what it meant to be part of it remained shrouded in mystery. Miss Snow's experience among them could only be the most singular, and he dared not imagine how his goddaughter would react if anything happened to her dearest friend. She had already acted in an almost suicidal manner, such was the weight of recent events upon her, and he could only imagine what the promise of the support of a power as powerful as the Hanse could make her accept.
Severus stopped, raising a wary eyebrow as the path came to a halt in front of the trunk of a gigantic tree. At a guess, it was over ten metres in diameter. Its thick, cracked bark reminded him of an oak, but its ochre tones made him doubt whether it was a species of tree he knew.
He reopened the parchment, inspecting the map again. According to it, he had arrived, but apart from the huge tree whose trunk reached far beyond the thick green canopy, there was nothing of note. Should he announce his presence in some way?
A creak sounded in the quiet of the undergrowth. A series of unearthly cracks startled him. In front of him, the bark of the tree trunk twisted and curled, the wood beneath moving like a thousand snakes sliding against each other. When silence returned, a wide entrance had opened in the trunk, revealing what looked like a small vestibule, wood twisted against the inner wall of the trunk resembling coat racks. But the most noticeable feature of this circular room was the spiral staircase rising so high he couldn't see the end of it, and the luminescent mosses and fungi illuminating the place with an orange light.
Deciding it was worth the risk, he entered. The opening in the trunk closed behind him immediately with a grinding sound. He didn't like feeling trapped like this, but he didn't really have a choice, such were the risks of diplomacy. He hung his robe on the coat rack and set off up the long staircase.
A sudden sense of imbalance overcame him and he had to hold on to the railing and blink. What was that? The spiral staircase stretched far below him, the hallway seeming tiny from this height. Facing him was a wide door made of a single piece of wood joined to the walls by thick ivy with emerald green leaves. He barely realised what had just happened. A shiver ran down his spine as his gaze fell on the imposing door, the use of such space magic was only possible by drawing on a leyline... To meet him in such a place, he must have been taken more seriously than he thought.
The door opened of its own accord, exposing him to the sunlight and forcing him to take a few seconds to acclimatise his vision. In front of him stretched a wide platform of carved wood overhung by interlacing branches forming a dome of vegetation, the space encircled by a balustrade of living wood, revealing beyond the tops of the countless trees of the forest stretching far below them. In the distance, the jagged peaks of a mountain range could be seen against the blue horizon.
But that wasn't what drew her attention the most; in the centre of the platform, around a large white wooden table, on high stools, sat five Veela, their discussion interrupted by his arrival. They were all observing him with varying degrees of curiosity, staring at him, looking him up and down with circumspection. The weight of what Sarah had told him to call aura rather than allure weighed on him like a physical force, as if it were a heavy mist that he felt but could not see. A tumult of diverse emotions that he could not feel, a silent exchange between all those present. He could feel the murmur in his mind, the edge of his vision blurring, his hand trembling, an ancestral instinct to kneel before these women rumbling deep inside him. But his infallible mental discipline held firm. Even though he could feel that the ancient magic making up the auras resonated more with his soul than with his mind, his occlumancy, trained to remain opaque to even Voldemort's most ferocious mental attacks, did not flinch. However, he could only shudder at the thought of what would happen if this mental force floating passively in the air was concentrated on him, sharpened like the tip of an arrow with the sole aim of reducing him to a stammering human pulp.
Throughout history, the Veelas had been as feared as they had been revered, at the heart of legends as terrible as they were magnificent, and at this moment, the reason for this ancient fear was clear to him. Not allowing his inner turmoil to show on his impassive face, he observed each of the people present in turn.
His eyes fell first on Sarah's proud form, her jet-black feathers complimenting the deep green of her dress. She met his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile, perhaps sensing his well-concealed unease. To Sarah's right sat a small, bespectacled woman, with the characteristic beauty of the veela, but without wings, dressed in a brown turtleneck jumper, and nervously organising a pile of paper. Her ochre gaze moved quickly from the veela on her right to Severus. said veela was by far the most intimidating of the group, two very large white wings with a silver sheen folded behind her back, her thin chin resting on her interlaced fingers, her cerulean eyes focused on him, her light blonde eyebrows furrowed. It was clear that she was sizing him up.
Unlike the other veela present, she was the one with the most avian features, her beauty truly inhuman, her face sharp, her arms covered in tiny white feathers, her navy blue tunic embroidered with floral motifs revealing her collarbone, which was also covered in fine feathers that gradually disappeared as they approached her neck. She wore several shiny metal bracelets on each wrist, almost all her fingers were adorned with rings, several necklaces hung around her neck, two earrings shone through her hair and a golden ring pierced her lower lip, contrasting with her alabaster skin. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw flames dancing in the light of her irises. It was obvious to him that she was the most dangerous person at this table. An impression that was only reinforced when he saw her bird-like legs ending in sharp talons under the table.
Still to his right were two twin girls with blood-red hair and freckled skin. Their big, forest-green eyes looked at him with suspicion. Someone less experienced than himself would not have noticed, but his gaze was drawn to the fingers of the one closest to him dancing on the pommel of a concealed dagger.
Remaining stoic, Severus took three steps forward, stepping out of the doorway leading to the staircase, exposing himself completely. He glanced at Sarah; he had expected a one-to-one meeting with her, to have to convince her to take his request to a higher authority within Hymgaabal's flock veela, not to find himself directly in front of such an assembly.
Sarah stood up, and in a serious tone, began to speak. "I present Severus Snape, who has come to seek help and advice from the assembly. Severus, may I present Malaham Verreciel, who presides over the assembly..." The tall blonde woman nodded slightly without taking her eyes off him. "Hyacinthe Malbois, here as scribe..." Hyacinthe readjusted her glasses, giving him a dark look. "... and finally Dazelle and Izelle Forvent, ladies of the blade and councillors..." The two twins were tense, and from his experience in Voldemort's service, Severus could tell with almost certainty that any aggressive movement on his part would result in a dagger being thrust into his flank.
"Please sit down, Mr Snape". Malaham said in a crystal-clear voice, indicating the stool between Izelle and Sarah. He sat down, taking the opportunity to open his bag and place the files on the table in front of him. The veela followed his movements with curious eyes. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, but I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome." He said, giving Sarah a questioning look.
It was Malaham who replied: "Our seer predicted the importance of this meeting, and the information we have about you enabled us to predict the reason for your request. Tell us if we are wrong, Mr Snape." She said, waving her hand at Hyacinth, who slid a copy of the Prophet he knew all too well across the table in his direction.
He rested his eyes on the paper for a moment before raising them again and looking Malaham in the eye. "No, you're right." he replied.
"Tell us, how would the flocks living in the Grand Alliance be of any help to you in rescuing your goddaughter?" Malaham asked curiously.
Severus gritted his teeth, he had hoped to be more subtle about it, but it was now clear to him that his interlocutors wanted to do everything but beat about the bush. At least the fact that the Order of the Asphodel already had commercial relations with Hymgaabal would simplify his task. And in any case, he doubted he would be turned down with the ace up his sleeve. "The Order of the Asphodel plans to launch an attack on Azkaban prison. We have already acquired the military support of Svorak's Hanseatic League, but we don't want to leave anything to chance. It is vital to the success of our plan that Britain is kept busy by a diversion that prevents them from reacting to our assault in time. I am here to ask you to join us in our endeavour. We are aware of the historic tensions between the Grand Alliance, Great Britain and Hymgaabal, and we believe that a major political scandal at the right time would be enough to give us time to bring down Azkaban." He said slowly, his voice clear and calm.
Sarah stared at him wide-eyed, Hyacinth wrote on her parchment at breakneck speed while the twins seemed a second away from jumping at his throat. Only Malaham remained unmoved. The weight of the aura of the five veela facing him had intensified, and the air seemed heavy, as in the minutes before a storm. "This is far from a trivial request. By accepting, Hymgaabal and the flocks of Europe would be taking a great risk. While I can safely say that all flocks wish to see the destruction of Azkaban and the reputation and pride of Great Britain bites the dust, we cannot afford to take such a risk. Sarah has told us all about you and according to her, you are an intelligent wizard, Mr Snape. Tell us, why should we interfere in a conflict that doesn't concern us directly?" She said.
"Because you're already involved." Severus said simply, holding out the heavy file he had placed on the table to Malaham. She took it and opened it curiously. She began to scan the first few pages with her eyes, but then froze. Severus stiffened, her eyes were no longer human, Malaham's eye sockets had been transformed into shafts of incandescent blue flame, and her hair, lifted by an invisible wind, was also engulfed in flames, their dazzling blue eclipsing the sunlight in their brilliance. All the other veela had risen, staring at Malaham in bewilderment. She stood up, the documents clutched so tightly in her hand that they were crumpled. An inhuman, wrenching cry of infinite pain escaped from her throat, powerful and brutal, a promise of death. The weight of her aura was terrifying, an anger and grief so powerful Severus could feel it physically weighing in the air. The taste of horror on his tongue, the icy fingers of hatred tearing at his skin. Malaham's wings unfurled, blazing too, the line between flames and feathers blurring, their movement creating a blast so powerful it nearly knocked Severus over. Malaham burst into a huge flame, her form dissipating into the fire. Where she had stood a few seconds earlier, a great bird of flame stood, its size comparable to that of a dragon. It turned its head skywards, and with a final, heart-rending scream flew into the clouds, charring the railing, the floor and part of the table in its path.
No sooner had she gone than the Forvent twins took off after her. Hyacinth barely had time to gather her notes before two large brown wings formed on her back and she took off after the others, leaving Severus alone with Sarah on the platform.
He stared up at the sky, Malaham no more than a point of blue light beneath the clouds hurtling eastwards at impossible speed. Had he been ignorant, he might have thought it was a shooting star. With four veela gone from the gathering, Severus could feel a weight being lifted from his chest. Had he not been a master occlument, had he not had an iron grip on his emotions, he might well have died. If undergoing the full weight of his interlocutors' auras had been a test, this one had been particularly merciless. He was drawn out of his thoughts by Sarah's voice.
"Severus. By the flame, what have you given Malaham?" she asked in a deep voice.
He made a superhuman effort to keep his voice steady. "It was the files of each of the veela kept prisoner in Azkaban since the end of what the Ministry calls the 'Great Purges'."
Sarah collapsed onto her stool, her elbows on the table, her face buried in her hands. Her aura was intense, so full of horror and grief that he could feel it. She raised her head, her gaze locked with his, and he could see the flames crackling in the violet of her irises. "Severus, your Order of the Asphodel has won the support of Hymgaabal, but you must be aware that if even one of our people on your file cannot be saved, there will be a war."
oOOOo
She was exhausted, her step heavy. Helping to integrate her void shield array into the complex systems of the Hansian warships had proved as complex as it had been exhausting. For hours she had been bent over parchments discussing the workings of the array with some of the most baffling people she had ever met. If she hadn't been completely consumed by the task at hand and trying to prevent their attempt to operate the shield on such a large scale from ending in an explosion, she would have been constantly questioning those she had come to regard as her colleagues. In retrospect, she should have expected this, but caught up in the moment, she had been stunned for several long, embarrassing seconds during her meeting with the members of the artifice, artefact, rare magic and alchemy guilds.
Many of them had swapped their biological limbs for mechanical-magical-alchemical enhancements. So much so that many of them had almost nothing human left, their faces, eyes, hands, legs and chests completely replaced by a chaotic amalgam of metal, glass and wood, forming devices as strange as they were confusing. Some had several extra limbs, and one even had a set of little metal claws instead of legs. She was surprised to find herself envying their... improvements, when she saw them at work, but she quickly got over it. She wasn't ready to give up her body for practical reasons... although she was sure that if they heard her reasoning, they'd call her unnecessarily sentimental. After dozens of hours bent over the theory between the high metal shelves of the Jernbyen University archives, she had found herself in the narrow, oppressive engine rooms of Hansian warships integrating the array into the complex power distribution networks of the power stone centre. Luckily she was well treated and could return to a comfortable hotel suite every evening, otherwise she would have gone mad. She had never had such severe headaches.
As a result, walking along the wide, familiar avenues of Ulthar, the blue sky far above her head, and the vision of the plains and forests surrounding the citadel beyond the crenellations did her a world of good. It was strange how Ulthar had such a positive connotation for her, despite the more than dubious circumstances surrounding her arrival in Matagone society. Perhaps it was the nostalgia of returning to the place where she had first met Aster, of meeting familiar and friendly faces in a place associated with many fond memories. To know that tonight she would be sleeping in her and Aster's house...
Although she was tempted to deviate from her route and wander around the city for a while to clear her head after the last few gruelling days, she couldn't afford to do so. Her letter to Crown Prince Samarillis requesting an urgent meeting had borne fruit, and in a few minutes she would be received at the Cateris' to discuss the problem, Nepeta having kindly opened her manor to their private meeting. Hermione had been a little stressed at the idea of him refusing, but she really shouldn't have been, as Samarillis maintained an excellent relationship with Aster through letters and had directly helped to set up the free trade agreements between Ulthar and the Order of the Asphodel.
She passed through the gates of the Cateris manor estate, which opened on their own as she passed, and stepped out onto the gravel driveway. A few minutes later, after a warm reunion with Nepeta and Nailla, they asked her many questions about her health and what had really happened in Britain, news from the islands hardly reaching a nation as remote as Ulthar. Fortunately, Nepeta had kept her iron grip and prevented Nailla from completely burying Hermione in questions, allowing her to finally make her way to the private room where she was to meet Samarillis.
She opened the door and closed it quickly behind her, escaping Nailla's inquisitive gaze, the nymph only reluctantly accepting to let Hermione escape from her after so long without seeing her in the flesh.
The room was small, with a single large lancet window overlooking the gardens taking up the entire wall opposite the door. A single wooden table covered with a green tablecloth sat under the silver light filtering through the glass. Samarillis was seated on a simple wooden chair with his back to a tapestry, his white fur, blue and green eyes and rich blue and black silk attire making him instantly recognisable. His gaze was fixed on her, his pupils as fine as razor blades, one of his hands playing lazily with one of his whiskers.
"Good morning my prince." Hermione said with one fist over her heart, the other resting on the pommel of the blade strapped to her belt as was customary for a lady of her rank addressing the Etark of Ulthar. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
Samarillis pulled a silver pocket watch covered in bas-reliefs from her pocket and opened it with a crystalline click. "You're right on time, Lady Snow." He said with a slight smile. Hermione still found it difficult to read the facial expressions of matagots... between the fur and the different construction of the face, but she supposed she was getting pretty good at it. "Sit down." He said, indicating with a wave of his hand the chair facing him on the other side of the table.
Hermione sat without argument. A few seconds later, a young servant entered and placed a few cakes with a strong smell of catnip on the table, a bowl of milk in front of Samarillis, and a cup of tea for Hermione before bowing and leaving in silence. The atmosphere relaxed, the formalities finally out of the way. "Thank you so much Samarillis, for making time for me."
"I can always find a moment for you, especially in view of the dark rumours I'm hearing from Britain and the urgency of your letter." He said before giving his milk a few licks.
Hermione took a sip of tea to clear her throat before sighing. "How has Ulthar been since I was last here?"
Samarillis cocked her head slightly to one side. "For the better." He said after a few seconds. "I must thank you again for bringing to light the Casparos' treachery. The successive investigations after their arrest have brought to light a whole series of other vermin." He said with a toothy grin. "What's more, the complete cessation of our trade with the khrè yujul has given us a golden opportunity to get closer to their Fahri counterparts, which so far has been very profitable for us."
At the mention of the khrè yujul, a shiver ran down Hermione's spine, the memory of their abominable golem in the cellars of the Casparos and what Aster had said about it coming back to her in full force. "I suppose that put an end to their ambitions in your lands." she said.
"We think so, since the end of our treaties, we've heard nothing more from them. But enough pleasantries. What's really on your mind, Hermione?"
"What do you know about the recent events in Great Britain concerning Aster?" she asked, preferring to ask the question so that she knew exactly where she stood.
"Nothing except that she hasn't replied to my last letter yet." He said before taking another sip of milk. "I suppose something's happened? With the fallout from the Casparos affair and all its implications still ongoing, international affairs have taken a back seat."
Hermione nodded, and took out of her bag the copy of the Prophet's latest article on the now so-called 'Potter tragedy' and handed it to Samarillis. He grabbed it and flipped through it quickly, his face tensing with each new line. After several minutes, he placed the paper on the table and stared at Hermione, his eyes shaped like slits, his long white tail, which had been resting on his knees, had straightened, beating the air like that of an angry cat. "I suppose the Order of the Asphodel already has a plan for her liberation, doesn't it?" he asked in a cold voice.
Hermione nodded. "We're planning to level Azkaban."
A shiver ran down Samarillis' spine at the name of the prison. "You would be fulfilling the dream of many, this abomination has existed for far too long. However, I doubt that the Order of the Asphodel alone is capable of this."
"We have the military support of the Hanseatic League of Svorak, Hymgaabal, and to a lesser extent the Grand Alliance." Hermione said before taking a sip of tea.
It was the first time she had seen Samarillis so surprised. "That's quite an alliance you have there... You're here to ask for Ulthar's military support." he stated. "If it will not only wipe an abomination off the map, strengthen our alliance and put a pro-Statute nation in its place... our interests are clear." He leaned forward, his chin resting on his clasped hands. "I may be able to plead your case to Her Majesty, but my judgement will depend entirely on the details of your plan, Lady Snow. He said, his gaze penetrating.
Hermione swallowed nervously. The next few minutes would be crucial, and once again over the last few days, she felt as if she were a small child in the face of an undertaking that was too big for her. She tightened her grip on herself and pushed the thoughts out of her head, she was alone, Aster was incapable of guiding her, and she had to be strong, she really had to. If she failed... no, that was not an option. She gave Samarillis a determined look and began to speak, some sentences that would change everything, for better or for worse, rested in her hands.
oOOOo
The cold sea breeze whipped across her face, but her matagon iron armour protected her from the cold better than she would have thought. Her gloved right hand was clasped on her battle staff, the other on the metal railing at the bow of the Hansian warship. The enormous iron machine sped swiftly several hundred metres over the tumultuous waters of the North Sea, propelled by its sixteen translucent wings vibrating in a powerful whirring sound masked by the noise of the wind, as well as by large copper propellers.
Her jaw was clenched, her gaze trained on the titanic column of cloud thousands of times more imposing than the largest cumulonimbus she had ever seen. In the shadows of the cloud mass, she could see bluish flashes, the thunder an uninterrupted roar in the distance.
The six other grey war machines flying on either side of her own aircraft vaguely reminded her of two ships' hulls, one turned upside down on top of the other, with strange insectoid wings and propellers, mechanical legs folded underneath them, innumerable portholes opening into their metal hulls. Several levels of decks stood out against their ogival shapes, and even from this distance she could see a multitude of people working on them.
She smiled slightly, wondering what Aster would say if she saw her like this, at the head of such an army. Pride tinged with bitterness enveloped her heart, the absence of her friend weighed terribly on her, even imagining what it would be like to live within the walls of Azkaban knowing that Aster was subject to it made her nauseous.
She had waited too long, Aster must be suffering from the worst bloodlust she had ever experienced. But it had been impossible to move any faster. It had taken a long time to set up the assault force, but it was better than risking failure. With the machines and engineers of the Hanse, the fighters trained by Asmodeus, the matagot warrior regiment and the political support of Hymgaabal and the Grand Alliance, today Azkaban would fall.
"Lady Snow." A voice called to her in matagon.
She turned, discovering that a matagot in heavy black iron armour, his green eyes gleaming in the visor of his helmet, had approached.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Everything's ready, we're waiting for your orders." He growled.
She nodded and brandished her staff, letting her magic run through the array of her choice. Three flashes of blinding white light erupted with a crackling sound. A second later, she saw similar flashes of light on the decks of the other aircraft, and she had to tighten her grip on the railing to keep from slipping due to the sudden acceleration as the crackle of magic spinning the propellers became almost tangible.
"The time has come" she murmured, fear and hope mingling in her heart in a whirlwind of determination.