Tales from Across the Sea
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The Aliens
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Tales from Across the Sea
Or rather, does anyone mind if I post a Harry Potter fanfic? It doesn't involve any of the known characters, I used her world and set the whole thing in North America. Knowing that this is a SF board first and foremost I just thought I'd see if anybody minded.
Last edited by The Aliens on 2003-12-30 02:32pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Crazedwraith
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The Aliens
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Anarchist Bunny
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Not for the theme. Now if it is Harry Potter erotic homosexual fan fiction(which there are sites dedicated to, DAMN YOU SOMETHING AWFUL!) then there is no garentee.The Aliens wrote:Well, just checking to see if I'll get a living ass flamed out of me
Oh and don't rip off someone else's work. Other than that you should get a good response and constructive critizism.
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The Aliens
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Thusly I give you:
[CENTER]Tales from Across the Sea:
Zarathustra
A fanfic by: Marc Rowley
Based upon Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling[/CENTER]
Chapter 1: Dawn and Day
The midmorning crowds bustled around Zarathustra’s main shopping district without a care in the world. It was a scene that could have been taken from any metropolis on the planet, throngs of shoppers awaiting the opening of their favourite department stores, restaurants, sitting on benches in the streets talking about the latest gossip, and engaged in all the activities that characterize urban life. It was not, however, any city in the world. It was Zarathustra, Canada, in the middle of Lake of the Woods.
A casual observer would have noticed absolutely nothing unusual about the place... until he took a good look. There were certainly signs that things were… odd. Firstly, the city seemed to be extraordinarily compact. It covered a very small amount of space, probably only a few square kilometers, but was packed with tall buildings. They were mostly more than twenty or thirty stories high; some in the centre of town were even larger. The buildings themselves were also unusual. While the average observer would be familiar with buildings with one entrance, on the ground, these buildings often had balconies and front doors on several stories above the ground, this observer might also have noticed with some shock that a few buildings had entrances that seemed to move.
The signs on these buildings would have most casual observers in fits. They glowed, moved over the board where they were posted, and also seemed to periodically erase themselves or rearrange over the faces of these most certainly strange buildings. And then, looking closer, the observer would notice that not a single car drove on the streets of this city. There seemed to be no end to the amount of traffic, but it was of a most curious type, people of all kinds were sitting on brooms, performing insane aerial stunts over the city, crashing into each other, and changing heights and lanes with reckless abandon.
And the people! The casual observer would be having fits looking at some of the clothes worn by the citizens of this city. Robes of all colours and kinds, several flashing loudly, emitting bangs every so often, swirling colours, and fabrics that reflected like mirrors were all common, and not a single person in the city was wearing a pair of jeans. The people stood out among the comparatively drab pavements and buildings like stars in the night sky, and they seemed to know it.
This was Zarathustra. A city with a population of nearly half a million, all witches and wizards. They all carried wands, used spells as a way of life, compared broomsticks with each other, and could not tell you what a digital watch even was. Situated out in the middle of Lake of the Woods, it was the largest wizarding city in North America, a teeming metropolis which was the hub of the Western World’s witchcraft and wizardry. Invisible to Muggles (non-magic folk, a term often correlated with stupidity, ignorance, and a strong, foul stench in Zarathustra, hard as Muggle preservation societies try), it shone brightly in the night, but only eyes blessed with Magical blood could notice its existence… unless shown by one who knew its secret. Invisible on maps, it was a location known to everyone in the Wizarding World.
Among all this hubbub, and the pure shock of it, many missed on their first look a smaller island, perhaps a kilometer away along the lake, covered in pines and spruces and maples, all unnaturally large. It also, unbeknownst to Muggles, carried several large glass buildings, all perfectly reflective but emitting their own yellowish light over the dark land. These buildings made up the bulk of a school, a very unusual school, a one that would teach an entire new generation of witches and wizards how to harness their powers.
Zarathustra Institute of Sorcery.
[CENTER]*****[/center]
“Alright then, Mr. Zephyrus. Why do you want to work at Zarathustra?” The man speaking was young. Nobody walking past him would have said that, of course, his grey hair was short and neatly trimmed, he wore robes that had been fashionable nearly twenty years ago, and the glasses he wore were large and horn-rimmed. However, even at the age of seventy-four, Caeculus Ares was the youngest principal of the Zarathustra Institute in over 100 years, and was proud of that fact. Generally regarded as one of the ten most powerful wizards in the world, he had led wizard freedom fighters in the 1950’s in the Eastern United States against the oppressive Magic Regulation Board, precursor to the Congress of Wizarding.
He was a grizzled man, half-blinded in that conflict, but clever, subtle, and a gifted negotiator. He was now turning his talents on the young man, no more than twenty-five, in fact, sitting in front of him. Zachary Zephyrus was his name, one that seemed to suit him, with his flyaway black hair, deep yellow eyes and robes that seemed to absorb light into them (which in fact they did). He was now sitting in the small glass building on the Institute Island, which contained the entire school.
The school itself was spread out over several tall towers that reached out of the surrounding forest at irregular intervals. Walking around it without a map was a perilous task, as there were many hundreds of paths leading through it, and it was all to easy to lose sight of one’s goal. This building was small, only two stories, and it contained the Principal’s home and office. Decorated in a classical style, it seemed to have been dropped completed from a stuffy study in an earlier age. While the entire building, as indeed all of them, were made of one-way glass, making for an impressive view of the midmorning sky, which was displayed now, the walls were covered in thick curtains. Dozens of bookcases, and end tables and seats covered in all manners of knick-knacks and tools. A live turtle also crawled about on one of the desks, its shell flashing messages in a language not easily discernable.
The man, Zephyrus, took his time in responding. “Well… you know I’ve spent much of my life flying. I was on the Quodpot team here when I was at school, graduated and went straight to play for the Zappers. It’s always been a part of my life, and I can’t imagine leaving it. Naturally, I’m never going to be able to play professionally again…” He trailed off, his voice beginning to crack. He pulled back his robe, and where his left hand would normally be, there was a magically animated wood construct.
“I’m pretty good,” he continued, “I did day camps and clinics all over the country when I played, but after the accident I knew I couldn’t go back. I need something new, and I’m sure your students do as well.” He smiled at his feeble joke, everyone knew the old flying instructor was close to 100 years old, and she had taught at the school for nearly all of that time.
Ares looked closely at him. He closed his eyes, breathed out and opened himself to the man sitting before him. Legilimency it was called, the art of looking into another’s mind. But it was not like reading a book… a more apt analogy would be opening an opaque sphere, and feeling the contents with touch alone. Ares prodded about for a moment, and could feel nothing malignant. This man was honest, but carrying great pain. The possible instability did not concern Ares, either he would deal with it or go completely mad, and something like that would sort itself out.
“Well, then, Mr. Zephyrus. We’ll call you before Monday is out. Enjoy your weekend, you may not have very many spare days through the week once term begins.” The Principal winked at the young man, and turned his chair around to face outside. It was going to be a beautiful day.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
And for Zachary Zephyrus, the day could not get any better. School started in a week, and he had just been tacitly told he would be teaching. He loved to fly, and had very rarely got a chance to in the recent months…
He had been a star player for the Zarathustra Zappers, a Quodpot team. Quodpot was a wizard sport, played on brooms, with eleven members a side. The ultimate goal in the game was to take the Quod, or exploding football-sized ball, and get it, through passing only, in the cauldron at the edge of the pitch. This cauldron would prevent the Quod from blowing up, and generally saving the player carrying it a lot of pain.
Nobody knew if the Quod he was carrying had been tampered with, or just improperly produced, but when it went off in the dying seconds of a game against Kelowna, it didn’t cause minor burns to Zephyrus, it blew his arm clean off.
He had stopped playing immediately, of course, and while recovering retreated from public eye. Traditionally he was loud and boisterous, helping out with charity events and ‘learn to fly’ clinics, but for a whole year he did not leave his hospital room. He finally left it, after being told in no uncertain terms to leave or be thrown out of a window, and spent a few weeks doing nothing, just eating through his fortune.
That was until the letter came. “Would you be interested…” it began. He later learned it was given to several people, all candidates for position of Flying Instructor, newly opened up with Mrs. Fjuarn quitting the spend some time on solid ground. However, a brief conversation later, he was persuaded to apply anyway, and here he was. For a few fleeting moments, pride swallowed up the despair and embarrassment that had plagued him for so long.
He had made it through a brief forest path and to the docks at the north end of Institute Island, and now sat on the end of the pier, waiting for the ferry to arrive to take him to the main city.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Aboard the ferry, Totakeke Miyamoto was growing very impatient. “Two things that get me, here.” He was of about medium size, maybe around five feet and a half-dozen inches, and a tad less than 150 pounds, his hair was long and unruly and ruffled in the slight lake breeze. He was sitting on the top deck of a ferry, surrounded by a few other people, mostly Institute students, but was addressing only one person.
“Let’s hear it, then.” This voice was deeper, slightly exasperated, as if the speaker couldn’t wait for his friend’s little speech to be over with. Apollo Derras was like that a lot around K.K., Totakeke’s preferred name, but he was not really as bored as the tone of voice would suggest. He was lying on his back, hand draped across his face, as if to ward off the feeble sunlight of the midmorning. His dark skin and hair gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, the dash to catch the ferry had almost ended in a miss.
“First off, why boats? I mean we could be taking brooms across to the I,” too lazy to say the whole term of Institute Island, young people in the city had taken to calling it first I.I., and then finally just I.
Sighing, Apollo answered the query. “We can’t cover the whole lake against Muggles, K.K. They’d see brooms, flying carpets, would hear Apparition, and it’s a bad idea to leave fires burning in a city as compact as Zarathustra.”
“Fine, but why here anyways? We know that we can get all this stuff in Zarathustra to begin with, but we’re trolling around a handful of school-based shops more than a week before term.” K.K. looked resentfully out across the lake to the small pine covered island approaching them, and the large steel and glass one behind.
“We’re niners, K.K. Grade Nine. First year at high school, first year here. Better get the lay of the land, a map or two, and spend some time exploring now, when we don’t have to worry about schedules, than a week form now when we’re busted for coming in late. Besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “What are the odds of finding people from our grade in the city now, everyone’s going to be over here getting ready.”
“Fine then. Besides, we’re almost here, you looking after my emotional well-being ate up some time.” As the boat rocked, K.K. stood up, and ambled over to the stairs. He descended quickly, leaving Apollo in his wake, and emerged onto the pier of Institute Island. There was almost no beach, he saw as he moved with the crowds onto the island, who were by and large students or parents shopping for absentee students. As soon as he stepped off, there were thick stands of trees, magically grown to enormous heights, and one small glass building, displaying the message “Welcome to the Institute. Please have identification ready for checking.”
Apollo cut through the crowd, brandishing two small pieces of paper. “Came by owl yesterday, I knew you’d forget so I sent away for a pass for you as well.”
“How the hell’d you do that?” Asked K.K., incredulously.
“Borrowed your wand. You’ve had this since you went to Junior High for magic back out in wherever the hell, should know by now to keep it on you.”
“Bah. You’d think the wand would know not to forge my signature by now. Got me in it enough times before.”
“I’m a smooth talker,” said Apollo, smiling enigmatically.
“Granted. Fork over the papers.” K.K. reached out his hand, and took them from his friend, who was now grinning broadly.
The lady at the booth gave them a cold, stern look as they approached her, having entered the little glass building as the last of the large group. “New Institute students?” she asked coldly, and the two nodded. Both wizard-born, they had grown up with magic, and had attended magical education since the sixth grade. When they both were new students, K.K. having just moved from Japan for his father’s work, a diplomat of some kind for the Japanese Ministry of Magic, they bonded quickly. Partly because of K.K. learning English by Kwiktongue courses (a subsidiary of Kwikspell, magical correspondence courses), they seemed always opposite, K.K. being loud and brash, with a hilariously exaggerated accent, and Apollo quiet and pensive. Being the only child of only children, Apollo had very little family to converse with, and so spent a good deal of time writing. When they were together, though, they seemed to counter-balance each other, providing K.K. with a quiet, rational opinion, and encouraging Apollo to talk more, and to different people.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered K.K. without hesitation.
“Shopping?” she asked, cracking her gum. Her quill, which was filling out a section of the two forms they handed her, appeared to be having a good time, zipping across the page, leaping into the inkbottle, and leaping back out. It was, reflected K.K., like watching a blue hummingbird being eaten by a flower.
“Yes ma’am. We got our lists yesterday, decided to get a jump on the I’s stores.”
“Have fun, approved. Muck about and we’ll have you taped to a broom and sent home. Carry on.”
The left the building through the turnstile beside the woman’s booth, and K.K began to laugh. "It’s like talking to my mother. ‘Do that and you’re going home glued to a magic carpet.’ Would at least be a change of scenery.”
Apollo smiled. “Where we headed first?”
“Books, I ‘spose, most likely to sell out, aren’t they. Already have cauldrons and the like, so if we need supplies we can double back after.”
“Done. Beaks and Oprops it is,” said Apollo, referring to the Island’s bookshop. As they hurried towards the dirt road further along the coast that contained the shopping district, they missed the man skipping onto the ferry back towards Zarathustra proper.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
This man stepped off the ferry a few minutes later, and headed straight to the terminal building. It was an interesting building, actually, shaped like a large half sphere placed right into the ground, a little way beyond the jetty. It looked somewhat like a soap bubble as well, colours running rampant all over its surface, with only a small hole cut into it to allow people in an out. Inside, it was even wilder, with several lines or people stretching around in complicated patterns throughout it. Dozens of fireplaces lined the outside wall, and each of the lines had a terminus at a fireplace. The signs hanging above them had signs like “Domestic”, “South America”, “Africa”, “United Kingdom” and other similar ones on them, much like an airport.
The person at the front of the line would take a handful of Floo powder (A magical powder that would allow people to step into a fireplace unburned, and either communicate or teleport there), call out the name of their destination, and disappear. Naturally, such a service was popular, hence the lines, and expensive, hence the muttering.
As Zephyrus crossed through the terminal, he heard mutterings in the vein of “Twelve Sickles to Moose Jaw, that’s insane. I’ve got a Meteorites game tonight, if I miss it…” and “Well if we wait three hours we can save a galleon on a Floo to Australia, I did see some shops…” Of course, he was not planning to take a Floo anywhere so exotic, he eneted the line labeled “Intracity” and paid out three bronze Knuts, a small wizard coin, and accepted the ticket. The line moved slowly, but after about ten minutes, he arrived at the front.
“Nineteen Main, Seventeenth Floor,” he said, simply. The attendant repeated it into the fire, and Zephyrus stepped in. A quick, tickling sensation followed, and he stepped out into an apartment building, clearly in a lobby. It was round and circular, filled with chattering people, despite being empty. The pictures, one containing a pack of men sitting on a girder high above the city, lunch pails out and work clothes on, and the other with a well-to-do woman blowing up a plant with her wand, were bickering back and forth. The figures appeared to leave one frame and re-appear in another, a talent they were certainly using to the utmost.
Zephyrus let out one shrill whistle, and the talking ceased. “Anyone tell me where apartment 17-B is?”
One of the men sitting on a girder of the building nodded. “About seven or eight doors down that hallway,” he pointed at one corridor, which seemed to be slowly revolving around the room, at an entirely different rate and direction from the four or five others in the seventeenth-floor lobby.
Zephyrus nodded, and started down it. He noticed that as soon as he entered the hallway the feeling of motion abruptly ceased, and he wondered for a moment what idiot decided it would be a good idea to put revolving corridors in an apartment building. He looked at the numbers on the doors, which seemed to go in no particular order, and came to a large, ornate door. He knocked a few times, hearing a chime go off somewhere inside the apartment, and the door abruptly opened.
The door opened, and a young woman stepped out, black-haired and brown-eyed, staring at Zephyrus intently. As soon as she recognized him, she reached for her robe pocket, and pulled out her wand, leveling it at Zachary’s eye.
“It’s you. Thought I told you never to come back.”
“I got a job. I’m teaching at the Institute.”
“I don’t care. I brushed myself clear of you a while ago, no way I’m lending you any more money or consolation.”
“I’ve changed, Tash, I-“
“It’s Ms. Darkstar to you. You’re about as welcome as dry rot in my house, you idiot! Took my life savings to pay for a tryout for some **** sport, ran off with your broom into the night, this before you became rich and famous. And still, you didn’t give me the money back! Well, it’s changed now, spent most of your fortune in the last year since you blew yourself up. Prosthetics and good times. Don’t come back, or you’ll find yourself with more than a false arm.”
“Please, Tash, I want to explain-“
“Go and take a running jump.” And with that, she slammed the door in his face. Dejected, he knocked again, but the door fired a violent volley of sparks when he did so, so trudged dejectedly down the hall. He had been so sure, now that he had a ‘real’ job, he’d settled down, wasn’t so reckless, that he’s have another chance with the woman he once wanted to marry. Clearly not.
He reached the lobby quickly, and took the one door that wasn’t moving. It led him to a small, upper story patio, which afforded him a good view of the city. He pulled his wand from his robe pockets, and raised it above his head. “Accio Broom,” he called, visualizing his broomstick in his head, focusing on individual details that distinguished it from every other broom in the city, and within a few moments, he heard a high pitched whistling, approaching him fast. The broom stopped, lowered to the right level for him to mount it, and he got on. Taking off under the full noonday sun, he glided down towards his own apartment, on the far side of the city.
He would get another chance with Natasha Darkstar, he was certain.
[CENTER]Tales from Across the Sea:
Zarathustra
A fanfic by: Marc Rowley
Based upon Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling[/CENTER]
Chapter 1: Dawn and Day
The midmorning crowds bustled around Zarathustra’s main shopping district without a care in the world. It was a scene that could have been taken from any metropolis on the planet, throngs of shoppers awaiting the opening of their favourite department stores, restaurants, sitting on benches in the streets talking about the latest gossip, and engaged in all the activities that characterize urban life. It was not, however, any city in the world. It was Zarathustra, Canada, in the middle of Lake of the Woods.
A casual observer would have noticed absolutely nothing unusual about the place... until he took a good look. There were certainly signs that things were… odd. Firstly, the city seemed to be extraordinarily compact. It covered a very small amount of space, probably only a few square kilometers, but was packed with tall buildings. They were mostly more than twenty or thirty stories high; some in the centre of town were even larger. The buildings themselves were also unusual. While the average observer would be familiar with buildings with one entrance, on the ground, these buildings often had balconies and front doors on several stories above the ground, this observer might also have noticed with some shock that a few buildings had entrances that seemed to move.
The signs on these buildings would have most casual observers in fits. They glowed, moved over the board where they were posted, and also seemed to periodically erase themselves or rearrange over the faces of these most certainly strange buildings. And then, looking closer, the observer would notice that not a single car drove on the streets of this city. There seemed to be no end to the amount of traffic, but it was of a most curious type, people of all kinds were sitting on brooms, performing insane aerial stunts over the city, crashing into each other, and changing heights and lanes with reckless abandon.
And the people! The casual observer would be having fits looking at some of the clothes worn by the citizens of this city. Robes of all colours and kinds, several flashing loudly, emitting bangs every so often, swirling colours, and fabrics that reflected like mirrors were all common, and not a single person in the city was wearing a pair of jeans. The people stood out among the comparatively drab pavements and buildings like stars in the night sky, and they seemed to know it.
This was Zarathustra. A city with a population of nearly half a million, all witches and wizards. They all carried wands, used spells as a way of life, compared broomsticks with each other, and could not tell you what a digital watch even was. Situated out in the middle of Lake of the Woods, it was the largest wizarding city in North America, a teeming metropolis which was the hub of the Western World’s witchcraft and wizardry. Invisible to Muggles (non-magic folk, a term often correlated with stupidity, ignorance, and a strong, foul stench in Zarathustra, hard as Muggle preservation societies try), it shone brightly in the night, but only eyes blessed with Magical blood could notice its existence… unless shown by one who knew its secret. Invisible on maps, it was a location known to everyone in the Wizarding World.
Among all this hubbub, and the pure shock of it, many missed on their first look a smaller island, perhaps a kilometer away along the lake, covered in pines and spruces and maples, all unnaturally large. It also, unbeknownst to Muggles, carried several large glass buildings, all perfectly reflective but emitting their own yellowish light over the dark land. These buildings made up the bulk of a school, a very unusual school, a one that would teach an entire new generation of witches and wizards how to harness their powers.
Zarathustra Institute of Sorcery.
[CENTER]*****[/center]
“Alright then, Mr. Zephyrus. Why do you want to work at Zarathustra?” The man speaking was young. Nobody walking past him would have said that, of course, his grey hair was short and neatly trimmed, he wore robes that had been fashionable nearly twenty years ago, and the glasses he wore were large and horn-rimmed. However, even at the age of seventy-four, Caeculus Ares was the youngest principal of the Zarathustra Institute in over 100 years, and was proud of that fact. Generally regarded as one of the ten most powerful wizards in the world, he had led wizard freedom fighters in the 1950’s in the Eastern United States against the oppressive Magic Regulation Board, precursor to the Congress of Wizarding.
He was a grizzled man, half-blinded in that conflict, but clever, subtle, and a gifted negotiator. He was now turning his talents on the young man, no more than twenty-five, in fact, sitting in front of him. Zachary Zephyrus was his name, one that seemed to suit him, with his flyaway black hair, deep yellow eyes and robes that seemed to absorb light into them (which in fact they did). He was now sitting in the small glass building on the Institute Island, which contained the entire school.
The school itself was spread out over several tall towers that reached out of the surrounding forest at irregular intervals. Walking around it without a map was a perilous task, as there were many hundreds of paths leading through it, and it was all to easy to lose sight of one’s goal. This building was small, only two stories, and it contained the Principal’s home and office. Decorated in a classical style, it seemed to have been dropped completed from a stuffy study in an earlier age. While the entire building, as indeed all of them, were made of one-way glass, making for an impressive view of the midmorning sky, which was displayed now, the walls were covered in thick curtains. Dozens of bookcases, and end tables and seats covered in all manners of knick-knacks and tools. A live turtle also crawled about on one of the desks, its shell flashing messages in a language not easily discernable.
The man, Zephyrus, took his time in responding. “Well… you know I’ve spent much of my life flying. I was on the Quodpot team here when I was at school, graduated and went straight to play for the Zappers. It’s always been a part of my life, and I can’t imagine leaving it. Naturally, I’m never going to be able to play professionally again…” He trailed off, his voice beginning to crack. He pulled back his robe, and where his left hand would normally be, there was a magically animated wood construct.
“I’m pretty good,” he continued, “I did day camps and clinics all over the country when I played, but after the accident I knew I couldn’t go back. I need something new, and I’m sure your students do as well.” He smiled at his feeble joke, everyone knew the old flying instructor was close to 100 years old, and she had taught at the school for nearly all of that time.
Ares looked closely at him. He closed his eyes, breathed out and opened himself to the man sitting before him. Legilimency it was called, the art of looking into another’s mind. But it was not like reading a book… a more apt analogy would be opening an opaque sphere, and feeling the contents with touch alone. Ares prodded about for a moment, and could feel nothing malignant. This man was honest, but carrying great pain. The possible instability did not concern Ares, either he would deal with it or go completely mad, and something like that would sort itself out.
“Well, then, Mr. Zephyrus. We’ll call you before Monday is out. Enjoy your weekend, you may not have very many spare days through the week once term begins.” The Principal winked at the young man, and turned his chair around to face outside. It was going to be a beautiful day.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
And for Zachary Zephyrus, the day could not get any better. School started in a week, and he had just been tacitly told he would be teaching. He loved to fly, and had very rarely got a chance to in the recent months…
He had been a star player for the Zarathustra Zappers, a Quodpot team. Quodpot was a wizard sport, played on brooms, with eleven members a side. The ultimate goal in the game was to take the Quod, or exploding football-sized ball, and get it, through passing only, in the cauldron at the edge of the pitch. This cauldron would prevent the Quod from blowing up, and generally saving the player carrying it a lot of pain.
Nobody knew if the Quod he was carrying had been tampered with, or just improperly produced, but when it went off in the dying seconds of a game against Kelowna, it didn’t cause minor burns to Zephyrus, it blew his arm clean off.
He had stopped playing immediately, of course, and while recovering retreated from public eye. Traditionally he was loud and boisterous, helping out with charity events and ‘learn to fly’ clinics, but for a whole year he did not leave his hospital room. He finally left it, after being told in no uncertain terms to leave or be thrown out of a window, and spent a few weeks doing nothing, just eating through his fortune.
That was until the letter came. “Would you be interested…” it began. He later learned it was given to several people, all candidates for position of Flying Instructor, newly opened up with Mrs. Fjuarn quitting the spend some time on solid ground. However, a brief conversation later, he was persuaded to apply anyway, and here he was. For a few fleeting moments, pride swallowed up the despair and embarrassment that had plagued him for so long.
He had made it through a brief forest path and to the docks at the north end of Institute Island, and now sat on the end of the pier, waiting for the ferry to arrive to take him to the main city.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Aboard the ferry, Totakeke Miyamoto was growing very impatient. “Two things that get me, here.” He was of about medium size, maybe around five feet and a half-dozen inches, and a tad less than 150 pounds, his hair was long and unruly and ruffled in the slight lake breeze. He was sitting on the top deck of a ferry, surrounded by a few other people, mostly Institute students, but was addressing only one person.
“Let’s hear it, then.” This voice was deeper, slightly exasperated, as if the speaker couldn’t wait for his friend’s little speech to be over with. Apollo Derras was like that a lot around K.K., Totakeke’s preferred name, but he was not really as bored as the tone of voice would suggest. He was lying on his back, hand draped across his face, as if to ward off the feeble sunlight of the midmorning. His dark skin and hair gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, the dash to catch the ferry had almost ended in a miss.
“First off, why boats? I mean we could be taking brooms across to the I,” too lazy to say the whole term of Institute Island, young people in the city had taken to calling it first I.I., and then finally just I.
Sighing, Apollo answered the query. “We can’t cover the whole lake against Muggles, K.K. They’d see brooms, flying carpets, would hear Apparition, and it’s a bad idea to leave fires burning in a city as compact as Zarathustra.”
“Fine, but why here anyways? We know that we can get all this stuff in Zarathustra to begin with, but we’re trolling around a handful of school-based shops more than a week before term.” K.K. looked resentfully out across the lake to the small pine covered island approaching them, and the large steel and glass one behind.
“We’re niners, K.K. Grade Nine. First year at high school, first year here. Better get the lay of the land, a map or two, and spend some time exploring now, when we don’t have to worry about schedules, than a week form now when we’re busted for coming in late. Besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “What are the odds of finding people from our grade in the city now, everyone’s going to be over here getting ready.”
“Fine then. Besides, we’re almost here, you looking after my emotional well-being ate up some time.” As the boat rocked, K.K. stood up, and ambled over to the stairs. He descended quickly, leaving Apollo in his wake, and emerged onto the pier of Institute Island. There was almost no beach, he saw as he moved with the crowds onto the island, who were by and large students or parents shopping for absentee students. As soon as he stepped off, there were thick stands of trees, magically grown to enormous heights, and one small glass building, displaying the message “Welcome to the Institute. Please have identification ready for checking.”
Apollo cut through the crowd, brandishing two small pieces of paper. “Came by owl yesterday, I knew you’d forget so I sent away for a pass for you as well.”
“How the hell’d you do that?” Asked K.K., incredulously.
“Borrowed your wand. You’ve had this since you went to Junior High for magic back out in wherever the hell, should know by now to keep it on you.”
“Bah. You’d think the wand would know not to forge my signature by now. Got me in it enough times before.”
“I’m a smooth talker,” said Apollo, smiling enigmatically.
“Granted. Fork over the papers.” K.K. reached out his hand, and took them from his friend, who was now grinning broadly.
The lady at the booth gave them a cold, stern look as they approached her, having entered the little glass building as the last of the large group. “New Institute students?” she asked coldly, and the two nodded. Both wizard-born, they had grown up with magic, and had attended magical education since the sixth grade. When they both were new students, K.K. having just moved from Japan for his father’s work, a diplomat of some kind for the Japanese Ministry of Magic, they bonded quickly. Partly because of K.K. learning English by Kwiktongue courses (a subsidiary of Kwikspell, magical correspondence courses), they seemed always opposite, K.K. being loud and brash, with a hilariously exaggerated accent, and Apollo quiet and pensive. Being the only child of only children, Apollo had very little family to converse with, and so spent a good deal of time writing. When they were together, though, they seemed to counter-balance each other, providing K.K. with a quiet, rational opinion, and encouraging Apollo to talk more, and to different people.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered K.K. without hesitation.
“Shopping?” she asked, cracking her gum. Her quill, which was filling out a section of the two forms they handed her, appeared to be having a good time, zipping across the page, leaping into the inkbottle, and leaping back out. It was, reflected K.K., like watching a blue hummingbird being eaten by a flower.
“Yes ma’am. We got our lists yesterday, decided to get a jump on the I’s stores.”
“Have fun, approved. Muck about and we’ll have you taped to a broom and sent home. Carry on.”
The left the building through the turnstile beside the woman’s booth, and K.K began to laugh. "It’s like talking to my mother. ‘Do that and you’re going home glued to a magic carpet.’ Would at least be a change of scenery.”
Apollo smiled. “Where we headed first?”
“Books, I ‘spose, most likely to sell out, aren’t they. Already have cauldrons and the like, so if we need supplies we can double back after.”
“Done. Beaks and Oprops it is,” said Apollo, referring to the Island’s bookshop. As they hurried towards the dirt road further along the coast that contained the shopping district, they missed the man skipping onto the ferry back towards Zarathustra proper.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
This man stepped off the ferry a few minutes later, and headed straight to the terminal building. It was an interesting building, actually, shaped like a large half sphere placed right into the ground, a little way beyond the jetty. It looked somewhat like a soap bubble as well, colours running rampant all over its surface, with only a small hole cut into it to allow people in an out. Inside, it was even wilder, with several lines or people stretching around in complicated patterns throughout it. Dozens of fireplaces lined the outside wall, and each of the lines had a terminus at a fireplace. The signs hanging above them had signs like “Domestic”, “South America”, “Africa”, “United Kingdom” and other similar ones on them, much like an airport.
The person at the front of the line would take a handful of Floo powder (A magical powder that would allow people to step into a fireplace unburned, and either communicate or teleport there), call out the name of their destination, and disappear. Naturally, such a service was popular, hence the lines, and expensive, hence the muttering.
As Zephyrus crossed through the terminal, he heard mutterings in the vein of “Twelve Sickles to Moose Jaw, that’s insane. I’ve got a Meteorites game tonight, if I miss it…” and “Well if we wait three hours we can save a galleon on a Floo to Australia, I did see some shops…” Of course, he was not planning to take a Floo anywhere so exotic, he eneted the line labeled “Intracity” and paid out three bronze Knuts, a small wizard coin, and accepted the ticket. The line moved slowly, but after about ten minutes, he arrived at the front.
“Nineteen Main, Seventeenth Floor,” he said, simply. The attendant repeated it into the fire, and Zephyrus stepped in. A quick, tickling sensation followed, and he stepped out into an apartment building, clearly in a lobby. It was round and circular, filled with chattering people, despite being empty. The pictures, one containing a pack of men sitting on a girder high above the city, lunch pails out and work clothes on, and the other with a well-to-do woman blowing up a plant with her wand, were bickering back and forth. The figures appeared to leave one frame and re-appear in another, a talent they were certainly using to the utmost.
Zephyrus let out one shrill whistle, and the talking ceased. “Anyone tell me where apartment 17-B is?”
One of the men sitting on a girder of the building nodded. “About seven or eight doors down that hallway,” he pointed at one corridor, which seemed to be slowly revolving around the room, at an entirely different rate and direction from the four or five others in the seventeenth-floor lobby.
Zephyrus nodded, and started down it. He noticed that as soon as he entered the hallway the feeling of motion abruptly ceased, and he wondered for a moment what idiot decided it would be a good idea to put revolving corridors in an apartment building. He looked at the numbers on the doors, which seemed to go in no particular order, and came to a large, ornate door. He knocked a few times, hearing a chime go off somewhere inside the apartment, and the door abruptly opened.
The door opened, and a young woman stepped out, black-haired and brown-eyed, staring at Zephyrus intently. As soon as she recognized him, she reached for her robe pocket, and pulled out her wand, leveling it at Zachary’s eye.
“It’s you. Thought I told you never to come back.”
“I got a job. I’m teaching at the Institute.”
“I don’t care. I brushed myself clear of you a while ago, no way I’m lending you any more money or consolation.”
“I’ve changed, Tash, I-“
“It’s Ms. Darkstar to you. You’re about as welcome as dry rot in my house, you idiot! Took my life savings to pay for a tryout for some **** sport, ran off with your broom into the night, this before you became rich and famous. And still, you didn’t give me the money back! Well, it’s changed now, spent most of your fortune in the last year since you blew yourself up. Prosthetics and good times. Don’t come back, or you’ll find yourself with more than a false arm.”
“Please, Tash, I want to explain-“
“Go and take a running jump.” And with that, she slammed the door in his face. Dejected, he knocked again, but the door fired a violent volley of sparks when he did so, so trudged dejectedly down the hall. He had been so sure, now that he had a ‘real’ job, he’d settled down, wasn’t so reckless, that he’s have another chance with the woman he once wanted to marry. Clearly not.
He reached the lobby quickly, and took the one door that wasn’t moving. It led him to a small, upper story patio, which afforded him a good view of the city. He pulled his wand from his robe pockets, and raised it above his head. “Accio Broom,” he called, visualizing his broomstick in his head, focusing on individual details that distinguished it from every other broom in the city, and within a few moments, he heard a high pitched whistling, approaching him fast. The broom stopped, lowered to the right level for him to mount it, and he got on. Taking off under the full noonday sun, he glided down towards his own apartment, on the far side of the city.
He would get another chance with Natasha Darkstar, he was certain.
-
The Aliens
- Keeper of the Lore
- Posts: 1482
- Joined: 2003-12-29 07:28pm
- Location: hovering high up above, making home movies for the folks back home.
- Contact:
Chapter 2: Tales of Afar
They had shopped all day. K.K. had spent nearly three hours in Beaks and Oprops. The way the shops were set up was on the very edge of the island, on a small hill over the lake. It was a nice slope down to the little beach, covered in long trees and a boardwalk that connected the little ring of shops together. There weren’t many, only around six or seven in a little row, but they were bustling with people, both sitting on chairs around the boardwalk, swimming in the lake, and hanging around on the little cobbled road in front of them.
It wasn’t all textbooks that he read though, despite being loaded up with them when he left. He had read a short story about some Muggles, and far from the general portrayal of them as slow and stupid, this author had dealt with them in a rather flattering way. Without being Muggle-born though, he couldn’t comment on how accurate it was, but it made a good story, dealing with several technologies that K.K. had never heard of. It was about a Muggle woman, living in a big city, which reminded him of Zarathustra, only larger, who was running around, doing errands, and meeting and talking to other people in her neighborhood.
However, just before he reached the ending of the story, when she was about to conclude matters with a potential love interest, Apollo had dragged him out to visit other shops. They picked up textbooks, including Transfiguration 9 and For the Love of Mercy Make Sure You Made These Correctly before Drinking Them: Secondary School Potions, which certainly from the title promised to be an interesting read. They quickly cut through the bustle, there were probably about a hundred or so teenaged wizards hanging around the shops, and entered the Potion Ingredients store, named somewhat cryptically The Depository.
It was a rather large shop, with no shelves, merely a front counter and two walls, in front of which hovered hundreds upon hundreds of glass bottles. They presented their lists for the coming semester, and without moving, the plump witch behind the desk raised her wand, and called several bottles from their spot in front of the wall. She would then pop off the lid with long fingernails, scoop the contents out on a little spoon (which K.K. suspected was a human bone, but didn’t mention), and drop them unceremoniously into little boxes, which she then placed in crates for the two to carry out with them.
From there, they wandered around the island, having bought maps from the surly witch at the small building they passed through when first stepping onto the island. Naturally, they still got lost many times, as the ‘I’ was composed mostly of small meandering paths cutting through deep forests. The sounds were muted, and so they were essentially walking around in silence, but there were benches on which people sat and talked every so often, so it certainly wasn’t isolated. There were also many paths that ended up at one of the large glass buildings, which were closed by large metal locks.
It didn’t take them long, however, to cut to the centre of the island, where stood a large glass dome, raised from the ground seemingly like a large telescope. It rose as a cylinder for perhaps twenty metres, before breaking into a huge glass dome, which was now spread outwards like a flower. The glass, like all buildings, was not reflective, but could not be seen through, sort of twisting and bending the light that fell into it to provide a clean slate, no matter how close the viewer was.
“Great Hall,” said Apollo, reading off the map. The map crumpled, uncrumpled, and began to talk.
“Yeah, idiot, that’s what I say, that’s what it is. Huge building, the first one constructed on the island. Inside it there'’ something like four tiers, each of which are set up with tables for the houses. All sorts of information is posted on the walls in there, pretty amazing when you see it. Meals, parties, assemblies, all happen in there.” It let out an audible sigh, and rested back in Apollo’s hand.
“Wonder if it’s reacting to what we’re saying, or just programmed to act like that,” asked Apollo, curious as always into how things ‘worked’.
The map jumped up again in his hand, and made one of the most indignant noises either of the boys had ever heard. “Of course I can think! And you think it’s fun being a map, being folded up and carried around by people… hell, half the time I want to change what I say and make you sort it out for yourself.”
K.K. gave a bemused look to Apollo, and turned to the map. “Are you… always like this?”
“Always! I’m a bloody map, what do you expect! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The map then leapt out of Apollo’s hand, fell onto the ground, and spontaneously caught fire. K.K. was first off the mark, grabbing his wand and spraying water out of it, but as soon as the liquid touched the parchment, it exploded, sending a malicious chuckle into the late afternoon air.
K.K. hissed in vexation, and turned to Apollo. “Well, now what?”
Apollo shrugged at him. “I suppose we pick a path and walk, in any direction except this one. We’ll come to the lake eventually, and we follow that around. I’m guessing we have about three of four hours of daylight left, shouldn’t be too hard to make it back to the ferry before dark.”
“What time does the last one leave?” K.K. looked evaluatively at his friend.
“Eleven, I think. For the staff of the shops and the teachers who want to hit the town.” Apollo began to look nervous at his friend’s scrutiny. “Why do you ask?”
“I fancy staying out here. You have any paper?”
“You’ve got to be kidding…” he shook his head. “I’ve got a binder full, and a pen, since I know you’re going to ask for that.”
“You know me to well. Now, for letter writing… ‘Mom and Dad, I’m staying… on the Island… with Apollo… until… we get the last ferry… back at… eleven. Love you.’ There, that about says it, doesn’t it? Duplius.” The spell hit the paper, and took molecules of air, dust and grime floating around, and turned it into a piece of paper with the exact same note on it. He scratched out ‘Apollo’ and added ‘K.K.’, and handed one of the papers to Apollo. “Fold and send,” he said, expertly turning his paper into a small airplane.
Next he took his wand, pointed it at the paper, and muttered “Alliz 45-b Southend Lane.” The paper turned briefly a shade of yellow, and began to soar away into the sky, followed closely by Apollo’s. “Well, that takes care of that,” he said. “Now, let’s walk.”
They turned around, and left the clearing of the Great Hall. They entered one of the paths heading west, according to the sun, and began walking. However, it took them only fifteen minutes of walking to arrive back at the hell, at which point K.K. let loose a violent burst of profanity, and fired a jet of coherent red light at a tree, jarring it. Just as he was about to turn back to the Great Hall to try another path, a small figure hopped out of the stricken tree, and began hobbling over to the two.
It was not seemingly angry, but it trailed small green flecks that hovered in the air. It was only about a foot off the ground, coloured the same as the tree it had leapt from, with a large beech leaf across its face, with two eyeholes cut in it, and a sharp nose protruding. It made a peculiar ticking sound as it ran on short little legs, and it waved its tiny arms in the air. “Why you attck tree of ours, yes?” said the creature in a high-pitched squeak.
Rather than the sensible ‘Who or what are you’ question, K.K. doubled back, and pulled out his wand. “I’m frustrated that I can’t find my way back to the damn shops since my map blew up. If you want to stop me, I’ll blow you up as we-“
Apollo stepped heavily on his foot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kikai. We know you guard the forests of the Institute, and the damage was unintentional. Would you please direct us back to the landing docks, so we can avoid any such occurrences in the future?”
The Kikai stepped back. “Guarded these forests for long time have we, and gratified we are know you who we are. You follow Ketch, Ketch teach you good.” Apollo smiled and offered a small bow, added credibility by his poised stature and graceful, deep voice, and followed the Kikai, which had jumped into the air and sprouted leaves form the top of its head, letting it hover in front of the duo, still spraying the small green lights. K.K. shook his head, and followed in the wake of Apollo and the tree-guardian, back towards civilization.
At any rate, it would be an interesting walk.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
The sun was beginning to set over Zarathustra, the last long rays of light stretching over the city like fingers. They reached into crevices and cracks, illuminating garbage in the alleyways of the industrial areas, dug into the shadows of the Statue in Main Park, and snuck into the rooms of the citizens living in the tall buildings. One ray in particular crept through the curtains of Zachary Zephyrus’ small apartment and struck him in the eye. He closed the curtains hastily with his wand, ripping one in his haste, and turned around, away from the window.
He was not in a good mood. He would, of course be going out in a few hours, once the sun was down to hit his favourite nightspots, but the thoughts brewing inside him were dark and disturbed. With his artificial hand, he picked up a mug from his table and walked over to the small kitchen. He waved his wand in an offhand way, and the dishes began to do themselves, another wave and mutter summoned a can of Coke to him. He put down the mug, which leapt into the sink of its own accord, and cracked the top.
The doorbell chimed, (well, not so much chimed as shouted at him to open the door so it wouldn’t be hit again), and Zephyrus crossed the room to open it. The hallway was dark, as the sun had now descended completely, and the only illumination came from a small lamp down the hall. The face that stared at him out of the gloom was not pleasant, either. It belonged to a man, probably once very handsome, but which was marred by a long scar that ran from his top forehead down to the opposite side of his chin.
“Mr. Zephyrus?”
A puzzled look. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Jake Whiteside, Zarathustra Auror Corps. We were sent a report today that you broke into a house on the other side of the city and harassed a resident. You’re under arrest.”
Zephyrus just stared. He hadn’t harassed anyone! He had left as soon as he was told, and had been rather good about the whole thing. He’d thought of going back and breaking in, but he hadn’t done it. Obviously Darkstar had reported him, but there was nothing that a statement couldn’t clear up. Of course, he had no witnesses, no alibi, and she could have said anything. Well, what could he do? He’d have to go with them, and sort it out later.
He turned his back to the officer, and presented his hands for binding. The charm cut into his natural hand, having to bind tightly to surround the thin artificial one, but the discomfort was brief. The Auror held out a small box, and forced Zephyrus’ hands onto it. He felt a jerk behind his navel, saw reality swirl out of proportion, and then dropped heavily to the floor, a hard concrete one, and deep in the city. This was Auror Headquarters, no mere holding station and the fact that he had had to get here by Portkey was telling.
A Portkey was a device that would allow him to travel over long distances, by creating a warp in space between two points. By touching it, one would travel that distance as easily as taking a single step, and could cut through charms that would prevent Apparation. The Headquarters were a tall brick building in the middle of the city, the oldest one of all, and covered in all sorts of gargoyles and decoration. It looked somewhat like the Muggle House of Parliament in Canada, and was originally designed with that intention, but many years had changed its design for new purposes.
Above ground were the offices, classrooms and training facilities that made up the day-today operations of the place, but underground was a different story. The most violent, notorious offenders were kept in the monolithic concrete corridors, with no decorations. Looking around, Zephyrus knew this was where he was. He slid his wand into the hand of his captor, when prodded in the back, and began walking. He knew he was downstairs, and knew not what he did to get there.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
It was only half an hour before K.K. and Apollo emerged from the forest, right outside the shopping districts. They were now afire with lights, of all different colours, illuminating both the shop fronts and the people that lounged around on benches, at tables outside the bar (which, from quick inspection only seemed to sever non-alcoholic drinks, though K.K. insisted the matter would have to be investigated further). They turned towards their guide, the small Kikai, who seemed reluctant to leave the forest. It sat on the ground, which was only a half-inch shorter than its standing position, and Apollo bowed to it.
“Thank you,” he said, “for helping us through your forest. May your roots never wither.” The Kikai jumped to its feet, seeming to have heard a cue of some kind, and sped upward into the night, trailing green sparks. K.K. immediately accosted his friend.
“What was that, and how did you know what to say to it?”
Apollo shrugged. “It’s a Kikai, or tree-spirit. Some places have leprechauns or ghosts hanging around, Zarathustra has Kikais to guard the trees. My uncle owned a cabin out in the Rockies, so there were hundreds of them there, that’s where I learned about them. Besides, aren’t we going to experience the wonderful nightlife?”
“Hit the bar?”
“’Spose so, from what I’ve heard from my sister in Grade 12, the Hype is the place to be on the island.” He started off at a brisk walk, crossing the twenty or so metres to the door in a matter of seconds. The building itself looked like a little log cabin, flashing signs in the windows and snowshoes on the wall. There was a small patio with a ledge running around the outside edge filled with students, mostly older ones, and the door swung open to reveal a large space, still retaining the log-cabin motif, but with a second story balcony running around the inside. The centre of the place was occupied by a large bar, a rough square in shape, above it was a rack hung by cables down from the ceiling two stories above, which supported dozens of glasses of all kinds. Behind the bar was a rack filled with all sorts of bottles containing fluids of all colours, which extended the whole way around, making a cylindrical pillar in the middle of the Hype.
“Holy bugger,” said K.K., blown away by the sheer size of it, spacious, but still maintaining the haphazardness of almost constant use. “I’ll grab a table, go get me something sweet, fizzy, and green.” He passed a few Knuts into Apollo’s hands, grabbed the bags of shopping, and hurried to the upstairs section. This seemed to be where the Niners were, clustered in small, chattering groups. As far as he looked, he could see no empty tables, and so he approached a booth occupied by a lone red-haired girl.
She was small, but lithe, K.K. could tell that she did some form of dance from her bearing in her seat. He smiled as he made it to the end of the table, and swung his bags into the open side of the booth. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked.
She shook her hair, which rippled down her back, and seemed to study him for a moment. He had a briefly uncomfortable feeling, as if she was deciding which hex to use on him, but it passed quickly, and her expression became warm. “Sure, your bags are already here. What’s your name?”
“Totakeke Miyamoto, but everyone calls me K.K. You?”
“Cherry DeSoto. You from Zarathustra?”
“Yeah, born islander. First trip to the Institute, being off-limits and all, but my family lives on the South End, so I could probably see my house from here if the City wasn’t blocked off by charms and the like. I take it you’re from elsewhere?”
“Sweetwater Texas. You follow Quidditch? The All-Stars just ripped apart the Zappers last night, I saw it on the Screen at the ranch back home. I flew in this morning, my dad’s paying for a hotel in the City. My mom’s a Muggle, so she wouldn’t get it, but my dad made it big on selling oil to the Muggles, so I can’t complain.” Her hazel eyes lit up as she talked, and her hands punctuated most of her comments. K.K. was fascinated by the way that she changed tracks so quickly in her conversation, and her lilting, mellow voice, but remained seemingly focused on him the whole time. He was a bout to respond, when the window opened of its own accord, and in flew a grey owl, beating its wings as it landed infront of K.K.
Attached to its leg was a letter, and without opening it, K.K. knew what it would say. Totakeke, home NOW. He stood up, pulling his bag with him. “Sorry, Cherry, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you next week when school starts, right?”
She smiled broadly. “Sure. Nice talking to you, K.K.” He ran down the stairs, grabbed Apollo over his meek protests of “Fifteen minutes to find something yellow and fizzy, never mind sweet,” and ran outside to catch the next ferry, lest his parents come swooping down on him where they sat.
“I met a girl,” was all he could manage, as Apollo asked him on the way home what he was smiling about.
They had shopped all day. K.K. had spent nearly three hours in Beaks and Oprops. The way the shops were set up was on the very edge of the island, on a small hill over the lake. It was a nice slope down to the little beach, covered in long trees and a boardwalk that connected the little ring of shops together. There weren’t many, only around six or seven in a little row, but they were bustling with people, both sitting on chairs around the boardwalk, swimming in the lake, and hanging around on the little cobbled road in front of them.
It wasn’t all textbooks that he read though, despite being loaded up with them when he left. He had read a short story about some Muggles, and far from the general portrayal of them as slow and stupid, this author had dealt with them in a rather flattering way. Without being Muggle-born though, he couldn’t comment on how accurate it was, but it made a good story, dealing with several technologies that K.K. had never heard of. It was about a Muggle woman, living in a big city, which reminded him of Zarathustra, only larger, who was running around, doing errands, and meeting and talking to other people in her neighborhood.
However, just before he reached the ending of the story, when she was about to conclude matters with a potential love interest, Apollo had dragged him out to visit other shops. They picked up textbooks, including Transfiguration 9 and For the Love of Mercy Make Sure You Made These Correctly before Drinking Them: Secondary School Potions, which certainly from the title promised to be an interesting read. They quickly cut through the bustle, there were probably about a hundred or so teenaged wizards hanging around the shops, and entered the Potion Ingredients store, named somewhat cryptically The Depository.
It was a rather large shop, with no shelves, merely a front counter and two walls, in front of which hovered hundreds upon hundreds of glass bottles. They presented their lists for the coming semester, and without moving, the plump witch behind the desk raised her wand, and called several bottles from their spot in front of the wall. She would then pop off the lid with long fingernails, scoop the contents out on a little spoon (which K.K. suspected was a human bone, but didn’t mention), and drop them unceremoniously into little boxes, which she then placed in crates for the two to carry out with them.
From there, they wandered around the island, having bought maps from the surly witch at the small building they passed through when first stepping onto the island. Naturally, they still got lost many times, as the ‘I’ was composed mostly of small meandering paths cutting through deep forests. The sounds were muted, and so they were essentially walking around in silence, but there were benches on which people sat and talked every so often, so it certainly wasn’t isolated. There were also many paths that ended up at one of the large glass buildings, which were closed by large metal locks.
It didn’t take them long, however, to cut to the centre of the island, where stood a large glass dome, raised from the ground seemingly like a large telescope. It rose as a cylinder for perhaps twenty metres, before breaking into a huge glass dome, which was now spread outwards like a flower. The glass, like all buildings, was not reflective, but could not be seen through, sort of twisting and bending the light that fell into it to provide a clean slate, no matter how close the viewer was.
“Great Hall,” said Apollo, reading off the map. The map crumpled, uncrumpled, and began to talk.
“Yeah, idiot, that’s what I say, that’s what it is. Huge building, the first one constructed on the island. Inside it there'’ something like four tiers, each of which are set up with tables for the houses. All sorts of information is posted on the walls in there, pretty amazing when you see it. Meals, parties, assemblies, all happen in there.” It let out an audible sigh, and rested back in Apollo’s hand.
“Wonder if it’s reacting to what we’re saying, or just programmed to act like that,” asked Apollo, curious as always into how things ‘worked’.
The map jumped up again in his hand, and made one of the most indignant noises either of the boys had ever heard. “Of course I can think! And you think it’s fun being a map, being folded up and carried around by people… hell, half the time I want to change what I say and make you sort it out for yourself.”
K.K. gave a bemused look to Apollo, and turned to the map. “Are you… always like this?”
“Always! I’m a bloody map, what do you expect! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The map then leapt out of Apollo’s hand, fell onto the ground, and spontaneously caught fire. K.K. was first off the mark, grabbing his wand and spraying water out of it, but as soon as the liquid touched the parchment, it exploded, sending a malicious chuckle into the late afternoon air.
K.K. hissed in vexation, and turned to Apollo. “Well, now what?”
Apollo shrugged at him. “I suppose we pick a path and walk, in any direction except this one. We’ll come to the lake eventually, and we follow that around. I’m guessing we have about three of four hours of daylight left, shouldn’t be too hard to make it back to the ferry before dark.”
“What time does the last one leave?” K.K. looked evaluatively at his friend.
“Eleven, I think. For the staff of the shops and the teachers who want to hit the town.” Apollo began to look nervous at his friend’s scrutiny. “Why do you ask?”
“I fancy staying out here. You have any paper?”
“You’ve got to be kidding…” he shook his head. “I’ve got a binder full, and a pen, since I know you’re going to ask for that.”
“You know me to well. Now, for letter writing… ‘Mom and Dad, I’m staying… on the Island… with Apollo… until… we get the last ferry… back at… eleven. Love you.’ There, that about says it, doesn’t it? Duplius.” The spell hit the paper, and took molecules of air, dust and grime floating around, and turned it into a piece of paper with the exact same note on it. He scratched out ‘Apollo’ and added ‘K.K.’, and handed one of the papers to Apollo. “Fold and send,” he said, expertly turning his paper into a small airplane.
Next he took his wand, pointed it at the paper, and muttered “Alliz 45-b Southend Lane.” The paper turned briefly a shade of yellow, and began to soar away into the sky, followed closely by Apollo’s. “Well, that takes care of that,” he said. “Now, let’s walk.”
They turned around, and left the clearing of the Great Hall. They entered one of the paths heading west, according to the sun, and began walking. However, it took them only fifteen minutes of walking to arrive back at the hell, at which point K.K. let loose a violent burst of profanity, and fired a jet of coherent red light at a tree, jarring it. Just as he was about to turn back to the Great Hall to try another path, a small figure hopped out of the stricken tree, and began hobbling over to the two.
It was not seemingly angry, but it trailed small green flecks that hovered in the air. It was only about a foot off the ground, coloured the same as the tree it had leapt from, with a large beech leaf across its face, with two eyeholes cut in it, and a sharp nose protruding. It made a peculiar ticking sound as it ran on short little legs, and it waved its tiny arms in the air. “Why you attck tree of ours, yes?” said the creature in a high-pitched squeak.
Rather than the sensible ‘Who or what are you’ question, K.K. doubled back, and pulled out his wand. “I’m frustrated that I can’t find my way back to the damn shops since my map blew up. If you want to stop me, I’ll blow you up as we-“
Apollo stepped heavily on his foot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kikai. We know you guard the forests of the Institute, and the damage was unintentional. Would you please direct us back to the landing docks, so we can avoid any such occurrences in the future?”
The Kikai stepped back. “Guarded these forests for long time have we, and gratified we are know you who we are. You follow Ketch, Ketch teach you good.” Apollo smiled and offered a small bow, added credibility by his poised stature and graceful, deep voice, and followed the Kikai, which had jumped into the air and sprouted leaves form the top of its head, letting it hover in front of the duo, still spraying the small green lights. K.K. shook his head, and followed in the wake of Apollo and the tree-guardian, back towards civilization.
At any rate, it would be an interesting walk.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
The sun was beginning to set over Zarathustra, the last long rays of light stretching over the city like fingers. They reached into crevices and cracks, illuminating garbage in the alleyways of the industrial areas, dug into the shadows of the Statue in Main Park, and snuck into the rooms of the citizens living in the tall buildings. One ray in particular crept through the curtains of Zachary Zephyrus’ small apartment and struck him in the eye. He closed the curtains hastily with his wand, ripping one in his haste, and turned around, away from the window.
He was not in a good mood. He would, of course be going out in a few hours, once the sun was down to hit his favourite nightspots, but the thoughts brewing inside him were dark and disturbed. With his artificial hand, he picked up a mug from his table and walked over to the small kitchen. He waved his wand in an offhand way, and the dishes began to do themselves, another wave and mutter summoned a can of Coke to him. He put down the mug, which leapt into the sink of its own accord, and cracked the top.
The doorbell chimed, (well, not so much chimed as shouted at him to open the door so it wouldn’t be hit again), and Zephyrus crossed the room to open it. The hallway was dark, as the sun had now descended completely, and the only illumination came from a small lamp down the hall. The face that stared at him out of the gloom was not pleasant, either. It belonged to a man, probably once very handsome, but which was marred by a long scar that ran from his top forehead down to the opposite side of his chin.
“Mr. Zephyrus?”
A puzzled look. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Jake Whiteside, Zarathustra Auror Corps. We were sent a report today that you broke into a house on the other side of the city and harassed a resident. You’re under arrest.”
Zephyrus just stared. He hadn’t harassed anyone! He had left as soon as he was told, and had been rather good about the whole thing. He’d thought of going back and breaking in, but he hadn’t done it. Obviously Darkstar had reported him, but there was nothing that a statement couldn’t clear up. Of course, he had no witnesses, no alibi, and she could have said anything. Well, what could he do? He’d have to go with them, and sort it out later.
He turned his back to the officer, and presented his hands for binding. The charm cut into his natural hand, having to bind tightly to surround the thin artificial one, but the discomfort was brief. The Auror held out a small box, and forced Zephyrus’ hands onto it. He felt a jerk behind his navel, saw reality swirl out of proportion, and then dropped heavily to the floor, a hard concrete one, and deep in the city. This was Auror Headquarters, no mere holding station and the fact that he had had to get here by Portkey was telling.
A Portkey was a device that would allow him to travel over long distances, by creating a warp in space between two points. By touching it, one would travel that distance as easily as taking a single step, and could cut through charms that would prevent Apparation. The Headquarters were a tall brick building in the middle of the city, the oldest one of all, and covered in all sorts of gargoyles and decoration. It looked somewhat like the Muggle House of Parliament in Canada, and was originally designed with that intention, but many years had changed its design for new purposes.
Above ground were the offices, classrooms and training facilities that made up the day-today operations of the place, but underground was a different story. The most violent, notorious offenders were kept in the monolithic concrete corridors, with no decorations. Looking around, Zephyrus knew this was where he was. He slid his wand into the hand of his captor, when prodded in the back, and began walking. He knew he was downstairs, and knew not what he did to get there.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
It was only half an hour before K.K. and Apollo emerged from the forest, right outside the shopping districts. They were now afire with lights, of all different colours, illuminating both the shop fronts and the people that lounged around on benches, at tables outside the bar (which, from quick inspection only seemed to sever non-alcoholic drinks, though K.K. insisted the matter would have to be investigated further). They turned towards their guide, the small Kikai, who seemed reluctant to leave the forest. It sat on the ground, which was only a half-inch shorter than its standing position, and Apollo bowed to it.
“Thank you,” he said, “for helping us through your forest. May your roots never wither.” The Kikai jumped to its feet, seeming to have heard a cue of some kind, and sped upward into the night, trailing green sparks. K.K. immediately accosted his friend.
“What was that, and how did you know what to say to it?”
Apollo shrugged. “It’s a Kikai, or tree-spirit. Some places have leprechauns or ghosts hanging around, Zarathustra has Kikais to guard the trees. My uncle owned a cabin out in the Rockies, so there were hundreds of them there, that’s where I learned about them. Besides, aren’t we going to experience the wonderful nightlife?”
“Hit the bar?”
“’Spose so, from what I’ve heard from my sister in Grade 12, the Hype is the place to be on the island.” He started off at a brisk walk, crossing the twenty or so metres to the door in a matter of seconds. The building itself looked like a little log cabin, flashing signs in the windows and snowshoes on the wall. There was a small patio with a ledge running around the outside edge filled with students, mostly older ones, and the door swung open to reveal a large space, still retaining the log-cabin motif, but with a second story balcony running around the inside. The centre of the place was occupied by a large bar, a rough square in shape, above it was a rack hung by cables down from the ceiling two stories above, which supported dozens of glasses of all kinds. Behind the bar was a rack filled with all sorts of bottles containing fluids of all colours, which extended the whole way around, making a cylindrical pillar in the middle of the Hype.
“Holy bugger,” said K.K., blown away by the sheer size of it, spacious, but still maintaining the haphazardness of almost constant use. “I’ll grab a table, go get me something sweet, fizzy, and green.” He passed a few Knuts into Apollo’s hands, grabbed the bags of shopping, and hurried to the upstairs section. This seemed to be where the Niners were, clustered in small, chattering groups. As far as he looked, he could see no empty tables, and so he approached a booth occupied by a lone red-haired girl.
She was small, but lithe, K.K. could tell that she did some form of dance from her bearing in her seat. He smiled as he made it to the end of the table, and swung his bags into the open side of the booth. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked.
She shook her hair, which rippled down her back, and seemed to study him for a moment. He had a briefly uncomfortable feeling, as if she was deciding which hex to use on him, but it passed quickly, and her expression became warm. “Sure, your bags are already here. What’s your name?”
“Totakeke Miyamoto, but everyone calls me K.K. You?”
“Cherry DeSoto. You from Zarathustra?”
“Yeah, born islander. First trip to the Institute, being off-limits and all, but my family lives on the South End, so I could probably see my house from here if the City wasn’t blocked off by charms and the like. I take it you’re from elsewhere?”
“Sweetwater Texas. You follow Quidditch? The All-Stars just ripped apart the Zappers last night, I saw it on the Screen at the ranch back home. I flew in this morning, my dad’s paying for a hotel in the City. My mom’s a Muggle, so she wouldn’t get it, but my dad made it big on selling oil to the Muggles, so I can’t complain.” Her hazel eyes lit up as she talked, and her hands punctuated most of her comments. K.K. was fascinated by the way that she changed tracks so quickly in her conversation, and her lilting, mellow voice, but remained seemingly focused on him the whole time. He was a bout to respond, when the window opened of its own accord, and in flew a grey owl, beating its wings as it landed infront of K.K.
Attached to its leg was a letter, and without opening it, K.K. knew what it would say. Totakeke, home NOW. He stood up, pulling his bag with him. “Sorry, Cherry, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you next week when school starts, right?”
She smiled broadly. “Sure. Nice talking to you, K.K.” He ran down the stairs, grabbed Apollo over his meek protests of “Fifteen minutes to find something yellow and fizzy, never mind sweet,” and ran outside to catch the next ferry, lest his parents come swooping down on him where they sat.
“I met a girl,” was all he could manage, as Apollo asked him on the way home what he was smiling about.
-
The Aliens
- Keeper of the Lore
- Posts: 1482
- Joined: 2003-12-29 07:28pm
- Location: hovering high up above, making home movies for the folks back home.
- Contact:
Chapter 3: Murmurs
Zephyrus knew not how long he had been sitting in the room. The stiffness of his neck and back seemed to indicate many hours, maybe even days, but the simple fact that he wasn’t dead of thirst seemed to put that possibility aside. The small cell had no furniture, no windows, no decoration, only four walls, one of which allow people from the outside to pass through, but not the other way. Without the sun, he couldn’t tell what time it was or how long he had slept.
Breathing hurt his throat. Memories began to flow back, sitting in the room for hours, certain he would be released, and then shouting for release. Banging on walls in helpless frustration, and finally, exhausted, collapsing back to the floor to sleep. Well, it was a long time he had spent there, at any rate. No food, no water as far as he could tell.
Now to begin formulating a strategy. He couldn’t break out; his wand had been removed from him before he entered the cell. The wall that allowed people to pass through from the outside was impenetrable, and he did not want to attempt to break through it with his hands. He was almost certainly being watched, and listened to.
“Let me out,” he called. No response, though he had no expected any. He would try again, then. He would keep going until he succeeded.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
“Let me out!” The words, exact same intonation and volume, were repeated in the office of Fizz Delfin, Chief Auror for the city of Zarathustra. He swiveled around in his chair, white leather, and looked at the small that showed the picture from inside Zephyrus’ cell.
He waved his wand over to a switch in the corner, and began to speak. “Mr. Zephyrus is awake, please have him brought to my office.” There was a brief confirmation, and Delfin turned back around. His office was located on the top floor of the Auror building, right in one of the towers. It was plain and spartan, black carpet and furnishings, which was really only a desk, and hundreds of screens. The room was an oval, and with Delfin in the centre he could easily view or enlarge any of the pictures, which were being broadcast from all over the City.
Normally, they were configured so he could see a view of the City exactly as if his office was an open pedestal looking over it, but now it was filled with different views of Zephyrus walking towards his office. He had only a moment to prepare what to say, but he knew it would come easily. He had spent the last night looking over all the records of the man, from his own schooling at the Institute to his Quodpot accident the year before, and knew him well.
He would serve his purpose.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Zephyrus was pulled out of his room by a hand that seemed to come from nowhere, even though it was merely being projected through the one way door. It was clever how it worked, actually, once someone was put inside, it magically sealed itself against only them, so other people could enter and leave at will. When it was time for them to be released, the warden would simply wave his wand, and the room itself would throw the prisoner out.
So it was that Zephyrus, bruised, tired and hungry, was being marched up through a myriad of staircases, a flashing band on his arm indicating he was a prisoner. If he left the Auror building with it on, he would immedietly turn into a large slug, making escape problematic.
Escape, however, was not something he was contemplating. Firstly, he was completely engrossed by the building, large and open covered in crosswalks that moved around to join other platforms that ran around the edges, and stairs that conveyed him upwards without having to move his legs. He was also curious as to where he was going, being merely informed he had an appointment. He clutched a railing tightly as the last platform he stood on rocketed him upwards, and finally deposited him in a small hallway.
“That way,” said the large man accompanying him, pointing to a large black door.
Zephyrus nodded in acknowledgement and bean to walk. It was almost ten minutes before he crossed the three metres to the door, when he looked behind him, he saw the man standing more than a hundred metres away. Shaking his head, he pushed the door open, and entered outside.
It was not really outside; it was Fizz Delfin’s office. All around him, including the door, a dazzling panorama of Zarathustra opened up around him, in the middle of the afternoon, answering Zephyrus’ question about the time. Zephyrus stared dazzled for a moment, and then his attention switched to the man, wearing the bright red Auror robes in front of him, behind a black desk. He seemed to be of around average size and build, with flaming orange hair and green eyes. Power radiated off him when he stood, and sent a shiver down Zephyrus’ spine. Here was probably to most powerful wizard in Zarathustra, he reflected as he saw the rank designations on his collar.
“Mr. Zephyrus,” said Delfin. “You were arrested last night on charges of breaking and entering, harassment and several other misdemeanors.”
“I didn’t do it,” answered Zephyrus, reflexively. His yellow eyes showed fear and apprehension.
“Frankly, we don’t care if you did it or not. It’s your word against that of Natasha Darkstar’s. Even if you’re cleared, it will leave a black spot on your record, possibly permanent. So we’re going to skip your trial, on one condition. You’ll be given a free walk.”
“Too good to be true. What’s the condition?” His body language began to relax, and he sat backwards into a chair that coalesced from the floor as soon as he needed it.
“You’re still working at Zarathustra next year, correct?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“Good. We need someone in the Institute, on our side. We know that the principal, Caeculus Ares is doing something illegal, what we don’t know is exactly what. Several students have disappeared from our records entirely, just after graduating. They’re not dead, we would know, they simply vanish. We also know that students in all grades at that school are being approached for special ‘classes’. We think this likely involves some kind of Dark Arts instructions, but we simply don’t know.”
“Why would Ares do this?”
“He has been disenchanted with the Aurors for years, ever since we began altering the curriculum. We don’t think he was ever involved in the Dark Arts himself, but he believes that the best way to fight fire is with fire, to coin a Muggle expression.”
“So you want me to get evidence of him doing this?”
“Exactly.”
“What can’t you do it yourself?” Zephyrus’ question was searching.
“No way can we get recording instruments in there, even illegally. Ares knows about our suspicions, and won’t let any Aurors or Auror equipment even close. We’ve prepared an alibi for you, you were never here. Are you with us?”
The decision took only a moment; he had to keep his record clear to keep a job. “I’m with you.”
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Natasha Nightstar was energized. It was only slightly after noon, but already she had essentially finished two articles, a level of productivity she had not met in a long time. With any luck, she would be able to send them off to magazines before the day was out, and hopefully have one or both published. Being a freelance writer was not easy for her, with her natural tendency to disarray, but she was making some progress in keeping her head on her shoulders, so to speak.
Her progress was certainly aided by getting Zachary Zephyrus out of the way.
Her brown eyes still blazed at the though of him being in her house, at even daring to think she still loved him. She had, a time ago, but when he had stolen the money off her, and used it for his Quodpot try-outs. He had made it, but didn’t pay her back a Knut, not even a note.
And then yesterday he had forced his way in, hit her, stolen even more money, and fled off by broom, well, it was the last straw. She had an overwhelming compunction to call the Aurors, and so she did, using her fireplace and the Emergency Floo line. She had been assured that he would be brought into custody, and was informed shortly after that he was in the Auror Headquarters.
If only she could remember what had happened…
Well, it hardly mattered; she had work to do. She pulled on her shoes, and grabbed her wand, about to head out to the Post Office. She could, of course, had have charmed the articles to fly to the magazine buildings themselves, but she decided to get the brief excersize of a ten minute walk around the City.
Just as she was about to leave, a large noise erupted from her fireplace, and a familiar head appeared in the grille. “Ms. Nightstar?”
“I’m here, Caeculus,” she said, taking off the shoes and running quickly over to the fire. “How are you?”
“In a bit of a bind, actually,” said Caeculus Ares, principal of the Institute.
“Can I help?”
“I hope so. Our Potions teacher has just owled in from Holland, he claims he wants to stay and study the mountain ranges. Well, from that I can guess that even if he did come back, he wouldn’t be up to teaching. I know you’re writing freelance, but would you be able to take the job on a temporary basis?”
She thought for a moment. Zephyrus would be working there, he had told her.
She knew though, that he was put away for breaking and entering, she had made sure of it. No way will he get out. Anyway, if he’s there, I’m sure I can arrange it so he doesn’t last too long. “I’d be delighted. Term starts on Monday, does it not?”
“Correct, Ms. Nightstar, and thank you very much. The first unit will be on combustible materials, since you’ll only be teaching Grade Nines, so have a lesson plan prepared for that. Regards.”
The face disappeared out of the grille before she had a chance to respond. Well, now she was guaranteed of at least some extra income if she couldn’t write, and a long way away from Zachary Zephyrus. So much the better.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Caeculus Ares sat in his office, glass windows showing the clouds only beginning to brew over the city. Symbolic, he thought. At least from the conversation, he knew his Imperius Curse on Darkstar had worked, she had called the Aurors. Her mind had been altered enough to remember an alternative set of events, which marked her as malleable to his cause. She was weak-minded enough to not question his orders. He had liked her when she was in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, ten or so years ago when she had been a student herself.
And now he had new students to look after. His selected graduates were already learning new magic, added to those that had gone before. Ares was building up his own force of law enforcement. He knew the Dark Arts could only be stopped by embracing them, unlike the Aurors that crushed what they did not understand.
He had a list before him now, of new students to the Institute. He looked over their marks from the last few years, personality evaluations, lists of friends and enemies. He carefully selected a few students, one that would serve his purpose. Apollo Derras… Cherry DeSoto… Totakeke Miyamoto. All three had the necessary skills and temperament to join him. He paused, and added one more name to the list.
Keiran Scott.
A/N: Please, please tell me what you think. Not big on action, this chapter, but is starting to set a story arc in motion, one that will be very important. Too confusing? Poorly written? Let me know you're reading, so I can keep writing.
Zephyrus knew not how long he had been sitting in the room. The stiffness of his neck and back seemed to indicate many hours, maybe even days, but the simple fact that he wasn’t dead of thirst seemed to put that possibility aside. The small cell had no furniture, no windows, no decoration, only four walls, one of which allow people from the outside to pass through, but not the other way. Without the sun, he couldn’t tell what time it was or how long he had slept.
Breathing hurt his throat. Memories began to flow back, sitting in the room for hours, certain he would be released, and then shouting for release. Banging on walls in helpless frustration, and finally, exhausted, collapsing back to the floor to sleep. Well, it was a long time he had spent there, at any rate. No food, no water as far as he could tell.
Now to begin formulating a strategy. He couldn’t break out; his wand had been removed from him before he entered the cell. The wall that allowed people to pass through from the outside was impenetrable, and he did not want to attempt to break through it with his hands. He was almost certainly being watched, and listened to.
“Let me out,” he called. No response, though he had no expected any. He would try again, then. He would keep going until he succeeded.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
“Let me out!” The words, exact same intonation and volume, were repeated in the office of Fizz Delfin, Chief Auror for the city of Zarathustra. He swiveled around in his chair, white leather, and looked at the small that showed the picture from inside Zephyrus’ cell.
He waved his wand over to a switch in the corner, and began to speak. “Mr. Zephyrus is awake, please have him brought to my office.” There was a brief confirmation, and Delfin turned back around. His office was located on the top floor of the Auror building, right in one of the towers. It was plain and spartan, black carpet and furnishings, which was really only a desk, and hundreds of screens. The room was an oval, and with Delfin in the centre he could easily view or enlarge any of the pictures, which were being broadcast from all over the City.
Normally, they were configured so he could see a view of the City exactly as if his office was an open pedestal looking over it, but now it was filled with different views of Zephyrus walking towards his office. He had only a moment to prepare what to say, but he knew it would come easily. He had spent the last night looking over all the records of the man, from his own schooling at the Institute to his Quodpot accident the year before, and knew him well.
He would serve his purpose.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Zephyrus was pulled out of his room by a hand that seemed to come from nowhere, even though it was merely being projected through the one way door. It was clever how it worked, actually, once someone was put inside, it magically sealed itself against only them, so other people could enter and leave at will. When it was time for them to be released, the warden would simply wave his wand, and the room itself would throw the prisoner out.
So it was that Zephyrus, bruised, tired and hungry, was being marched up through a myriad of staircases, a flashing band on his arm indicating he was a prisoner. If he left the Auror building with it on, he would immedietly turn into a large slug, making escape problematic.
Escape, however, was not something he was contemplating. Firstly, he was completely engrossed by the building, large and open covered in crosswalks that moved around to join other platforms that ran around the edges, and stairs that conveyed him upwards without having to move his legs. He was also curious as to where he was going, being merely informed he had an appointment. He clutched a railing tightly as the last platform he stood on rocketed him upwards, and finally deposited him in a small hallway.
“That way,” said the large man accompanying him, pointing to a large black door.
Zephyrus nodded in acknowledgement and bean to walk. It was almost ten minutes before he crossed the three metres to the door, when he looked behind him, he saw the man standing more than a hundred metres away. Shaking his head, he pushed the door open, and entered outside.
It was not really outside; it was Fizz Delfin’s office. All around him, including the door, a dazzling panorama of Zarathustra opened up around him, in the middle of the afternoon, answering Zephyrus’ question about the time. Zephyrus stared dazzled for a moment, and then his attention switched to the man, wearing the bright red Auror robes in front of him, behind a black desk. He seemed to be of around average size and build, with flaming orange hair and green eyes. Power radiated off him when he stood, and sent a shiver down Zephyrus’ spine. Here was probably to most powerful wizard in Zarathustra, he reflected as he saw the rank designations on his collar.
“Mr. Zephyrus,” said Delfin. “You were arrested last night on charges of breaking and entering, harassment and several other misdemeanors.”
“I didn’t do it,” answered Zephyrus, reflexively. His yellow eyes showed fear and apprehension.
“Frankly, we don’t care if you did it or not. It’s your word against that of Natasha Darkstar’s. Even if you’re cleared, it will leave a black spot on your record, possibly permanent. So we’re going to skip your trial, on one condition. You’ll be given a free walk.”
“Too good to be true. What’s the condition?” His body language began to relax, and he sat backwards into a chair that coalesced from the floor as soon as he needed it.
“You’re still working at Zarathustra next year, correct?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“Good. We need someone in the Institute, on our side. We know that the principal, Caeculus Ares is doing something illegal, what we don’t know is exactly what. Several students have disappeared from our records entirely, just after graduating. They’re not dead, we would know, they simply vanish. We also know that students in all grades at that school are being approached for special ‘classes’. We think this likely involves some kind of Dark Arts instructions, but we simply don’t know.”
“Why would Ares do this?”
“He has been disenchanted with the Aurors for years, ever since we began altering the curriculum. We don’t think he was ever involved in the Dark Arts himself, but he believes that the best way to fight fire is with fire, to coin a Muggle expression.”
“So you want me to get evidence of him doing this?”
“Exactly.”
“What can’t you do it yourself?” Zephyrus’ question was searching.
“No way can we get recording instruments in there, even illegally. Ares knows about our suspicions, and won’t let any Aurors or Auror equipment even close. We’ve prepared an alibi for you, you were never here. Are you with us?”
The decision took only a moment; he had to keep his record clear to keep a job. “I’m with you.”
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Natasha Nightstar was energized. It was only slightly after noon, but already she had essentially finished two articles, a level of productivity she had not met in a long time. With any luck, she would be able to send them off to magazines before the day was out, and hopefully have one or both published. Being a freelance writer was not easy for her, with her natural tendency to disarray, but she was making some progress in keeping her head on her shoulders, so to speak.
Her progress was certainly aided by getting Zachary Zephyrus out of the way.
Her brown eyes still blazed at the though of him being in her house, at even daring to think she still loved him. She had, a time ago, but when he had stolen the money off her, and used it for his Quodpot try-outs. He had made it, but didn’t pay her back a Knut, not even a note.
And then yesterday he had forced his way in, hit her, stolen even more money, and fled off by broom, well, it was the last straw. She had an overwhelming compunction to call the Aurors, and so she did, using her fireplace and the Emergency Floo line. She had been assured that he would be brought into custody, and was informed shortly after that he was in the Auror Headquarters.
If only she could remember what had happened…
Well, it hardly mattered; she had work to do. She pulled on her shoes, and grabbed her wand, about to head out to the Post Office. She could, of course, had have charmed the articles to fly to the magazine buildings themselves, but she decided to get the brief excersize of a ten minute walk around the City.
Just as she was about to leave, a large noise erupted from her fireplace, and a familiar head appeared in the grille. “Ms. Nightstar?”
“I’m here, Caeculus,” she said, taking off the shoes and running quickly over to the fire. “How are you?”
“In a bit of a bind, actually,” said Caeculus Ares, principal of the Institute.
“Can I help?”
“I hope so. Our Potions teacher has just owled in from Holland, he claims he wants to stay and study the mountain ranges. Well, from that I can guess that even if he did come back, he wouldn’t be up to teaching. I know you’re writing freelance, but would you be able to take the job on a temporary basis?”
She thought for a moment. Zephyrus would be working there, he had told her.
She knew though, that he was put away for breaking and entering, she had made sure of it. No way will he get out. Anyway, if he’s there, I’m sure I can arrange it so he doesn’t last too long. “I’d be delighted. Term starts on Monday, does it not?”
“Correct, Ms. Nightstar, and thank you very much. The first unit will be on combustible materials, since you’ll only be teaching Grade Nines, so have a lesson plan prepared for that. Regards.”
The face disappeared out of the grille before she had a chance to respond. Well, now she was guaranteed of at least some extra income if she couldn’t write, and a long way away from Zachary Zephyrus. So much the better.
[CENTER]*****[/CENTER]
Caeculus Ares sat in his office, glass windows showing the clouds only beginning to brew over the city. Symbolic, he thought. At least from the conversation, he knew his Imperius Curse on Darkstar had worked, she had called the Aurors. Her mind had been altered enough to remember an alternative set of events, which marked her as malleable to his cause. She was weak-minded enough to not question his orders. He had liked her when she was in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, ten or so years ago when she had been a student herself.
And now he had new students to look after. His selected graduates were already learning new magic, added to those that had gone before. Ares was building up his own force of law enforcement. He knew the Dark Arts could only be stopped by embracing them, unlike the Aurors that crushed what they did not understand.
He had a list before him now, of new students to the Institute. He looked over their marks from the last few years, personality evaluations, lists of friends and enemies. He carefully selected a few students, one that would serve his purpose. Apollo Derras… Cherry DeSoto… Totakeke Miyamoto. All three had the necessary skills and temperament to join him. He paused, and added one more name to the list.
Keiran Scott.
A/N: Please, please tell me what you think. Not big on action, this chapter, but is starting to set a story arc in motion, one that will be very important. Too confusing? Poorly written? Let me know you're reading, so I can keep writing.