Fire & Ice: War Games

‘History is the witness that testifies to the passing of time; it illumines reality, vitalizes memory, provides guidance in daily life and brings us tidings of antiquity.’
Cicero (106BC-43BC), Pro Publio Setio

He slumped against the dorm room wall and stared absently at the stone ceiling. The day’s events kept replaying in his mind despite his resolve to extinguish them. A slink black cat casually strolled along the Slytherin’s bed and curled up in his lap. Absently, his fingers stroked the soft fur as yellow eyes stared up at him. Slowly the cat began to purr as it nudged the boy’s hand, encouraging the caresses. For once, he felt the weigf hif his thoughts vanish as the world around him shrank, encompassing only himself and the cat. Heavy eyelids fluttered close and his head slumped to rest against his chest.




As the first stars twinkled down from the darkening heavens, the dust covered caravan came to a rest in the shadows of the looming guardian of the desert. As the animals gorged themselves on the cool spring water, fifty-eight bodies huddled together in a futile attempt to starve off the growing cold night air. The lush green grass leaves of the palm trees waved in the soft breeze above the small nomadic settlement nestled by their trunks. Tall, lush green grass waved in under the tutelage of the breeze, small scratches were cut into the flesh of the slaves’ bodies.

Ishmelite traders lounged around the crackling fire as the stars curtained the sky above. Strands of silvery light washed upon the geometric landscapes of the vast pyramid complex as the moon climbed the sky. Jackals mournfully howled into the night as it was filled with the traders’ laughter and their voice raised in song. The cool breeze slithered through the phantom’s void, its icy fingers trailed up and down the near naked bodies of the slaves in its wake.

Peeking out on rare occasions, the full moon was shrouded behind a curtain of gray clouds. Venturing out from behind the veil, the moon serenaded the vast rolling landscape with its tendrils of silver light. A hazy rainbow framed the glowing sphere asa thin veil of mist crept upon the earth below. Deep, tanned grains of sand blanketed the earth as vultures clustered together on the half buried boulders. Their vigilant beady eyes absorbed the fathomless darkness and patiently waited for their next meal to surrender to the hands of Fate.

The sand beneath him shifted, “why won’t it come?”

“What are you going on about?” A weak voice replied from someone nearby.

“Death,” the first voice answered between dry coughs rocking the source’s body.

“If you’re that desperate, why don’t you kill yourself.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? If only I had my wand, I’d....”

“You’d do what? Face it, we’re stuck and so are you. Best to make the most of it and hope for a kind owner.” The second voice whispered and waited for other’s usual crisp reply. When silence was the only answer, “Hashim?”

The sound of sand shifting beneath a heavy weight filled the air, “he’s dead.”

Small droplets of dew collected to the clumps of animal feces scattered on the desert floor and dung beetles worked furiously at their endless labor. Somewhere in the great abyss, a lone jackal cried out as the Ishmelite traders slipped into a restful slumber beneath the guardian’s gaze. The jackal’s piercing yellow eyes burned like hot coals, searing the flesh of the endless night.




He winced slightly as the startled cat dug its claws into his legs as it sprang from his lap to the floor. Glaring at him, the cat retreated to the relative safety and comfort of the shadows lingering beneath the Slytherin’s bed. He rubbed at the soreness in his neck from sleeping in the awkward position. Knowing that sleep would evade him, he shrugged on his school robes and slipped out of the dorm, ignoring the snoring of his roommates.

Wandering the castle hallways had become a late night habit that had quickly become a part of his school life. For the most part, he was able to avoid the detection of his professors on his nightly prowls. Only on rare occasions did he cross paths with Filch and then he’d only end up in the caretaker’s small office in the dungeons having tea and an intelligent conversation until sleep called to him again. Most of the time, he was left to his own vices and had discovered new rooms in the castle, at least he assumed they were only new to him.

When he emerged from his thoughts, he found himself staring out at the school’s grounds from the Astronomy Tower. Closing his eyes, he felt the evening’s breeze wash over him. The feeling of peace from before returned asabseabsently watched the stars twinkle above him. Inhaling the October night air, the Slytherin realized that he wasn’t alone after all. “Come out, Wolf.”

“How did you know?” A soft, timbre voice asked from the shadows.

“Never mind that.” He snorted, “trick or treat?”

“Huh?”

“A muggle Halloween phrase. Where’s Black and Potter? Hiding near by I presume.” He rolled his eyes at the predictability of the Gryffindors.

“Huh. They’re not here, I was just feeling restless.”

He closed his eyes and listened to the other boy shuffling his feet. “How very Gryffindor of you,” he drawled. “Seeing as its only a week before the full moon, I would expect a werewolf to be restless.” He bite his lip, silently scolding his lapse in judgement. If he wasn’t careful, he’d slip out one or more of his secrets.

“What about you? Why are you out so late?”

“Dreams,” the Slytherin said, not realizing he had spoke until the word was already out of his mouth.

“Dreams?”

“It is the night of the dead, Lupin. The one time of the year when the worlds of the living and the dead collide, co-existing and making communication between them possible. Well, completely possible. The other three hundred fifty-three are ‘almost’ possibilities.” Glancing over his shoulder, “or were you sleeping through Binns’ lecture this morning?” He smirked as the light crn fln flush worked its way up the Gryffindor’s neck and settled into the boy’s cheeks.

The silence stretched between them as the pair watched the stars in the heavens twinkle. “What was it?”

“What was what, Wolf?” He asked, irritated at the abrupt disturbance of the silence.

“The dream. What was it about?”

“Nothing, Lupin, I want to share with you.”

“Why do you hate me? Is it because of Sirius’ prank? I’ve told you, I didn’t know about it.”

Turning to face him, “I don’t hate you, Lupin.” For a second time that night, the Slytherin contemplating cutting his treasonous tongue out and his own lack of thinking before speaking. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how the pale Gryffindor slipped past his carefully built defenses.

“You never told me why you listened to Sirius and went down there, surely you put two and two together.” Remus’ eyes narrowed slightly, “or were you asleep in Professor Lung’s class when we discussed werewolves?”

“Give me a little credit, Wolf.” He drawled, rolling his eyes. He may be a Slytherin, but his head of house was certainly not going to forgive such an act of disrespect by one of his own.

“Then why put yourself in a situation were you could be killed?”

The Slytherin snorted and pushed past the Gryffindor, “night Lupin.”

Remus quietly watched the raven haired Slytherin disappear down the staircase. Pursing his lips, the werewolf cocked his head as a thought entered his mind. A small, wistful smile crept onto the Gryffindor’s face as his heartbeat sped up. “Severus....?”




The orange-yellow ball began to slowly slip beyond the distant horizon as wisps of crimson and violet were sketched across the heavens. Regal monuments stood as mute witnesses to the colossal kings of another age. The genetic tombs were physical testimonials to their grand, ambitious dreams, inspiring hope in the living not yet born. Pharaonic grandeur at the splendor past was embedded in the pyramid complex. A labyrinth of causeways, sculpted from giant blocks of basalt, snaked down from the ancient structures and melted into the ocean of sand. Towering statues of sculpted granite were imprinted throughout the city of the dead.

Staring into the Egyptian sunset, the colossal form of Har-Em-Akut loomed above the ageless desert sands. A gold plate banded around the guardian’s head and a cobra frozen for the ages, emerging from the Nemi scarf, proclaiming divine rule over the natural world. The two hundred forty feet long and sixty-six foot high mesmerizing stone sculpture was the embodiment of a soul triumphing over the genius of the material world. It’s mute lips persistently denied any clues to the riddle of it’s age and true origins, but the cheekbones and arched eyebrows of Khephren dominated the features of the blemished face of the relic.

It’s impressively sculpted front paws’ protectively encircled Thutmose IV’s temple, twenty-four pillars stood before and around the majestic temple. Each pillar symbolically representing each hour of the day and night. Brightly colored hieroglyphs littered the pillars and covered the temple s. As. As the sunset beyond the mountain range, the slumbering giant and Khafre’s pyramid merged into a single silhouette. The last rays of the waning orb shined across the western portion of the temple’s roof and into the eastern sanctuary, symbolizing the rising sun and illuminating the image as though forecasting its own journey through the Underworld.

The low moaning of a camel interrupted the thunderous silence of the serene landscape, step by step the camel lumbered along the ancient highway. The rider’s body slumped against the animal’s hump in exhaustion. With each jerky step, the figure’s head bobbed up and down against her chest. Long, lush eyelashes rested just above the finely sculpted cheek bones as wisps of renegade hair fluttered in the cool breeze. A small, silver box shined out from the edges of her robe pocket and under the moon’s gaze.




Beads of sweat trickled down his face as his eyes fluttered open. “Ravenclaw,” he gasped softly. The word slipped from his mouth in a hoarse whisper as he stared into the darkness surrounding him. Severus pulled the blanket around his lean frame and waited for morning.



A/N

mother: I am so glad that you are still guessing as to the identities of OotP “friends” working behind the curtains. I promise that if you read the clues, you’ll be able to figure out who is who.

Historical notes regarding this chapter will be added to the author’s note on the next chapter as I don’t want to spoil the location of Ravenclaw’s quill.

Please Read & Review, author thanks you.