Heroes (Edit, Not Update)

Chapter 15 ~ Feeling Each Other Out

When Severus and Hermione entered the Great Hall the next morning, the Headmaster immediately noticed the absence of both Artimus and Dahlia, as well as the decrease in chatter. He asked the staff if the couple had come to breakfast earlier and was told they had not. Thinking they would come along, he ate his meal slowly. Hermione finished her meal and excused herself to get back to work on sorting out students with recurring detentions for Severus’ personal files. One by one the staff members and students departed, leaving Snape with only a smattering of company.

Finally, the wizard summoned Kreacher, who had been with Artimus and Dahlia in the ROR. By the elf’s flattened ears, Severus knew not all was kosher in Hogwarts.

”Where is Mr. Rogue, Kreacher?” Severus demanded.

”He is in the Room of Requirements, sir,” Kreacher croaked, rubbing his clawed hands together a bit nervously and not looking directly at the wizard.

Snape cocked an eyebrow at Kreacher.

”Is Miss Joiner with him?” he pressed.

”Yes sir,” the elf replied.

”What are they doing?” he asked.

“They . . . they is looking for the war, sir,” Kreacher replied, almost losing his voice completely.

”Looking for the war? What are you talking about Kreacher? Spell it out plainly,” he said, irritation in his voice.

Kreacher recounted Dahlia telling Artimus she had seen the city, and clerics and how Artimus went to the room, made his crossbow and opened the door. But there was another place, and now he was trying to find the right place so he could kill the clerics.

Severus was at first shocked then angered. He grasped Kreacher’s hand.

”Take me to the ROR directly, Kreacher before that fool sorcerer involves us in another war,” he seethed.

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Severus arrived in time to see Artimus with his crossbow aimed at a wooden door, which Bluebell opened magically. Sunlight flooded into the room and Artimus let out a curse as the Finklenook Institute of Higher Magical Learning and Research stretched across the landscape.

Dahlia looked at the familiar building longingly. But she couldn’t abandon Artimus and Steede.

”Unless you are going to walk through that door, Mr. Rogue, I suggest you close it and put away your crossbow,” Snape said, walking up to the wizard, his face neutral.

Artimus turned to face the Headmaster, his brows furrowed and nostrils flared. Didn’t the wizard realize what a breakthrough this was? How they could take a pound of flesh from their enemies? At last, they could strike back and strike first.

”This room opens up on the city of Damar, Headmaster. The city of the Antimage, our mortal enemy. It is an opportunity to give them a taste of what they’ve given us for centuries,” the sorcerer said to him.

Snape studied him.

”Mr. Rogue, there is no way I am going to allow you to use this school to launch an offensive on a society we have nothing to do with. By serving as your point of access, we could be considered your allies, and by association become part of this . . . altercation. I assure you, we’ve had our fill of pointless wars and have no desire to participate in another. Especially one that does not concern us. Now, your crossbow sir,” Snape said coolly.

Artimus stared at him for a moment, then touched his wand which was sticking out of the waistband of his pants. The crossbow and quiver of arrows disappeared. Dahlia also made her sword disappear and moved closer to the sorcerer, who had a defeated look in his eyes. If only they could have access to Damar in their world.

“Oh Artimus,” she said softly, stepping up to him and embracing him gently.

Artimus held her tightly, his eyes closed as she comforted him. Snape looked on for a moment, then in a rare gesture, said something completely out of character for the usually solitary wizard.

”Mr. Rogue, perhaps you would consent to joining me in my quarters this evening and discussing your situation over a few libations,” he offered.

If Severus understood anything, it was impotent frustration in the face of adversity. He had gone through it for years as a spy for the Order. There had been times he wished he could just indiscriminately kill and kill and kill. But it would have served no purpose other than getting killed himself, so he had to plan, go for the small successes and bide his time. He didn’t know the exact situation the sorcerers faced, but perhaps he could offer some advice, something Artimus could use.

One thing he couldn’t offer however, was help.

Everyone had their crosses to bear. The wizarding world survived its burden. There was no way he was about to invite another weight for its shoulders after the horror that was Voldemort.

”Do it, Artimus,” Dahlia said to him softly, “you need to talk to someone about this. Someone who’s faced a powerful enemy before, and been successful.”

”It wasn’t just him, Dahlia . . . he had help. Assistance. Others willing to risk their lives,” he replied softly, releasing her. “Something our world is sadly lacking.”

”Well, you have me. I’m no army, but I’d lay down my life at your side anytime, Artimus. Plus, there are the Protectors. It’s not completely hopeless. Please. Agree talk to him. It might help,” she urged him.

Artimus blinked at Dahlia, and she gave him a small smile. He then looked at Snape’s severe countenance and nodded.

”How does seven sound?” he asked the Headmaster.

”Acceptable, Mr. Rogue. I will leave you now . . . but I must tell you this. The ROR will not give you access to anything that could place this school or this world in danger. I highly doubt it will open on Damar again for either of you,” the wizard said softly, then turned and exited the room.

Artimus looked at Dahlia and sighed.

”I must have looked like an idiot, trying to off a few clerics with a crossbow. It would have been inconsequential in the end,” he said to her. “And Snape was right. I could have ended up involving them in a war that they have absolutely nothing to do with. They don’t have any obligation to help us. They’ve won their war. To think they would risk their peace for complete strangers is ludicrous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

”You were thinking you just want it to end, Artimus,” Dahlia said to him. “You acted with your heart and not your head.”

Artimus turned away from her, shaking his head slightly.

”I’m an educator, Dahlia. I am supposed to act with rationality, thought. You’d never know I held a position of authority the way I’m acting.”

Dahlia walked around him so she could look him in the eye.

”It’s always with us, you know. This war. The clerics. The Antimage. We try to live as normal a life as we can, Artimus . . . retain our perspective, our . . . humanity. We can push it to the back of our minds for a while, but . . . when it’s thrown in front of us it’s hard not to react. Access to Damar would level the field for us, Artimus. It could be a way to rally others to fight offensively, to be willing to go to the source. That fleeting possibility affected you, made you react the way you did. We can’t always be in perfect control. Sometimes, it’s better to let the rage out. That’s what you did, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. If there’s a way to end this war in our lifetime, we’ll find it. You have to believe that,” she said softly.

Artimus studied her.

”Do you believe that, Dahlia?” he asked her soberly.

The sorceress’ eyes became a bit wet.

”I have to,” she replied.

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Artimus and Kreacher went back to the stables to see about Steede. Dahlia and Bluebell located Hermione, who was in her office, completing the filing of errant student records that Severus required.

He wanted to put them on his “Watch” list.

Dahlia knocked on the door and Hermione looked up, smiling as she saw the sorceress.

”Come in, Miss Joiner,” she said, “I was just finishing up some paperwork for the Headmaster.”

Dahlia sat down in the armchair facing Hermione’s desk and watched as the witch reproduced the files in triplicate, then flicked her wand at two piles, sending them to the Headmaster and Filch’s office. Then she inserted the other folders in a file cabinet behind her desk.

”There,” she said, “I’ve made them so they are automatically updated whenever the Headmaster adds new information. That way I can check behind him without seeming to.”

Dahlia smiled.

”I imagine it can be difficult working with a man like Mr. Snape,” she said.

Hermione nodded.

”Well, difficult isn’t quite how I’d describe it, more like challenging. He’s a total authoritarian,” the witch said, quirking her lip slightly.

Actually, Severus could be more like a dictator. He had issued quite a few castle-wide restrictions on students based on the actions of a few since he’d been in office. His theory was this would cause peer pressure on offending students.

”Correction and brow-beating by one’s peers can be much more effective than punishments issued by ‘the Establishment,’” he told Hermione when she protested a week-long curfew and cancellation of two Quidditch matches two years ago. It didn’t help that Slytherin was ahead in House Cup points and would benefit from the cancellations.

”Purely coincidental,” the wizard purred at her when she pointed it out, and then he imposed the punishment just the same.

Gods, Severus could be infuriating. But . . . damn it . . . effective.

Dahlia studied Hermione as she straightened up her desk, wondering if the vibe she received when she and the Headmaster were together was accurate. Snape didn’t actually show any personal interest in the witch, but Dahlia could feel something was between them just the same. She was curious, and actually could see a relationship between them, despite Snape’s dark demeanor. Both were heroes after all, and the Law of Attraction clearly and simply stated that “Like Attracts Like.”

As Dahlia well knew, association could bring assimilation.

The sorceress didn’t have many female friends, or friends at all for that matter. She had “associates." She did have a best friend though, Gregory Cummings, a fellow undergrad at Finklenook who had degrees in Biology, Information Technology and Computer Programming. He was also a Protector, and they had met fourteen years ago, when they were both suddenly “collected for camp” a euphemism for being snatched out of their homes when they turned thirteen and trained in the use of magic for eight weeks during the summer by counselors.

Unlike Hogwarts training, young sorcerers were placed in a rather “sink or swim” situation. After a very rudimentary explanation that they were sorcerers for no other particular reason than they were born that way, picked wands from a huge pile on a picnic table, told to point it at something and tell it what to do and watch the results. There were no complicated spells to learn. It was sort of point and shoot.

Then the counselors showed them some of the more advanced magic that they could do, such as create objects and living creatures, which instantly interested every young sorcerer. This excitement was short-lived, since they were informed they would have to attend various schools and learn the mechanics of what made things work before they could actually create them. They would have to educate themselves if they wanted to do better magic and it was only something they could do. The degree of their abilities corresponded with how much they were willing to apply themselves to study.

After about a week of practicing, the youngsters were placed in a large, circular fenced enclosure. Large boxes with pull up doors attached to pulleys, and ropes leading out of the area surrounded the students as all the counselors stood on the outside of the gates holding the ropes and wearing very disturbing smiles on their faces.

”Think of your wands like guns,” one counselor advised as they all simultaneously pulled on the ropes, opening the boxes and releasing what was inside.

That had been quite the experience and a great way to show that sorcery had practical applications. Then they were informed about the War, shocked, dismayed and disbelieving that there were people whose only purpose in life was to capture them and kill them. They were even more dismayed to find out there were no sorcerer armies and these killers lived in the same places they did, worked in the local businesses and even were in government and educational positions.

”If they find out about you, not only will they attempt to take you, but they will kill your families and friends wherever they find them. So, if you care about the people in your life, you will not say anything about your magic and keep as low a profile as possible,” they were told.

Usually, there would be at least one death among the youngsters every two years or so, someone unable to resist revealing their magical nature. Not that it could be proven however, since they weren’t allowed to have a permanent wand until their eighteenth birthday. But even the rumor could have disastrous results if one of the watcher clerics got hold of it. All leads were investigated.

Another startling and sobering revelation was how long their life spans were. Five hundred years. At face value, it sounded wonderful, but soon the realization that everyone they knew who weren’t sorcerers would be dust in a hundred years or less hit home. Parents, brothers, sisters, relatives and other loved ones all would die while they continued. Generations of loved ones and potential loved ones. The feelings of loneliness settled in long before the actual loss did.

Hermione looked at Dahlia and saw her eyes were unfocused and distant. She appeared . . . rather sad.

“A galleon for your thoughts,” the witch said, smiling at the sorceress.

Dahlia blinked and looked back at her, slightly confused.

”A gallon of what?” she asked, and Hermione laughed.

”Not a gallon, a galleon,” she replied, grinning. “A galleon is wizarding currency. There are galleons, knuts and sickles.”

”Nuts?” Dahlia asked, grinning herself now. “Interesting name for coinage. Kind of rings of ‘jewels.’ Artimus’ legs would clench together at the thought of it.”

Hermione chuckled as she walked around the desk, leaning back on it.

”So, what did you plan to do with your day?” she asked the sorceress.

”Well, I was kind of hoping you had a few spare minutes to just . . . chat a bit, maybe show me around,” Dahlia replied.

Suddenly there arose a huffy little squeak and both Dahlia and Hermione looked down at Bluebell, who stood with her ears quite erect and arms folded. The little elf looked so severe that Dahlia couldn’t help smiling at her.

”Not that you’re not excellent company, Bluebell, but I’d like to know more about witches and wizards . . . from the source. Your service is excellent. I didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t,” she said apologetically.

”I is to stay with you while you is at Hogwarts,” the elf said, still frowning.

”Oh, you wouldn’t be excluded, Bluebell . . . the Headmistress would just be . . . company, if she has the time that is,” Dahlia replied, looking at Hermione hopefully.

Hell, Hermione would make time for this. She didn’t have anything pressing to do. It would be a wonderful research opportunity as well. She could document everything Dahlia told her.

”Certainly, and more than a few minutes for such an interesting guest. But please Miss Joiner, call me Hermione,” she said.

”And you call me Dahlia,” Dahlia replied.

At last the initial lines in the sand had been crossed and some walls lowered. Hermione rubbed her hands together rather gleefully.

”How about we have a glass of pumpkin juice and a couple of treacle tarts to start the day off right?” she suggested.

Dahlia was still hungry but blanched at the thought of the vile orange liquid.

Pumpkin juice? Ew. She didn’t think she’d take another sip of that stuff if she had been crawling through the desert for days and her tongue was swollen with thirst.

”I’ll take milk,” she replied diplomatically.

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A/N: As I’m writing this, I see just how interaction heavy this story is, but the interaction is important because of what is upcoming. There needs to be some connection between the four magicians, some understanding and respect. It’s going to be necessary to face what they face realistically. I fully intend to keep this story within the four day mark and for Dahlia, Artimus and Steede to return to their world. I think I am so focused on the interaction because otherwise, the story would feel rushed and there would be no reason for any of them to be that concerned about the others when danger arises. No reason for any of them to be heroes. Anyway, thanks for reading.