The Erlking

I am so PISSED OFF!
We were given an exam (set in March) for Monday 31st March. We had two topics to cover, and one question to answer out of the two topics. On Monday we asked if the test could be put back a little. So we were meant to do it on weds 2nd April.
On Monday she asked us if we were revising the THREE topics… and we said no.
Today – I revised for one topic btw cause I left it too late to do both – in the exam… the topic (a choice out of two) I revised did NOT come up.
How does that work? We weren’t told about the question that did come up!!!
So… I spent the hour decorating my paper… Sarah did hardly anything, cause she revised the same topic as me, same as another girl. The Interpretation of Legislation. And now I am so PISSED OFF!

*

Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Words: 3,718
Chapter 8
Learning Experience
August 1993.

The haunting strains of “Lonely Satie”5 filled the forest. The notes rising and falling with each keystroke, lifting high, the sound carried in the wind, entwining itself in the hair of those standing around. Their ears were caressed by the sad melody, and their bodies began to sway, side-to-side, snakelike, as Faun began to hum along. His body mirrored their movements, his eyes closed as he hummed, his lips pressed tight.

From her place on the floor by his feet, Aduro, the singer, watched. Her fingers moved swiftly across the organ in front of her. The instrument shimmered out of sight before reappearing again. It was conjured from fog and mist. It swirled, wanting to be free, and swallowed up her fingers. At each note, the mist settled down, only to rebel again as it waited for its key to be struck once more. Harry continued to hum.

The song changed. Aduro flicked back her long red hair, and began to play a different song. “Sing, this time,” she whispered, her voice as musical as the notes she produced from the organ before her.

The music started slowly, but loud, the tone low, then rising higher before the words were to start. Harry watched her as he sang. “A valley green was so serene, in the middle ran a stream so blue. A maiden fair, in despair, once had met her true love there and she told him, she would say ‘promise me, when you see a white rose you’ll think of me. I love you so, never let go, I will be your ghost of a rose’6.” The music cut out.

Aduro began to clap. When she started, the others in the clearing seemed to snap out of their daze. They shook their heads, clearing away thoughts of possessing and pleasing the singing siren in front of them. And they too, all began to clap. No one, however, clapped as loud as the Erlking.

“Excellent, my Beloved. You are improving.” Harry smiled up at him: for even seated the Erlking still towered above the thirteen-year-old boy. “You almost had me entranced like the others.” He smiled, tilting his head back just enough for his hood to fall back slightly, revealing the grinning mouth full of sharp teeth. It was not an insult. In fact, it went to show how well Harry was doing if he was very close to mentally seducing the Erlking himself, the very master of mind games and deception. “Once more, Beloved, then we shall move on.”

As Harry sang again, he closed his eyes and willed the magic inside of him to accompany the words from his mouth and follow them towards those surrounding him. Much like the Imperious, his magic burrowed its way into the subconscious of the Huntsmen, finding purchase, and hanging on tightly. Then, like the Unforgivable, it bade them to do its masters bidding. Harry wanted them to submit.

And as he wanted it, they did it. As one, they all fell to their knees, their faces pressed to the ground and their arms thrown in front of them, fingers stretching towards the siren whose magic commanded them. Harry’s attention fell to the Erlking, as they all, even the fellow siren Aduro, prostrated themselves before him. The King of the Alders sat upon his throne of human bones and skin and smirked as Harry walked towards him, hips swaying and still singing the words to the song Aduro had been playing.

“Submit to me,” his magic whispered, and the Erlking tilted his head back to let the magic wash over him, but he did not give in.

When Harry could best the Erlking, his lesson was complete, until then, he had to practise over and over. Not best as in defeat, but rather when the Erlking decided Harry was proficient enough to almost beat him, then Harry had completed that portion of the training.

Harry continued to sing, his magic begging the Erlking to “come towards” him, to only just “get off the throne”. But the Erlking would not. He pushed his own magic back, choking Harry with the power and the demand to give up. Faun let out a sob; the Erlking’s siren magic was like a hand whose fingers were closing tightly around his own throat, suffocating him. He wanted to give up, wanted to give in, to allow the Erlking to win and to be able to breath again, but a part of him wanted to win. He wanted to, not just be good enough, but to be brilliant. He closed his eyes, breaking contact with the Erlking’s own eyes. He sang louder, putting more force, more magic, into his words. His hands clenched into fists beside him as he stepped closer to the Erlking.

The other’s magic had stopped choking Harry by now, more than likely afraid to kill him. And, moments later, unbelievably, the Erlking stood up from his throne. A small smirk played on the Erlking’s lips as he allowed Harry to believe he had won, but really, Audenarde had stood up of his own wishes, not the commands of the teenage Wizard before him. The second Audenarde moved to stand, Harry allowed himself to fall forward. His knees hit the floor with the crack of twigs and rustle of leaves, and with a sigh, the boy toppled sideways, unconscious.

He had done well enough to control even the strongest of Occlumens. But, more importantly, he had done brilliantly in ensuring that he would be able to control the feeble minded among the Wizards. And Harry had wanted to do brilliantly after all.

It was time to move on to a new lesson.


January 1994.

Presul swayed her hips, her arms flying out to the sides as she twirled around and around in circles. Her blond hair usually fell in neat ringlets to her waist, but they swung wildly with her movements. Harry watched her, enthralled, as her movements captivated the eyes and attentions of everyone present. Even her father watched on as the Succubus danced.

Like with any type of magic, or skill, enough practise and time spent around those who are efficient will lend their ability to almost anyone. And Harry had been years with the Erlking and his Huntsmen. Their magic had intertwined with his, so he was now no longer only a Wizard, but so much more than that. He had the ability to be Siren, Wizard, Succubae, and Hunter at the once. The Erlking made sure that his Beloved would learn all that he could learn, if only to afford some sort of protection against those that would seek to harm his mythical Faun.

When Presul’s movements halted, she held her hand out and Harry placed his in her own. Since August they had been practising alone, but now, now Presul thought Harry proficient enough to demonstrate before them all. He swallowed heavily and waited until Aduro was ready to play their music. Most Succubae could dance to their music of their own magic, of their own heart, but for beginners it was only fair to give them a beat to sway to.

Harry rotated his hips once, allowing his magic to leave, instead of through Remus’ wand or his own words, through his body. With every twist of his hips, his magic rocketed around him like a hula-hoop, sparks of power shooting out in all directions towards the Huntsmen. His arms went up over his head, one leg came up bent at the knee, and his foot pressed to his other leg as he twirled in a circle. His hair flew into his face as he stopped suddenly. His arm snapped forward, fingers crooked at one Huntsman. The man in question stepped forward, his arms outstretched. As the fingers went to entangle themselves into Harry’s black hair the boy smirked and stopped moving. He man’s arms fell straight down, and he shook his head from side to side, feeling suddenly weighed down or stuffed with straw. With a yawn, he stepped backwards, out of range of the Beloved.

Another, however, took his place, this one much more forceful, because Harry had started dancing again, quicker though. He danced around the Huntsman, and the hunter reacted quicker than Harry expected. Suddenly finding himself pinned to the ground by a dazed but very aroused Huntsmen, sort of sucked the fun out of seducing people with body language. He squeezed his eyes shut. Shivering slightly, for he was not wearing very much, and what he was wearing the Huntsman was trying to remove, Harry pushed against the chest above him. Suddenly, the frantic grabbing those hands were doing still, and the gasping and panting above him stopped. Something wet and warm splashed across his face, but Harry was afraid to open his eyes.

Rape was something, while aware of, he had not had to face. And willing sex was also something he was not familiar with, because while the Erlking liked to touch him, he was not so fond of spoiling the innocence of youth. Unsure of what to expect he kept his eyes closed, even when he found his hands unpinned, and his body lifted into the air by strong, familiar arms.

“Open your eyes, Beloved,” a voice whispered by his ear, locks of hair falling from the Erlking’s hood to tickle the teenagers cheek. “You are safe, I promised no harm would come to thee.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry whispered. His mouth opened and closed with his words, pressed tight against the skin of the Erlking’s neck, so he could feel as well as hear the words spoken.

“It is not you who should be at fault. I should have put a stop to your show earlier. While my rage was great, I should have been more merciful. He was not at fault either. If you had turned your charm on me, I would have had you pinned at my mercy also.” Harry blushed hotly, and the Erlking laughed, because while he could not see the colour of Harry’s cheeks, he could feel the hotness against his neck and feel the boy’s emotions. “Tempting men into bed is not something you need magic to achieve my beloved. I believe we shall call an end to this lesson.”

Harry only opened his eyes when the Erlking seated himself upon his throne with Harry securely in his lap. His face was wet with blood, he could taste it on his tongue, and it made his hair and clothing sticky. His eyes sought out the source of the blood, and found the Hounds chewing on the body of the Huntsman who allowed himself to react far too strongly to Harry’s magical seduction.

The man’s head was being thrown back and forth by the Erlking’s three beta’s, in a sadistic game of piggy in the middle. The Erlking chuckled, and in reply, Morfis threw the head towards him smiling. The Erlking, rather than catch it with his hands, leant forward and allowed the head to impale itself on one of his very sharp, curved horns. Harry tried very hard not to scream as pieces of brain splashed him in the face, as blood continued to drip down on him.

The Erlking’s fingers tangled through his hair, the briars pulling strands up by the root, and Harry endured it, because he knew it was his punishment for attempting to seduce anyone who was not Audenarde, even though he was told to for the practise. But still, powerful men experience powerful emotions, the most powerful sometimes being jealousy. So Harry allowed the punishment to continue, shuddering in disgust as an eyeball landed in his lap, and the Erlking continued to smear brains into his hair with every painful caress.


October 1994.

Hogwarts was celebrating All Hallows Eve and there was much laughter and joy to behold, as well as an unhealthy amount of sweet things to eat. Lucius Malfoy sat beside Professor Snape at the head table as he had done for every year since Draco had begun Hogwarts. Most people believed he was actually doing as he said, keeping the school safe on behalf of the Ministry and Board of Governors. Others believed he was spying for You-Know-Who, even though the Ministry didn’t believe Voldemort had returned, nor that he had anything to do with the disappearance of the youngest Weasley – for no one could find her body to prove she was dead. And there were a handful of Light sided children who believed that Lucius Malfoy’s presence meant he had sided with Dumbledore.

In fact, his presence was on the order of Voldemort, and the Erlking both. They wanted someone keeping an eye on the children of the Dark side to make sure none of them spoke about anything their parents may or may not have told them. And, the Dark Lord also wanted someone scouting for Light sided sacrifices. There were less than two years left before Harry Potter joined Voldemort.

Any new Death Eaters to be marked had owled vials of their children’s blood to ‘Harry Potter, unknown address’, but their owls never returned. The Dark Lord assured them that Harry had gotten the messages, but he had no reason – his followers would like to hear – as to why the owls were disappearing.

Lucius still found it surprising that only a handful of children were requested. The Erlking insisted on names for the most part, and wanted to hunt the Witches and Wizards down himself. Because, as he claimed, the chase was the best part. Three or four would be enough to appease him after relinquishing his beloved to Voldemort.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy lorded over those younger and older than him, reigning over his peers like a Malfoy was expected to do. He smirked instead of smiled, snorted with amusement instead of laughing uproariously, and his eyes narrowed at any insult, mentally keeping track of names and faces, instead of jumping up and hexing them in front of so many teachers. As he spoke, the Slytherins listened, and it was a good thing that the teachers couldn’t hear or his father would be most disappointed in his heir.

“The Dark Lord is living with us,” he boasted, and most of the Slytherins sighed in envy. “We’re waiting for something, I’m sure it’s not that important, but I heard them saying – the Dark Lord and my father, I mean – that soon Harry Potter will be living with us too.”

“Really?” Pansy Parkinson asked, eyes wide, short blond hair tucked behind her ears. “I hear my father say Potter was beautiful.” A few girls sighed.

Theodore Nott, a dark haired, sour looking boy frowned. “Is he on our side? Or will he be living in your dungeons?” A small chuckle rose form most of the students within hearing distance.

“If he is on our side, do you think I could ask father to make him marry me?” Pansy asked again, ignoring the glare Draco was shooting her.

“I hear,” Blaise Zabini spoke up. His family were neutral, but he personally couldn’t wait to be old enough to be a Death Eater. “That Potter will be the Dark Lords consort.” The girls who had sighed earlier, now groaned in disappointment.

“Surely our Lord could do better than Potter?” Millicent Bulstrode, a rather large girl, with a rather large attitude problem, spat. A few people glared at her for insinuating that their Lord was a bad judge of character – or a bad anything in fact.

But, before anyone could say anything, two shadows appeared across the table, and all eyes looked up toward Lucius and Severus. “May I enquire,” Snape drawled in his sinful voice, “to what exactly are you referring?” A blond eyebrow rose on Lucius’ face as his eyes met those of his son’s. Draco blushed and looked away.

“Nothing, sirs.” The younger ones chorused, while the elder ones lowered their eyes respectfully.

“Make sure it remains that way, are we clear?” They all nodded, as Snape’s dark eyes bored into each of their own in turn.

After the adults had left the Great Hall, Severus whirled on Lucius. “You did not inform me of our Lords Return.” The ‘why’ was left unspoken between the old friends.

Lucius smoothed down his robes before answering. “This is not the best place for a conversation of this nature, Severus.” Snape nodded sharply and continued down the hallway, towards the dungeon. With a roll of his eyes, Lucius followed. When they had reached Severus’ quarters and had warded the room against intruders, Lucius found himself looking down the end of Severus’ wand.

“Does our Lord not trust me?” He asked, before clenching his jaw in anger. “I am loyal.”

“It is not a question of your loyalty to him, that worries our Lord. Rather, he is concerned over your loyalty to Lily.” Lucius said, his eyes shifting away from his long time friend.

“Surely he cannot believe I would harm the boy.”

“He is not worried about harming, Severus.” Snape’s eyes narrowed, before widening in realization.

“Oh Merlin no. He does want to kill Harry doesn’t he? He fears I’ll protect him?” Severus’ arm lowered, his wand tucked back into his pocket before his hand pressed against his heart. “No.” He whispered at the thought of harm befalling Lily’s son.

“He will – Severus listen to me. He will not harm Harry, I swear to you.”

“So it is true. What they were saying?” His faced turned a shade or two paler. “He plans to take Harry as his catamite, then?” His gritted his teeth together in protest at the thought. Not while he lived and breathed would anyone force Lily’s son into his or her beds.

“Consort, I believe was the word they used. You know full well that there is a difference.” Lucius snorted at the look Severus shot him.

“A catamite is hardly willing.” He agreed sourly. “So Harry knows?” Lucius nodded. “You’ve seen him? Is he well, hurt?”

Lucius sighed, much like the Slytherin girls at lunch. “If I were attracted to the less fair of sexes I would say he was stunning. As it is, I will merely say he looks well.”

“He has escaped from the Erlking then?” Snape smirked at the thought. Lily’s son had accomplished what Albus could not. Lucius opened his mouth to answer, but then remembered that Severus was not privy to the Dark Lords latest plans. “I swear on our friendship and on both my godchildren,” Lucius frowned, “that this conversation will never reach the ears of Albus.”

“No. He is still with the Erlking. In exchange for souls of members of the Light, Harry will be given to our Lord, by the Erlking on his sixteenth birthday.”

“Less than two years away?” Severus breathed deeply, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “When was this decided?”

“Almost four years ago, by what I have gathered. Around the time the Dark Faerie first appeared at the Manor.” Lucius reached a hand out, and placed it lightly on Severus’ shoulder. “Speak to our Lord, he will understand.”

“And don’t mention your name, correct?” Severus smirked. Lucius just nodded his head. Then he turned to the fireplace, and flooed home. Severus was left alone, to think about whom his allegiance really lay with. Voldemort, Dumbledore, or the son of a woman he had loved more than life?


March 1996. Norway.

When the Hunt rode, creatures of all kinds made sure to keep well out of the way. The wind rushed with them, raping fragile flowers as they trembled on vines, and rustling the leaves enough to shake them loose from their trees. In protest, the branches of trees groaned and swayed, trying to catch their fallen leaves. Twigs cracked beneath the hooves of the Thestrals and the paws of the Canis Demonata as they rode, side by side. Thestrals carried their Beta’s and the Erlking, while the other Huntsmen ran behind them, arms raising their weapons high as they cried to one another, chasing down their unfortunate prey.

Usually, the prey was cornered, trapped between the beasts, both horse- and dog-like, and the humans. With fear stamped clearly across their faces, the prey would look upon the Erlking for mercy, and instead be struck down for daring to look upon the creature’s nightmarish face.

Except, this time, when the baby Norwegian Ridgeback dragon looked upon the rider seated on the Thestral at the front, he did not see the Erlking. Instead, he lay eyes upon Faun, whose reddish brown hair hung down to his waist and blew in the wind, as the mist and fog picked up, swirling higher to hide the cloven feet and deer-legs from view. Hair hid his lower body, and he rode topless, a terrifying sight to behold, because from his head, sprouted two large curved horns, the ends filed sharp and dripping with the blood of their last prey.

The dragon let out a wail as, with a wave of one of Harry’s hands in permission, the Huntsmen and the Canis launched themselves at the dragon. With teeth and with blade they tore the creature apart. The three beta’s – Morfis, Galhar and Ramon – watched, with soft smiles of parents aware of how much their child has grown, as the dragons blood spattered across Faun’s face and bare chest with every bite or slash or hacking motion. But he didn’t stir, or grimace, as he once would have, for now, the beloved boy was a boy no longer. At fifteen, he was considered almost a man, and at last he had been allowed to lead his own Hunt.

Harry licked his lips, tasting the blood of the dragon, before his mouth curved up at the edges into a horrifying smile. His eyes bled from green to red as his fingers ran through the blood on his chest before he brought the to his mouth to suck on. He chuckled, deep in his throat the noise rumbled in his chest for a moment before bursting forth, and any animal that had hidden within the trees or the bushes surrounding them suddenly sprang first, running for their lives.

Harry licked his lips again.

His first Hunt alone, and it was delicious.

XXX

* * *

5 Lonely Satie – Michiru Oshima (Instrumental)
6 Ghost of a Rose – Blackmore’s Night

*

Coming Soon
Words:
Chapter 9
The Trade Union

Review or I may be forced to hang myself by my hair… which has grown far too long.