Fire & Ice: Heralds of Preda

Disclaimer: The characters of the Harry Potter world do not in any way belong to me. I am simply playing in the world that J.K. Rowling created and I promise to return them when I have finished. I am not making any money in regards to the story written below, only entertainment for fellow fans of said universe.

The unforgiving heat of the desert sun bore down on him as the burning sand stretched before him. Despite the cooling charms, beads of sweat adorned his brow and dribbled down the side of his face. The dry wind whipped across his face and slapped his ebony hair against his neck. He scowled darkly at the cloudless sky, wishing for the sweet release of a rainstorm to spare his physical discomfort.

He sneered as a shadow passed over him, only to circle lazily back. He admired the brilliant shine of the glossy black feathers of the great bird gliding above him. While others might have saw an ugly, but necessary scavenger; he saw the inner beauty and grace of Gaea’s own grounds keeper. Though he marveled with just wonder, he had no intention of becoming the vulture’s next meal.

He grunted as he adjusted himself in the saddle seat. Contrary to popular belief, he did enjoy a few Muggle activities and horseback riding was one which allowed for his mind to wander during a long, tedious journey. Apparition and flooing always made him feel rushed, and traveling by broom required one’s attention or else one would find themselves hurtling to earth. Riding horseback required little skill or effort and very little attention as the horse would continue until it either tired or was stopped by the rider.

Riding relaxed him. He enjoyed the solitude it brought him despite the rather slow speed of travel. He could lose himself in the wonder of the natural scenery without the danger or risk accompanied by riding a broom. He found there was something akin to pride when he rode astride a good mount and had several fine such animals in his estate’s stables. Several years previous, had discovered that a few of the older pureblood families breed and kept stables of horses as well. Thus he had been able to make suitable connections and alliances with some of the most influential families of the wizarding world, as well as strength others, through the gentle beasts.

Resting his reigns on the saddle’s horn, he stretched his upper torso and smiled as he felt the exhaustion slip from his cramped body. Shifting in the saddle, he groaned softly as he sought a position that would alleviate the saddle soreness spreading across his numbing rear. Pulling his feet frm the saddle stirrups, he stretched his cramped legs until they grew taunt and popped softly before returning his booted feet to the stirrups.

His fingers traced the emerald serpent embedded on the hilt of the saddle’s horn. Swallowing back his tears at the reminder at what he had just walked away from. Sorrow and self-pity was beaten down by anger and resentment. He hadn’t walked away, but rather been forced out. He had worked long and hard beside the others for nearly half a century to build a place where others like them could find a place of refuge, a place were young gifted minds could be nurtured. In the end, he had been cast aside by the golden Gryffindor and the sheep that blindly followed him. They had effectually left him in the cold as though he where a worthless piece of trash to be casually discarded.

He had hoped that a peaceful retreat to the desert would present an opportunity to persuade his colleague of his views, but predictably the wizard had been far too noble and blind as usual. Not that it should have surprised him, the other wizard just wasn’t able to see the whole picture. A fatal flaw if there ever was one in his mind, he was sure. He wasn’t a soothsayer, nor had he ever claimed to be; but he understood the dynamics of the world all too well, even a fool had the intellectual capacity to read the signs. War was evitable and sooner or later everyone would be forced to chose a side. He knew that fathers would fight against sons and mothers would live to bury their children. Apparently his world’s golden boy was a greater fool then he had ever thought.

He had strongly advised his fellow professors to teach a more strict curriculum, arguing that the best defense against anything was knowing the inner workings, inside and out, of every spell, charm and potion; including some of the more darker aspects of magic. Bringing Gordic Gryffindor to the desert, he had hoped that the current reigning star of the wizarding world would see reason. Gryffindor had disappointed him and had the nerve to blame him for the killing of those Muggles, calling him a dark wizard. Yet the other wizard shared the blame with him, Gryffindor had remained on the dune and made no attempt to seriously push past him and intervene on their behalf. For all his boasts of courage, he saw the wizard as the worst kind of coward.

His heart twisted violently knowing that the other wizard wouldn’t see to reason and at the knowledge their students would never be adequately prepared for the darkness that was to befall them all. It wasn’t his secret chamber, the crowning jewel nestled beneath his labor of love, that he was worried about. While the wards around the castle would still admit him, he had no intention of disarming the weapon hidden below the stone and mortar. He smirked as his mind conjured an image of Gryffindor being terrorized by the guest that he had left behind. But as always it was but a fantasy, a short lived fantasy. He knew no child of his would step foot within the castle’s walls as long as he drew breath. He frowned, wondering how many times would it take for their prodigy to learn from past mistakes.

The horse snorted and shook its neck, jingling its bridle. Absently he briskly patted the stallion’s sleek neck a few times. His thoughts turned backwards to the future, thirty years had passed since is trip to Delphi. Thirty years since he had heard the woman’s unhuman voice hissing words into his criticizing ears and burning themselves onto his soul. While he still put precious little stock in Seers or Helga’s Huffelpuff’s crystle ball, he respected the ancient magic embodying the aged oracle itself. He snorted, knowing that anyone who happen to discover that not only had he visited the single most reputable oracle of all in the known world and received a prophecy from said oracle, the general world would dismiss it as a wild rumor.

What the prophesier had told him had altered his life irrevocably and had inadvertently directed him to follow his current path. Though maintaining his infamous reputation, he had cautiously guided some of his beloved Slytherin students towards the same path and was continuously pleased with his results. Despite the popular propaganda circulated throughout their world, he had found that the predispositions of familial bloodlines or financial status meant nothing to the new family they had quickly formed. Some to his dismay, had begun reaching far beyond the borders of the wizarding world and into the Muggle realm of existence. While they had yet to intermarry with them, they had gone as far as to accept them as comrades in a various causes throughout the world. This last group usually consisted of those from poorer families, the ones who understood the hardships faced in the Muggle realm better then their peers. No, his house wasn’t as heartless as many were encouraged to believe. The first lesson his first years had been taught, conceal your weaknesses and no one will be able to use them against you.

Sweat cascaded down his tanned face as the sun bore the full weight of its wrath upon him and slowly began to chim him from the inside out. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of his clothing, desperate for relief from the heat. As far back as he could remember, he had always preferred to have every inch of his skin covered. Despite the infamous heat, he had refrain from shedding the layers of cloth. Like the students of his house, he had been raised to wear formal attire despite the environment around him.

The poorest of his house had at least one set of formal clothing that they continuously wore and had washed nightly to wear beneath their robes. It was expected from the pureblood families that were raised and breed to be the gentlemen and most influential of their world. He sighed as the horse droned on beneath him. The movement of the stallion soothed his troubled heart. Contrary to belief, he wasn’t a true dark wizard rather a dark shade of gray.

Words, spoken a lifetime ago brushed his ears and stirred the embers smoldering upon his soul. He closed his eyes as a shadow past over him.....Here my words be true; Upon the alter of the Usurper, The unearthly kingdom shall die twice. Once by fire, once by ice. When Gaea reigns, Like phoenix in ash, thy paladin rises. His eyes fluttered open to be greeted by the brightness of the afternoon desert sun.

If what the Seer had prophesied became reality, he shuddered at the future his imagination conjured. Regretful of past actions, he wondered how history would look upon him in the bitter end. Though there was no hope in changing the past, undoing how his world viewed him and all he could do was stay the course, hoping for the best. As the desert world slowly passed by him, he felt the true weight of his sins.

The harsh nature of the desert wind gradually picked up momentum as he stared, unseeing at the distant horizon. His eyes remained unwavering, mesmerized at the point where heaven met earth as the wind picked up a few grains of sand. A light dusting of a sand cloud trailed behind both wizard and steed, serving only to fuel the hunger of the parched wind. The stallion’s tail swished lazily as it stalked across the burning sands, fanning the entrails of sand rising behind them.

The horse’s ears pricked forward cautiously as a jackal howled in the distance ahead. Nickered softly, the stallion abruptly stopped in its tracks. Jerked from his thoughts, he slowly scanned the empty landscape for a clue to the hose’s sudden nervous behavior. Contrary to popular belief amongst those of the wizarding world, non-magical creatures weren’t as stupid as many were coerced into believing. He disagreed with the Muggles on the intelligence of the horse as a species. Where a Muggle would see a best of burden, he saw a trusted companion. While the dog might be the preferred companion of Muggle and wizarding families alike and any such breed would make a good pet or companion, a horse was a different companion of sorts in his eyes.

“Steady there, old friend.” He patted the sleek neck of the Arabian affectionately as he nudged the stallion’s belly with his foot. He never understood the sadistic need or the brutality of Muggle and some wizard riders, often he found himself tempted to kick them in the gut so that would know the feeling themselves. The horse snorted as it began to stubbornly back away as the wizard was consumed with his thoughts once more.

Keeping a firm grip on the black leather reigns, he nudged the stallion forward with his knees. The horse shook its head as it continued to retreat from the unknown threat before them. He gripped the saddle horn as the Arabian stallion reared, pawing the sand dusted air. He squeezed his legs tightly against the horse’s middle, hoping that when the stallion’s tantrum ended, that he would still be in the saddle.

The wind howled, kicking sand into the air around them. The sand swirled beneath the thrashing hooves of the distraught Arabian. Clutching the saddle horn with one hand, the other held a fist full of the stallion’s silky raven mane and the braided reigns. The stallion snorted as the desert floor rolled and waved beneath the horse’s hooves as though it where a great slumbering creature stirring to life.

The ebony stallion reared, cutting the air with its hooves before plummeting back down to the earth below. A cloud of sand was thrust into the airund und the stallion’s front quarters as its hooves pounded the desert sands. The wizard clung to the frightened animal as the horse turned and abruptly bolted across the rumbling desert floor, marring its own tracks as it fled. Grains of sand became entangled in the stallion’s mane and tail as they were whipped into the air and began to embed themselves into the wizard’s raven hair as the wind whipped at their retreating shadow.

The wizard’s body slowly began to slid from the saddle as the onyx stallion raced across the endless ocean of burning sand. The sky above them growled as thousands of grains of sand were snatched from the desert floor and pulled into the air. Rivers of sweat streamed down the sleek form of the terrified stallion as the cloud of sand snapped at the horse’s heels. The wizard’s hands shook as his body went numb, drenched in a cold sweat. His death gripped tightened as the horse pounded the earth.

Sand wove itself into his eyebrows and eyelashes, burrowing into his beard as the afternoon sun was steadblanblanketed by the rising tide of sand. His body was assaulted as sand pelted him from above and behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he shuddered at the sight that met his eyes. Frantically, urged the galloping horse onward as the wave of sand rose and surged closer. He gasped as the sand wall splintered into towering pillars that reached for him.

The whirling of sand grew steadily, bulging with sand as each inch of the desert floor was devoured. His eyes widened as the sand raced after them, nipping at their shadows’ heels. He fought to suppress the bone rattling chills tumbling down his spine. He urged the stallion faster across the burning sands, racing to elude the rampaging pillars stalking them. His heart pounded madly in his chest as he caught sight of an abandoned ruins in the near distance. Grunting, he fought for control with the petrified horse.

Struggling, he guided the Arabian towards the ruins and cover from the raging sand typhoon. Sliding off the raven stallion’s back, he pulled it behind a wall and waited for the sudden siege to end. His fingers stung as grains of sand bite and whipped at them. Tearing his cloak off his back, he draped the sea of material over their heads. The Arabian stallion snorted and stomped as the pillars of sand blasted through the ruin’s gaps, over and around their makeshift shelter. He buried his face in the horse’s silky neck as the sand swept by them, howling in rage at their escape.

“Nasty little critters don’t you think?”

Turning, he stumbled backwards. “Pardon?” His voice croaked from between his parched lips.

“The Ahi At-Trab.” A lock of the stranger’s albino hair fell across his tanned face, hiding one of his onyx eyes. The stranger tilted his head and stared into the wizard’s ebony eyes.

“Who are you?” He said as he superstitiously reached for his wand. Though he was confident in both his own abilities and skills, he believed in always preparing for the worst.

The stranger smiled sadly, “there’s no need for that. I have a few different names, but in these parts I’m known as Gabra’il.” The stranger said with a small bow and a warm smile, showingcasing two rows of milky white teeth.

“I’m S....”

“I know who you are, Professor.” Gabra’il said, interrupting the wizard with a wave of his hand.

“How...Who are you?”

Gabra’il chuckled, “I’ve already told you. Besides repeatable questions are beneath a wizard of your intelligence.”

“I don’t care who you are, I refused to be talked to in such a manner!” The wizard said as he brushed the sand out of the stallion’s mane. “Besides, I don’t rightly recall hearing anyone ask your opinion.” He sneered over his shoulder.

“This is going to be more difficult then I had thought.”

“What are you mumbling?” When silence was his only answer, “don’t tell me you’ve suddenly gone shy on me.” He glanced over his shoulder again, “Gabra’il?” His onyx eyes widened momentarily at the abrupt emptiness that greeted him. Sneering, he led the stallion out of the ruins as the last stray grains of sand fluttered to the ground while the imposing pillars howled in the distance.

Any student of the Dark Arts knew what the Ahi At-Trab were and he fumed at the knowledge that he had been frightened by a bedtime story. Mounting the stallion, he kicked the horse’s belly. The Arabian snorted and burst into a fluid of motion as it broke in to a gallop, tearing loose sand from the desert floor once more. Urging the horse on, they tor across the desert landscape, the Ahi At-Trab and Gabra’il almost a distant memory. He kept the stallion galloping, eager to reach his destination before nightfall, before the true terrors of the desert awakened. Short on patience, he whipped the air above the Arabian’s neck with the ends of the reigns. Gray skies threatened the wasted earth and there was still much left to do before the world of the desert night came upon them.

As the sun the sun began to sink, he could see the shadowy silhouette of the of the temple high on the mountain peak and he knew that his journey was slowly winding to an end. In the growing shadows, Gabra’il lurked and watched. “Freedom requires sacrifice, I think that it shall not befall you to pay for the cost of your sins. The unlikely paladin shall be a phoenix in the end.”

The wizard allowed his head to drop and rest against his chest as the Arabian stallion trotted towards the desert home of his order, the one place he could begin to atone for his sins and the sins yet to be committed. Though his brethren here consisted of both wizard and Muggle, he found a peace that he was unable to explain within its ancient walls. For now, Salazzar Slytherin could only se mot motion the key to the salvation of his soul and hope as he drew near the sacramental relic.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sound of crackling torches broke the silence encompassing the fathomless darkness sheltered with in the stone structure. The simplistic design of the arched ceiling brought no imagination to the minds of the inhabitants dwelling inside the antiquated sentinel overlooking the desert landscape. Cheerful strays of morning sunlight penetrated the darkness at the fabled paladins residence inside the sacred stones plastered together with blood and sweat long since dried, forgotten by th e rampages of history untold.
The soft clatter of utensils periodically ruptured the comforting silence strictly imposed. The sound of water rushing softly into the adequate wooden cups lullabied the raging beasts held within their hearts as the meal continued in peace. Five beardless sons filled the simple wooden chairs amongst fifty bearded fathers lining the long, unadorned table. Barren stone walls cradled the disciplined souls as though the mortar was a defiant guardian with untold prowess.

Upon the naked walls of the great hall, a single tapestry hung above the unusual fireplace, the light of the sparse torches gave it a mystical glow. On the black field of fabric of the pristine banner, a jesting knight of white rode atop a sculpted charger, galloping towards an unseen adversary. On the borders, encircling the scene upon the tapestry, was written three words: Sigilum Militum Xpisti.

A serene tranquility seemed to reside within the walls of the Bab-el Kebia, an Eden carved from the inferno of the forsaken terrain. A warm breeze rustled through the large branches of the shade giving trees and wound its way through the bountiful vegetation. Hand chiseled and sanded limestone lined the exterior of a shallow, circular pool of sapphire water and brightly colored koi swam lazily beneath the water’s surface as though they had no worries. A lone dark green fern waved gently in the sparse breeze, a lone leaf dipping into the cool water. To the weary eye, it was a true oasis in the barren earth.

Beetle-black eyes stared at the distant horizon, oblivious to the string of choreographed events subtly playing in the world outside the fortified walls. The gentle wind played lazily with the few strands of rebellious raven hair that had escaped the waist length braid. The pearl white robe draped comfortably over the lean frame of the body hidden beneath it.

Absorbed in the blissful realm of oblivion, he jerked as a hand fell softly on his shoulder. Turning slightly on the stone bench, a ghost of a smile slowly graced his lips without reaching his ebony eyes. “What brings an individual of your stature to wandering perilously at the mouth of Hell?”

“The same as you, I suspect.”

“Of all the sanctuaries to seek, why did the Mount appeal to you? Especially considering your preferences.”

“Come now, Septimus. I had expected a warmer reception then this from my favorite prodigy. What you are suggesting is paramount to conspiracy.” He smiled at the beardless man, fireflies dancing in his eyes as the familiar game played itself out.

“Do you believe me to be a fool, Slytherin? I wasn’t sorted into Huffelpuff, Salazaar. Septimus sneered, “what strange winds bring you to the Mediterranean?”

Stretching his legs on the bench opposite the younger wizard, “perhaps my ailments.”

Septimus snorted, “humph! Brew yourself a potion. While you’re at it, perhaps the Vertaserum as well.


“You know me so well, my young friend.” Slytherin chuckled softly as he studied the younger wizard. “The Fates have been generous to you, Septimus.”

“You’re changing the subject, Salazaar.”

“Perhaps I wished for a simple change of view.” Slytherin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Do you not miss it?”

“What?”

“England.”

“At times,” Septimus quietly admitted. “How is Severus?”

“Well, the last I saw. But at present I do not know, times have changed greatly for us. The scythe is safe for the moment.”

“It is against my brother’s nature to fail.” Septimus said, closing his eyes. “In anything.” Looking down the length of the bridge of his nose, he narrowed his eyes. “I am not some first year that can be seduced by your charm.” Raising a solemn eyebrow, “perhaps it’s time to change your tactics and tell the truth for once.”

“The truth? The truth is relevant only in the eyes of the storyteller, you know this. I taught you that much,” Slytherin spat.

“Careful, you’re beginning to echo Helga.”

“Don’t start comparing me to that fraud!”

“If the wand fits, Salazaar.”

“Are you now a soothsayer?”

“I am and always will be what I am, an instrument.” Septimus shrugged his shoulders offhandedly.

“Is that how you view yourself?”

He sighed, letting his eyes wander over the desert floor. “There is always a war, it’s an evitable as peace.” Gazing back at his companion, all traces of humor had fled his face. “Men such as myself will, can onhrivhrive during those times of conflict. In the times of peace, we are no better then a caged werewolf with the scent of blood lingering in the air.”


Slytherin’s thoughts turned inward and back to the Delphi oracle thirty years previous. He shivered involuntarily as the details of the horrific prophecy surfaced. His voice shook, “this is what has seduced from Britania’s shores?!”

Before he could reply to Slytherin’s dismayed question, the sound of a gong interrupted them. “It’s time to put this reunion on hold until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“Merlin’s bountiful mercy, don’t tell me they’ve converted you!”

Septimus chuckled softly as he stood up, his mood lightenedsidesiderably. “The spiritual aspect is quite daunting, but their discipline and military regime is admirable considering they are led by a Muggle. Perhaps you should acquire a room and spend some time amongst them. Salazaar, you may yet learn something.”

“What is your sudden obsession with Muggles?” The word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he was resolved not to reveal his fears nor his resolution, no matter how much he desired to otherwise. He sneered, “you are beginning to echo like that meddling fool Gryffindor.” Slytherin snorted as he rose to his feet next to Septimus.

“Please! I was merely suggesting that perhaps a bit of internal investigation might help you to discover a heart somewhere in that sub-zero ego of yours!” Septimus shouted, not caring that he was unleashing his anger on the only wizard he truly cared a out outside those of his blood.

“Merlin’s bloody ghost! Gryffindor and his feminine clones have gotten to you.” Slytherin turned away from him in a sudden flurry of material. “There was a time when you and I shathe the same thoughts, believed the same.”

Septimus cursed himself softly, forcing himself not yell orangrangle the older wizard. “That was a different world and another life.” He sighed, “our world is no longer painted black and white. We must find a way to heal and become as one before the damages wrought grow beyond repair.”

“So now you try and remake yourself, trying to cut out the parts that no longer fit with this new philosophy.” Slytherin said as he walked out of the illusionary oasis.

Calling after the retreating wizard, “the old ways must compromise with the new ones.” He shook his head sadly as Slytherin vanished inside the cloak of darkness inside the sanctuary’s hall. For but a moment, he had managed to delude himself into seeing that he had broken a hole in the wizard’s defenses. But the crack that he thought had been there, had quickly been sealed again. “I fear your prejudices and the petty rivalries you’ve promoted in the House will have repercussions we cannot know, long after we are but dust collecting on some bookshelf.” In the end, all he could do was hope for the best and stay the course before him.

FINI


A/N
This piece was written in response to a review left on Fire & Ice: Seeds. Preda translates from Latin to “war”. Sigilum Militum Xpisti translates from Latin to “Seal of the Army of Christ”