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Author: KEDme Story: Shadow of the Serpent Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 12 Words: 224,869
Harry opened his eyes groggily to bright sunlight, and immediately closed them again. His head felt as if it would split in two at any moment. He could not remember feeling so weak in his whole life. It was as if he had been hit with several stunners and the Cruciatus Curse all at once. He struggled to remember what had happened. The last clear memory he had was of sitting on the bench in the park with someone. But who had it been? Harry racked his aching brain and finally came up with a person he had not expected – Claire Smith. She had been talking about her parents' divorce, and then… then… what had happened next? The effort to think was causing the dull ache in his temple to become a sharp throb. As a result, he decided it might be better to think about this later, when he didn't feel as if his head would explode. He let out a small groan and attempted to open his eyes again, fully expecting to see his small bedroom on Privet Drive, complete with Hedwig's cage and all his messy piles of clothes strewn about all over the floor. Cautiously, he opened one eye and spied his glasses on the small bedside table. He put them on, then carefully sat up and surveyed his surroundings, which were nothing like his room at the Dursleys'. The room was totally unfamiliar – light and airy, with bright stone walls, a stone floor, several throw rugs, and almost no decoration. The bed he was lying on was simple, made of some kind of feathers, and very soft with a down-filled pillow. He was not covered with a blanket, but he saw one lying nearby. It was made up of vibrant colours of turquoise blue, orange, green, yellow, and red with white dispersed evenly throughout the design. The blanket was unusual, not only because it was completely different from anything Harry had ever seen, but because it was the only bit of decoration in the entire room besides the curtains covering the window, which were made of a similar pattern and material. Besides the bed and bedside table, there was a bare table and two straight-back chairs. He was dressed differently, too. He noticed he was not wearing a shirt, but had on tan trousers that were made of a light, cotton material. They were loose-fitting, tied with a drawstring, and similar to pyjamas - suitable for wearing out and about in a tropical environment as well as sleeping in. This place obviously was tropical, judging from the distant sounds of the ocean, cawing birds, and the oppressive heat. He looked around and spotted a cotton robe that was more of a tunic, lying over one of the chairs. It appeared to be designed to be worn as a shirt, but it was long and flowing, coming to about his upper thigh. He unsteadily got out of bed and slipped it on reluctantly, thinking it was better than nothing. He also donned a pair of sandals he found near the door of the room, which fit him perfectly, to his surprise. Walking over to the window, he caught a glimpse of the clear blue sky, a distant palm tree, and the sandy shore beyond. Definitely tropical, he thought grimly, wondering where he was, exactly. Harry wondered briefly if he could have been kidnapped by Death Eaters, but dismissed the notion almost as soon as it entered his head. The place didn't feel confining – the window was little more than an open hole in the wall covered by a curtain – and his instincts told him he was not in immediate danger. Whoever had brought him here may not be a friend, but they didn't mean him harm, either. He doubted Death Eaters would allow him the luxury of a feather bed. Suddenly, the sound of movement from outside the closed door had him scrambling to find his wand. He was frantically searching the area by the bed when the door was flung open and a man entered. Harry's first impression of Stephen Hunter was awe. He stood about six feet tall with sandy-brown hair, a deep golden tan, and a solid physique that screamed power. He stood quietly, surveying the scene in front of him with keen, blue eyes that seemed to drink in every inch of the room, including its occupant. Harry had the feeling that he was being tested, and he immediately straightened up and looked back with a defiant glare. While he didn't feel threatened – the man had neither a wand nor a weapon visible – he felt a need to stand tall and meet his cool gaze head-on. He wanted answers and the person standing in front of him was going to give them. His head was still pounding, however, and he struggled to remain steady on his feet without supporting himself. The man noticed Harry's difficulty. "For Merlin's sake, lie down before you fall over! You shouldn't be out of bed yet, anyway," he said gruffly. Harry bristled at the sound of the man's harsh voice. It sounded too much like Uncle Vernon for his liking. However, his next comment was more to Harry's liking, as it sounded more civil and gave the appearance of concern. "The potion is affecting your equilibrium and I'd wager you have a pissing good headache, too. Use some common sense and lie back down." Grudgingly, Harry complied, mostly because he had no choice. He knew if he didn't sit down soon he'd fall over, and that would be plain embarrassing. Friend or enemy – he refused to let this man see him fall on his arse. "W-who are you?" Harry managed to say between clenched teeth. "W-where am I?" "Name's Hunter. Stephen Hunter," he said in a clipped voice that was definitely English. He paused, obviously looking for a reaction from Harry. When he didn't get one, he continued. "You're on the island of Tlilli Tlapalla." Harry waited for him to continue, but the man remained silent. With growing irritation, he retorted sharply, although it pained him, "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" "Apparently not," Hunter said dryly, with a hint of amusement. "I suppose my reputation must be dying down. Good to know," he with unmasked satisfaction. "I hate the whole celebrity business, anyway. Not like I ever asked to be famous. It's one commodity I can live without." He moved to the table and sat down in the chair, facing Harry. "Yeah," Harry scoffed, thinking of all his trouble with the media, especially Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet. "I know what you mean." Narrowing his eyes, he winced and put a hand over them to shield them from the sun. "OK, so now I know your name, but who are you and why am I here? What happened?" "You don't know?" Hunter said incredulously. Harry shook his head, his green eyes darkened dangerously and his jaw set. He hated feeling ignorant and stupid. It seemed he was fated to never know the details about his own life, and that made his temper rise. Not only did he not know where he was, he thought in barely suppressed rage and frustration, but he couldn't remember anything after the park bench and Claire Smith. He had some fuzzy recollections and images, but they didn't make sense and his head hurt too badly to try to sort it out. Hunter sighed heavily. He seemed agitated, but Harry couldn't understand why. "Still the same old Dumbledore, I see," Hunter muttered bitterly to himself. "Still playing God with other people's lives. Making decisions that impact others without consulting them." Even though Harry tended to agree with Hunter on some level and had been thinking the same thing himself just seconds earlier, he didn't like hearing the man speak ill of his Headmaster. Dumbledore may not be perfect, but he had kept Harry alive all these years. He deserved some respect. "Albus Dumbledore is a great wizard!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "I don't appreciate hearing you insult-" he yelped suddenly from pain, his head throbbing violently. He thought he might retch, it hurt so horribly, but his anger usurped the pain. Hunter chuckled with amusement, which only made Harry angrier. "I see he has a loyal fan in you, my boy. I'd expect nothing less from James's son." Harry opened his eyes and stared at him in surprise. For a moment he forgot to be angry. "Y-you knew my Dad?" he asked cautiously. "Yes, Harry, I knew your father. He was a fine man and a good friend. He… saved my life once," Hunter said in a sad, stiff voice. "How?" Harry asked with trepidation. Was this another example of his father doing something stupid and then later regretting it, like with Snape? "That's a story for another time," Hunter said shortly. Seeing Harry's temper begin to stir, he added with an exasperated sigh. "But I see that won't be good enough, will it?" He took a deep breath. "Without going into great detail, your parents and I went to school together for a few years. We were all in the Order of the Phoenix back when Voldemort was around the first time." Through his pain, it registered that Hunter had said the name without fear or hesitation. He supposed that was a good sign…he hoped. Harry waited patiently for him to continue. With hesitation, Hunter seemed to pick his words carefully. When he spoke, he spoke slowly but with obvious respect. "Your father was a brave man, Harry. He always thought about everyone else first, especially in the heat of battle. He was a true Gryffindor. It's a pity you never got the chance to know him." "Y-you went to Hogwarts?" Harry squeaked as he laid his head back down, choosing to ignore the man's last comment. He didn't want to think about his father now. "You were in the Order of the Phoenix?" he managed, feeling light-headed. He felt as if he might pass out. The whole room was spinning and he closed his eyes tightly, willing it to stop before he became ill. "Yes, to both, but it was a long time ago. I was in Gryffindor a few years ahead of your parents." Harry thought it might be his imagination, but Hunter's voice seemed to crack a little. It was as if he were revisiting something he hadn't thought about for a very long time. "I was Quidditch Captain when your dad joined the team," he said in a far off voice. Harry had the impression that Hunter had forgotten he was even there. Hunter chuckled softly to himself. "James was an excellent Chaser! Mariah always said he should've gone pro," the man said softly. "We trounced Slytherin good that year, too!" Hunter looked over at the boy on the bed, jerking himself out of his nostalgia. "But enough about that…. How are you feeling?" He frowned and studied the boy's pale face. "Harry?" he said curiously when he did not receive and answer. Harry tried to focus on the words, but he was drifting in and out of consciousness. His heart was telling him he might be able to learn to trust this man who was a Gryffindor and who used to be friends with his father. He had known his parents... and he didn't seem like a Death Eater, as far as he could tell. A faint, snake-like voice inside his head whispered seductively, 'Petttigrew wass a Gryfffindor, too, Haarrry. He wass your father'ss besst friendd…You don'tt know thiss Sstephenn Hunntterr. Why sshould we trusstt himmm?' Harry thought he heard the man yelling for someone, but it was difficult to tell. He really was very tired…. Maybe he'd just keep his eyes closed and rest. He was too tired to listen to the man or the snake right now. If he could just sleep, then they'd all go away and he'd have some peace…. Yes, sleep was what he needed…. Maybe he'd dream… nice… dreams… about Ginny… Gratefully, his head lulled back and he surrendered to the darkness. *** Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. The boy was tougher than he looked, that was certain. He should never have been able to get out of bed on his own this soon. The fact that he had, unassisted, and even held an intelligent conversation was astounding. Luckily Chuen had been able to work her magic and stabilise him once again after he passed out. This time, Hunter thought grimly, with any luck the boy should sleep until the potion truly worked its way out of his system. Harry had several things working against him, as far as he could tell. The potion Voldemort had slipped him was enough to render a grown man incompetent for a good long time. However, the fools from the Order had compounded the damage by giving Harry a sedative to knock him out and keep him incapacitated indefinitely. The two potions did not mix well; they were never intended to be used together. It was truly a wonder the boy wasn't dead. By all rights, he should have been. Looking down at the sleeping teenager, Stephen felt a mixture of emotions. His own son, Adam, would have been about this age, had he survived. Usually he avoided thinking about Mariah and Adam. Doing so only increased the intensity of his anger at the injustice of their deaths. His fist clenched and his jaw tightened at the mere thought of them. Hunter remembered the day that Mariah had told him she was pregnant. He had been working as an Auror for both the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, and was rarely home. Voldemort was growing stronger by the day and the number of his supporters was at an all time high. That, alone, kept him away most of the day and sometimes into the wee hours of the night. Mariah was finishing her training as a Healer and was just as busy. The addition of a baby complicated their lives. It was a complication they could not afford. Once the shock wore off and they had time to get used to the idea, however, their whole attitude changed. By the time Adam came along, he was the focus of their whole world. Both cut back on their hours and work and made the family their priority. He remembered rushing through his work just so he could get home early to spend a few precious hours with his wife and son. It was the normal, mundane things like feeding and bathing the baby and then watching him sleep that he enjoyed the most. He loved to watch him sleep…. A door somewhere in Hunter's mind slammed shut. He refused to think about the past any longer. The past was gone. It was never coming back. Voldemort and Dumbledore had seen to that. Hunter vowed that whatever it took, someone would pay. * Harry's body was bathed in a bright, warm light. The light seemed to be white, but at the same time it contained all the colours of the rainbow and was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. He felt safe inside the light- and freer than he could ever remember feeling. It was as if a heavy weight had been holding him down and now he was suddenly let loose. The feeling was intoxicating and wonderful. He was flying! Briefly he wondered if he was in Heaven. Suddenly the light faded and he found himself lying on his back in a garden full of indescribable beauty. He rose up and looked around. Off in the distance, he could make out the silhouette of an inviting little cottage with a quaint stone walkway winding up to it. Along the walk were flowers and fragrant herbs, lush carpets of grass, and sprawling trees with wide canopies of green leaves. The temperature was just right. It was somewhere between hot and cold- a perfect balance of the two. A gentle breeze blew in from the east, tickling his skin and ruffling his already dishevelled mop of hair. He breathed in the clean, crisp air and filled his lungs to capacity, then slowly exhaled. Everything here felt perfect and strangely familiar. He walked up the lane to the cottage and the door swung open of its own accord. Harry looked around and he instantly felt at home. The interior was as warm and inviting as the exterior. He was just admiring the large stone fireplace when a shadow fell on the doorway. Harry spun around and his heart did a flip. It was Ginny. "Harry!" she said excitedly. "You're here!" She looked as if she had been there awhile. Her hands were full of flowers and she had tucked a few in her long, curly hair which was tied up messily with a white ribbon. The effect was both whimsical and attractive. Harry's heart beat rapidly in his chest and he found himself afraid to move, lest he wake up and find her gone. "Aren't you going to say hello, Harry?" she asked in a curious voice that was both sweet and sultry. She moved closer, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Hello, Harry," he mumbled awkwardly as he took a tentative step towards her, hardly daring to believe she was really there. She reached up and smacked him playfully. "You prat!" she giggled. Feeling the contact, Harry knew it wasn't a dream. "Ginny?" he asked, slightly dazed. "Is it really you?" She nodded fiercely. He pulled her close to him awkwardly and held her tight, afraid that if he let go, she would disappear and he would be all alone. "Merlin, I missed you!" he exclaimed through her hair. Suddenly he pulled back and looked at her suspiciously. "Is this real? One minute I was on a park bench in Surrey, then I wake up in a strange room with someone who claimed to know my parents and a splitting headache, and now I'm here with you. Do you know what's going on?" "Well," she said slowly, looking at him seriously. "Sort of… but I'm really not certain," she began, pursing her lips as if debating whether to continue. She turned away from him and busied herself with finding a vase to put the flowers in. Harry sat down at the counter that separated the kitchen area from the open living room. "Ginny…" he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. He could tell she was hiding something important from him. "Just tell me what it is you think is going on." She stopped and looked towards him, wide-eyed at his tone, but not cowering in fear. Making up her mind, she whispered, "I heard Mum and Dad talking… something about taking you away where you'd be safe and get the help you needed to be able to fight V-Voldemort off. I didn't get to hear much more than that because Mum's on to the extendable ears." She made a face. "I now have kitchen duty for a week," she said, grumpily, being a bit rougher with the flowers than necessary. She took a deep, calming breath and continued with her story, still making a pointed effort not to look at him directly. To Harry, she seemed uncertain about something, like she was trying to make up her mind how much to tell him. "It was late so I decided to go to bed. The last thing I remember was going to sleep and wishing desperately that I could, uh… see you," she said, biting her bottom lip in what he was discovering was the way she showed her nervousness. Trying to change the subject, she asked, "What was the last thing you remember?" "Dunno- let me think a minute…" Harry said, trying to remember where he had been and what he had been doing just before he arrived. He was silent for a moment before he continued. "I was talking to this man – Hunter, he said his name was – and I remember I had a splitting headache. Then I felt dizzy and sick and there was this voice in my head. I-I must have passed out." He furrowed his brow and concentrated. "I remember wanting to go to sleep so that I could dream… about, er, you," he said, blushing furiously as he stammered through the last part. A sudden thought clicked in his mind. "This has something to do with what happened the other night, doesn't it?" he said. "You said it was called dreamwalking. Is that what we're doing, do you think?" Ginny nodded. "Probably. From the little I know of the talent, it very rarely happens like this, though. Usually the witch or wizard needs physical contact. But there have been instances when two people who… uh… who s-share a deep bond and possess a great deal of magical power, can share dreams without physical contact." She too was turning a pretty shade of pink and refused to meet Harry's gaze. Harry felt that it was as good an explanation as any. He didn't understand why Ginny should be embarrassed. "Whatever caused it, Ginny, I'm just glad that we're here." Looking around, he added, "Where ever here is." Ginny blushed again, but did not shirk away from him. "I can solve that mystery. When I was younger and I fancied you, I used to imagine what our house might be like if we ever married. This is it. I think I was dreaming about us and… well…." She turned away and refused to look at him. He could see that she was very embarrassed and wanted to put her mind at ease. It really was a lovely house, very homey and comfortable. Harry had that strange feeling again… like he'd been here before. He felt so safe here, like nothing bad could enter into this house as long as they were there together. Walking around, he made a show of inspecting it before he turned to her and smiled. "I think it's brilliant, Ginny," he said truthfully. Ginny grinned back, looking as pleased as if he had just given her a million galleons. "Wait a minute…" he said, suddenly growing serious. She began to look worried as he walked over to her and stood in front of her face, looking down at her earnestly. "Did you just say, 'when you fancied me' a minute ago? Does that mean you don't fancy me anymore? Because, if you don't fancy me anymore, Ginny Weasley, I think I deserve to know before I get my heart broken." His face twisted in a teasing smile. "Hmmm," Ginny said coyly, leaning closer to him so that they were almost nose to nose. She was so close to him, Harry could feel her breath tickling his cheek. "Then I haven't done a good enough job of showing you how I feel, have I? I suppose I'll have to do something about that, won't I?" "I suppose you will," Harry said softly just before their lips met in a sweet kiss that deepened almost instantly. Harry felt more alive than he'd ever felt in his whole life. It was pure bliss. He wanted it to go on forever, to never let it end; yet, at the same time, he realised that they needed to slow down. Reluctantly, he broke apart from the red-headed temptress who was causing havoc with his emotions. Somehow, he could sense his own feelings mirrored in hers, and this scared him slightly. It brought to mind an issue he had wanted to discuss with her since last week. "Ginny, how is it – I mean, why… er…" he stumbled, before trying again. Placing her hand over his heart, he asked, "Do you feel that?" She nodded, looking serious and scared all at once. Harry could feel the waves of emotion rolling off of her. There were so many feelings flying about, he had a difficult time naming them or knowing if the feeling belonged to him or her. It felt as if her emotions were tangled with his, and they were all jumbled together creating one confusing entity. At the same time, as scary as it was, Harry felt closer to her than he had ever felt to any other person in his whole life. If he closed his eyes, he imagined that they were one person. "How is it that I can feel your emotions almost as strongly as I can feel my own?" he asked in wonder. "It's our bond," Ginny said quietly. Seeing his questioning look and feeling his confusion, she tried to explain. "When a witch and wizard bond, it's as if they become one person. The closer they are, the more their auras become intertwined. Sometimes, they can almost seem to communicate without words - a kind of telepathy, but more basic. From what Mum says, feeling someone else's emotions can almost seem like mind-reading at times. The closer they feel, both in proximity and spiritually, the stronger the bond. It's not uncommon, really. Even Muggles have been known to bond, although not to the degree witches and wizards do." She pulled away and he felt her self-doubt and hesitation. Something was troubling her. "What's the matter, Ginny?" he asked, worriedly. "Did I do something wrong?" She shot him a look and he felt her annoyance. "No!" she exclaimed softly. "I- It's just… hard to explain." She sighed. "Bonds are complicated, Harry. No two are alike. The fact that we bonded so quickly, just… scares me." Harry felt her frustration as she balled her fists into tight knots. "I mean, how is it that we can know each other for years, and then in one night go from friendly acquaintances to life bonded? It's strange, don't you think?" Through the aggravation, Harry felt her fear and… something else. Wistfulness? Hope? "Maybe," Harry said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "maybe before, it wasn't the right time." She snorted loudly. "How do you figure that?" she asked, doubtfully. "Well," Harry said, "maybe we needed to grow up a bit before we recognised what was in front of our faces all along." She smiled and Harry felt some of her negative emotions dissipate. They were replaced by amusement. "Maybe you needed to grow up a bit before you recognised what was right in front of your face, Mr. Potter. I seem to recall knowing we were destined for each other from a very early age!" She raised her eyebrow in challenge. He adopted her light tone and set aside his questions. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ginny, I'm not that clever when it comes to girls." Ginny heartily agreed, earning her a retaliatory tickle session that had each of them breathless and snogging each other senseless in the end. From that point on, they made a silent but mutual agreement to let the issue die for now and just enjoy their time together. All too soon it was over. ***
Hours later he awoke to the sound of beating drums. His body felt heavy and cumbersome once again and his body still ached. At first he thought his head was still pounding as well, but as awareness overtook him he realised the pounding was coming from outside. Once again he fumbled for his glasses and shoved themon his face. He noticed that his head was not hurting nearly as badly as it had earlier, although the drums were not exactly helping.
Harry had never heard drums quite like these. It reminded him of an old BBC documentary his class had once been shown back in primary school. It soundedtribal and the beat was steady and rhythmic.
Part of him wanted to stay in bed and return to his wonderful dream of Ginny. He could still feel her presence, and for a moment he allowed himself to revel in it. The beating of the drums, however, served as a reminder that he was still in a predicament- he had no idea where he was, or why. Who was this Stephen Hunter, and what were those drums? Where were they coming from?
Curiosity finally won over comfort as he stumbled out of bed and slipped on the same sandals he had worn earlier. Someone must have taken them off, he realised, because they were once again by the door.
Creeping quietly out the wooden door into a dark courtyard, he took stock of his surroundings. The structure of the building seemed to be square, with the middle open to a small garden. His room was halfway down the left side of the corridor and there appeared to be an opening up ahead which led to the outside.
As he approached the breezeway, he could see the glow of a bright light against the night sky. The drumming was coming from outside the house and, as he approached, he heard voices chanting and singing in some foreign language that was like nothing he had ever heard before.
What Harry saw when he cleared the breezeway took his breath away. Spread out before him was a vast, ancient city of stone. Small square houses and larger buildings dotted the landscape. Most impressive of all was an enormous pyramid-like structure that seemed to be at the centre of the city. It was, by far, taller than any other structure around - over 400 feet tall - and had at least five distinct levels. At the apex of the structure, a flat surface served as a base for an ornate stone building. Various carvings and statues adorned the various levels, and a wide column of narrow stairs cascaded down the front like a waterfall. Harry had never seen anything like it before in his life.
Harry followed the beat of the drums to a nearby structure, which appeared to be an arena of some sort. The arena was magically lit to illuminate the grassy playing field, which was shaped like a large capital I. Spectator stands stood on either side of the arena and were filled to capacity with people.
The natives were some of the most curious people Harry had ever seen. Looking at them all bunched together in the arena, Harry was flabbergasted. Hundreds of dark-skinned people dressed in skimpy tribal clothing filled the stone stands. They wore elaborate gold jewellery - even nose rings - and painted their faces with odd white, yellow, red, and black face-paint. Three large men wearing tribal masks and body paint, as well as elaborate, colourful costumes and large feather headdresses, stood in the middle of the arena beating drums and chanting.
The people sat silent in anticipation, watching the ceremony with reverence. Harry was able to identify Hunter sitting apart among a group of the most finely dressed natives. These appeared to be nobles or leaders of some sort. He was dressed in Western-style clothing suitable for the tropical environment - khaki jungle shorts, a white t-shirt, a khaki over-vest and boots. He was sitting up straight and giving his full attention to the drummers, but Harry had the distinct impression that he was aware of everything in his surroundings.
Sure enough, he turned his head slightly and looked Harry straight in the eye in such a way that it seemed he had hardly moved. Hunter’s blue eyes bore into Harry and sent an unmistakable message - don’t move or make a sound. Harry was too overwhelmed to do either. He stood silently in the shadows, waiting to see what would happen next.
He didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly, the beating stopped and all eyes shifted to the man sitting on Hunter’s right. The native, an old man though still in the prime of his life and dressed in a fine silk toga with gold sandals and golden jewellery, stood up slowly and said something in his native tongue. He then clapped his hands once, and the people in the crowd began to call out and click their tongues in anticipation.
The old man, whom Harry assumed was the king or chief, held up his hands for silence and the crowd immediately stilled. It was so quiet Harry was sure that someone might hear him breathing. He stood frozen in fear, hiding in the shadows.
Harry watched in amazement as the chief began to rub his hands together. Faster and faster his hand went, creating friction and something else. A bright blue flame began to form around the chief’s hands. The faster he rubbed, the brighter the flame became until Harry could no longer see the man’s hands through the glow. It was one of the brightest lights Harry could ever remember seeing. So bright was it, that it seemed white now, instead of the original blue. He resisted the urge to throw his hands over his eyes but found himself squinting from the brightness.
Suddenly, the man threw the light high up in the air where it exploded, causing the crowd to gasp in delight as a thousand fragments lit up the night sky. They seemed to sparkle and glow, not unlike Fred and George’s Catherine Wheels from the previous year, except a hundred times brighter and more beautiful. Harry found himself gasping in awe along with the crowd.
When he looked back at the arena, the drummers had disappeared. In their place stood two tall, well-built men dressed in little more than loincloths. Both men bowed ceremoniously to the chief who nodded to them in approval, and then - to Harry’s surprise - they turned to Hunter and bowed again. Hunter did not stand, but also acknowledged them with a curt nod of approval.
The chief clapped his hands again and a ball about the size of a Quaffle magically appeared at the men’s feet. A third man, whom Harry had not noticed before, walked up from the sidelines and picked up the ball. He too, turned and bowed to first the chief, and then Hunter, in much the same way the other two had.
Again the chief and Hunter returned the courtesy with nods of approval. A cheer went up from the crowd as the chief took his seat and the players took their positions at opposite ends of the court. The man with the ball - who appeared to be the referee - stood in the middle and waited for the crowd to calm.
During all this, Harry saw Hunter lean in slightly and speak to the chief softly. He did this so subtly that if Harry hadn’t been watching closely, he might have easily missed the exchange. Harry saw the chief’s eyes widen and his head jerk up in surprise. To his great shock the chief looked directly at him and, just as the referee was about to throw the ball into play, he let out a sharp call that sounded a great deal like stop!
Every eye in the arena turned and the silence was deafening. It was clear that this was a very unusual occurrence. The people in the stands stood or looked around, gaping at the chief in fear and reverence and clearly wondering what was happening.
He turned to the shadows where Harry was hiding, trying to be as still and inconspicuous as possible. To his horror, the man made a beckoning motion with his hand. It was obvious to Harry that his cover was blown - he had no choice but to come out of the shadows.
Wondering what was to happen next, Harry cautiously moved into the light, silently cursing himself for not taking the time to look for his wand before he left the relative safety of his room. Upon seeing him, the crowd gasped and began to murmur among themselves, some pointing and covering their mouths in surprise.
Harry was not sure what to do. Should he run and hide, or face this situation like a Gryffindor? He had no guarantees of his safety either way, but running away seemed the smarter choice.
Glancing at Stephen, he saw the older man silently giving him a signal to do what the chief wanted and come forward. Hesitating only a moment, Harry stuck out his chin determinedly and stepped out onto the field, making his way towards Hunter and the chief.
He tried not to look at the people in the crowd as he passed, and kept his eyes glued on the man who claimed to know his father. He put his trust in this connection and hoped that it would be enough to see him through. All the while, the dull ache in his head continued to throb painfully. He could feel the snake begin to stir and he willed himself to not lose control.
Harry stopped at the bottom of the stands and looked up at the chief, who was standing and looking down at him steadfastly. The old man seemed to be sizing up the slight teenager with the pale face, jet black hair, and bright emerald eyes set determinedly behind the strange round spectacles.
On impulse Harry felt the need to show the chief respect. After all, if he was greeting the Queen, he’d behave in a courteous and respectful manner, wouldn’t he? Making his decision, he immediately dropped into a slight bow in imitation of what he had witnessed earlier.
This seemed to greatly please the chief and his people, who let out a delighted laugh. He turned to Hunter and said something in a language Harry could not understand. Stephen understood perfectly, though, and rose to address Harry.
“Mr. Potter,” he said in a stiff, formal voice. “The great chief, Tecuhtl, would like to welcome you to the island of Tlilli Tlapalla. He requests that you stay and watch the ball game, an ancient sport that dates back to the time before the evil Spaniards came with their guns and diseases and conquered the people of Mesoamerica. He hopes that you will be pleased by the level of competition, for it is a highly anticipated match between two very talented players.”
“I-I’m… sure… alright," he said, making up his mind. "Please tell him that I would be happy to accept his invitation,” Harry said in what he hoped was a respectful voice.
Stephen nodded curtly and turned to relay the message. Harry could see the chief curl his lips in a smile that clearly showed how pleased he was with the exchange. He said something to the man on his right, who scampered out of his seat. Everyone along the row shifted down, bumping out the last man in the aisle, who looked disgruntled but abided without question. This made a vacancy for Harry to sit next to the chief on his right-hand side.
Harry had the feeling this was a place of honour, and felt a wave of panic overtake him. He had no idea what to do now. The seat was high up, and he couldn’t see how he was to get there without causing a great disturbance in the surrounding crowd.
He was saved from embarrassment by the chief, who clapped his hands and sent a stair-like carpet down to him. Shakily, Harry clambered up them with as much grace as he could, given the circumstances and the hundreds of eyes on him. He managed to reach the top without tripping or making a fool of himself, and sat down to watch the ball game. ***
Harry had to admit that the ball game was very exciting. The object of the game was to get the ball into one of two stone hoops attached to the walls of the stadium, thus winning the game. The thing was, players were not allowed to actually touch the ball. They had to continually keep the ball in the air using their magic or body (other than their hands) as a sort of paddle and if a player let the ball drop, the other side got a point. The chief, through Stephen’s translation, told him that play would continue until one person earned 100 points, or until someone scored a goal.
It was a very physical and dangerous game. The players had a difficult time keeping the ball in the air due to the number of hexes and curses being hurled at each other. Harry was very impressed because neither seemed to be using a wand - the magic was totally wandless. Harry supposed that was why the spells being thrown were not especially complicated or powerful. They were bothersome, however, but both players seemed able to reverse the effects rather quickly.
He found himself rooting for one of the players in particular, who continually made save after save, sometimes against all odds. He was a fierce competitor and the majority of the crowd seemed taken with him. The number of “oos” and “awws” increased as the game got more heated.
Only the chief remained impassive, and Harry found himself becoming slightly irritated when he did not react in the slightest after one particularly spectacular save. He began to wonder if the man even wanted to be here. It almost seemed as if he were bored with the spectacular performances.
Finally, the game was over. The clearly superior ballplayer put the ball through the hoop after dodging a particularly nasty hex using a series of gymnastic moves and defensive techniques, which had the crowd on their feet in unbridled excitement.
Both players were breathing hard but grinning wildly, as they walked up and slapped each other on the backs jovially in good-natured sportsmanship. They then made their way to the part of the arena just below where Harry, Hunter, and Tecuhtl sat, bowing low with their eyes downcast and waiting for acknowledgement.
Harry held his breath as Tecuhtl stood gravely and addressed the athletes. Hunter translated for him in a quiet voice.
“My sons… the great god, Quetzalcoatl, is surely pleased with your performances tonight.” He paused before addressing the younger player who had lost, aware that Hunter was translating and allowing him to catch up.
“Chac, you played with heart and that shows your true character. Though you did not win, your attitude towards your brother who bettered you is most gracious. This is the mark of a true nobleman.”
Turning to the winner, Tecuhtl allowed himself a tight smile. “Tlaloc, your talent on the ball field is beyond reproach. You have pleased the Gods tonight and they have shown favour on you. Your brother’s fate now lies in your hands.”
Harry was confused about the last bit. What did the chief mean, Chac's fate was in Tlaloc's hands? He was about to ask Hunter when his question was answered. Tlaloc spoke, again with Hunter acting as translator. “May Chac live a long and prosperous life,” the native said with a bow. Did that mean the winner decided the loser's fate? He made a mental note to ask Hunter later.
Tecuhtl smiled a toothy smile. He said something grandly, which was promptly interpreted by Hunter.
“So be it, my son. You are blessed among warriors for your mercy. Choose your reward, Honoured One.”
Tlaloc spoke again. “I ask only one thing, my great chief…" he said, pausing for Hunter. It seemed he wanted Harry to understand this and was waiting for Hunter's translation.
"I ask for the hand of your daughter, Masaya, to be my wife so that I might truly be your son,” Tlaloc said boldly. The crowd gasped upon hearing the request.
Hunter's voice was tight as he translated. Harry saw the chief stiffened and his eyes widened. He looked very angry. “You know very well, Tlaloc that Masaya is promised to another” he said in what sounded like a stern voice. Hunter voice was also clipped as he interpreted the words for Harry.
Hunter was growing distracted as his attention was focused on the matter at hand. Harry noticed that he seemed to be restraining himself from intervening in the conversation. Whatever was happening was obviously not usual. He had to tug on Hunter's sleeve to remind him to translate.
A few more exchanges - some of which Harry only half heard - flew between the pair. At one point Harry saw Tlaloc turn his eyes on him coldly and he shivered. Why was the warrior looking at him like that? He wondered if he had done something to offend the athlete. It was Tecuhtl, after all, that Tlaloc should be looking at. He was the one denying the warrior's request. Harry returned the stare coolly, waiting to see what would happen next.
An angry flow of words erupted from Tlaloc.
"What's he saying?" Harry asked Hunter, who had forgotten to translate again.
“He's saying that Masaya's intended has not proven himself worthy,” Hunter said distractedly. He listened to the exchange intently while the crowd waited with bated breath. Harry found himself growing more frustrated.
“Masaya-” Hunter said, but he abruptly cut off what he was about to say, and attempted to speak to the chief. He hadn't said two words when Tecuhtl began speaking very fast and very angrily.
"The chief is reprimanding Tlaloc for his audacity. He's telling him that the Gods’ patience grows very thin with such insolence,” Hunter whispered to Harry behind Tecuhtl's back.
Tlaloc bowed and spoke in a calmer voice. “He's asking Tecuhtl for forgiveness. He says that his great love for Masaya and her family makes him say crazy things. He only wants what’s best for those he loves,” Hunter translated.
Tlaloc continued to look down at the ground in submission but Harry could see the warrior's cold, brown eyes harden with resolve. It made him doubt the man's sincerity. The young man didn’t seem the sort to submit without a fight.
The chief seemed satisfied with Tlaloc's subservience, however. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief as he translated Tecuhtl's next words. “He's telling Tlaloc that he is forgiven, but to please not try the patience of the Gods further. He's asking him again what he would like as a reward for such an excellent performance.”
Tlaloc looked up and met Harry’s interested but cool gaze. Hunter's words barely registered as he translated.
“I request a challenge between-” Hunter suddenly cut off the translation and began speaking angrily in the language of the natives. Harry had an uneasy feeling that whatever they were discussing had something do with him.
“What’s he saying?” Harry hissed to Hunter insistently.
Hunter ignored him and continued to converse with the chief and Tlaloc heatedly.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked again.
Whatever was being said was getting the crowd very agitated. Harry felt angry being the only one not privy to the conversation taking place around him. The snake inside him began to rise in response. He thought his head might split open any second as the pain returned worse than ever.
“What’s happening!” he yelled through gritted teeth. He was trying to fight the effects of the snake but the hissing was getting louder. He was trying not to listen, but was finding it more and more difficult to ignore the voice in his head.
“They are plotting to hurrrt you…,” it hissed threateningly. “You neeed mee to take controllll… I can ssstop them, Harrryyy. I can sssave you…. Do it now, beefore it'sss too laatte, Harrryyy!” it said sharply.
“Noooo!” Harry yelled, clutching his head and doubling over in pain. “Go away!" he screamed. "I don’t need you!”
The crowd was in an uproar now. “Harry!” Stephen yelled over the noise. “What’s wrong?”
Harry thought he heard genuine concern in his voice. “Make… him… stop!” Harry panted in anguish. “Please… make him… go away!”
Hunter turned to Tecuhtl and said something indistinguishable. The chief clapped his hands and immediately two extremely large guards appeared on either side of Tlaloc and seized him.
Tlaloc tried to struggled, but the guards had his wrists in a death-grip and he was unable to move. A third guard appeared and slipped a thin, golden rope around Tlaloc’s midriff, binding his arms to his sides so that he was powerless. They dragged him away, kicking and screaming things that sounded like threats or angry warnings. The crowd grew silent, waiting to see what Tecuhtl would do.
Hunter was livid. He couldn’t believe what Tlaloc had tried to do. He was about to address the matter with Tecuhtl but Tlaloc's opponent had concerns of his own.
All through the proceedings, Chac had stood wide-eyed, watching the exchange with something akin to shock. Now he spoke quietly for the first time.
“Father, what will you do to him?” Hunter heard him ask fearfully. He knew that Chac and Tlaloc were very close - almost like brothers. It made this disgrace all the more bitter.
“Tlaloc will be punished for his insolence. But it is for the Gods to decide his punishment,” Tecuhtl said bitterly. Using a slightly kinder tone he added, “Chac, go to your sister and see that she does not intervene on Tlaloc’s behalf. He must face his punishment like a man and a warrior.”
“Yes, father,” Chac said obediently, bowing before he Disapparated.
Tecuhtl turned to address Stephen, who had moved to Harry's side and was trying to sooth the suffering boy.
"Will he be alright?" he asked with concern.
Hunter nodded after a quick examination. "I believe this might be a side effect of the potions he was given. Tlaloc's behaviour was only the catalyst. But the boy has greater problems than Tlaloc, Your Highness," he reminded him.
Tecuhtl looked sullen. "Yes," he agreed. "I will deal with Tlaloc myself," he said firmly. With a wave of his hand, he too disappeared.
This whole exchange sufficiently distracted Harry, who was feeling rather ill. He fought to keep his wits about him and not lose consciousness. The snake was beginning to recoil and Harry found the pain easing.
He and Stephen left by way of the back soon after, in order to avoid the crowds that were milling about and chattering excitedly. All through the walk home Harry pondered everything he had seen. Stephen seemed just as distracted and did not volunteer any explanations, which was just as well since Harry was too knackered to ask for any. He had a feeling there would be plenty of time for that later when his head wasn’t hurting. He needed time to process all this new information before he confronted Stephen.
Tomorrow, he thought wearily, he would get some answers.
Pronunciation guide: Tlilli Tlapalla: t-lil-li t-lap-a-la
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