The Seers' Truth: A Broken Beginning

Chapter 20

Dancing is an Out of Body Experience

As they approached the Slytherin Table in the Great Hall for lunch, Edward came forward to meet them. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I was looking for you."

"We were at Hufflepuff. Making tee shirts," Samara replied opening her robe to show him her handiwork.

"You are never going to get out of Slytherin alive," he predicted.

"We'll see. I don't think they're all as tough as everyone makes them out to be."

===

Edward introduced them to his brother and some of the girls. Beatrice, feeling a little short of breath, took a puff of her puffer. Most of the Slytherins looked disgusted at this show of weakness, but Lauren Avery moved over a seat. "You can sit by me," she said. "I was wondering, how does that puffer work and why don't you just drink a potion?"

"Well, the medicine goes into the bloodstream much more quickly when it is inhaled. It works almost instantaneously." Beatrice continued to explain as Lauren and Pansy exchanged glances.

"So is one puff equal to a glass of potion or several milliliters?" asked Pansy.

"Can you put anything in this puffer?" asked Lauren.

"Well, within reason," replied Beatrice. "If it were anything toxic that wouldn't be very good."

"Of course not," said Pansy quickly.

"And as far as concentration," said Beatrice, "it can be much less concentrated than most potions because of the delivery system. The stomach acids always destroy some of most potions."

Beatrice seemed to be happily chatting with the girls, so Samara pushed her robe closed and headed over to Vincent Crabbe. She put her head near his. "Sally sends her love," she whispered.

He froze with the mouthful of food in his mouth. He didn't swallow. He didn't chew. He just looked cautiously at Draco.

"What is it?" Draco asked annoyed.

"Oh, I just wanted his seat," said Samara.

"Why?" Draco's eyes narrowed.

Vincent was already moving and Samara slid into his seat.

"Because I wanted to sit by you," said Samara sweetly.

"Why?"

A few minutes went by as Samara filled her plate. No vegetarians here, she noted.

"I wanted to apologize," said Samara.

Now Draco looked at her. She could feel the assessing quality of his gaze. "Why?" he asked yet again.

Samara chose to misunderstand. "Well, for my--um--your being--uh--under the weather."

Draco grimaced. "No," he said. "I mean, why are you apologizing? You meant to curse me."

"Yes, I did," agreed Samara. "But I didn't mean for it to last for a day and a half."

"Fifteen hours. Fifteen minutes," said Draco.

Samara grimaced. "Well, I'm sorry," she said.

Draco ignored her.

Samara took a few bites of food, waiting to see if he would speak. He didn't. Samara sighed. "You're supposed to say, apology accepted."

"Humph."

Samara decided to try once again. "I know we didn't start out too well--" she began.

Draco looked up his aura suddenly alight. "If I remember correctly," he said in a low voice, "we started out fine. It was after you started hanging out with Potter and his gang that the problems started."

For just a moment, Samara felt the intensity of his gaze, and everything changed. When she was in Hufflepuff and even in Gryffindor she could think of him as a little twit, but right now, she could feel the waves of power emanating from him. Sure, some of them were sexual, but most was just pure charisma. People would follow him; for good or for ill, he was a leader. A little thrill of the unknown coursed through her.

Apparently Draco took her silence for assent. "We could kick Greg and Vincent out of my room," he said softly.

"I don't want to do that," said Samara.

"Liar." A crooked smile was on his lips as he stood and rubbed his thumb against her bottom lip. "You have a bit of sauce, right there," he said.

"Liar," she said.

He kept his thumb against her lips, waiting, she knew, for her reaction--for her to suck the sauce, real or imaginary, from his thumb. She just grinned at him, so he reached for a napkin and wiped his thumb before offering her his arm. "Allow me to conduct your tour of the Slytherin dungeons," he said.

"Sure," said Samara. She called out to Beatrice, "Ready to tour Slytherin?"

"Feeling like you need a chaperone?" whispered Draco, his eyes locked on Beatrice.

"No," she answered. "But I asked Beatrice to come with me to Slytherin."

"Pansy, come with us," said Draco tightly.

Pansy glanced from Draco to Beatrice to Samara.

Samara had the feeling that a practical form of telepathy had just taken place. At the very least, Pansy seemed to sum up the situation rather well. "Hey Draco," she said with just a little annoyance. "We were in the middle of a conversation here. Maybe we don't want to come. What do you think Beatrice, girl's dorm or grand tour?"

"Girl's Dorm," Beatrice said immediately. "You don't mind, do you Samara?"

"Of course not," said Samara. "But Beatrice, are you sure--I'll meet you--"

"Back in Gryffindor Tower," Beatrice said. She smiled brightly at Samara. "Have fun."

Samara realized that Beatrice had just effectively negated her promise to come with her to Slytherin in exchange for Samara going to Hufflepuff. She had only made it as far as the Slytherin lunch table, and Samara doubted that she would really go to the Slytherin girl's dorm. Furthermore, she managed to do that with a smile on her face. You had to admire that.

With Draco's arm around her waist, they started for the door. "So where do you want to go first?" Draco asked Samara.

"Oh, I don't know, I--"

"I think we should start right from where we were on the train," he said suddenly. His arm tightening around her and his lips descending upon hers. Just before his lips touched hers, Samara saw something in his eyes that didn't look like love or desire. It looked like hatred.

It was impossible for her to fully enjoy this kiss when she knew he had some ulterior motive. She tried to push him away, but her effort was weak. His lips felt too good on hers. Practiced, she thought suddenly. Everything inside of her was turning to liquid heat, and her logical mind seemed far away.

Suddenly, Draco released her and his arm slipped from around her to hold her hand as if he didn't want her to run--or smack him. His eyes were looking at someone across the Great Hall.

"Who are you looking at?" she asked, turning.

"Potter." Harry had turned away and was leaving the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. Suddenly the kiss became clear and Samara didn't appreciate being used to annoy Harry Potter.

"Draco," she said evenly. "Fifteen hours wasn't enough. Next time it will be more."

"Next time, I'll block," he said grinning at her. "Now, where were we going? My room, right?"

"No," Samara answered with a smile. "With that persistence, it's a wonder you weren't sorted into Hufflepuff."

Draco broke into gales of laughter at that and Samara had to laugh too.

Neither of them noticed the looks of disbelief and amazement that the Slytherins were giving them.

"I know where I'll take you," he said at last. "I have a feeling you'll appreciate it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Come on." They went to a blank and unremarkable stretch of wall in the dungeon. "Salazar," said Draco and he touched the wall. A doorway appeared where there had been nothing but a blank stone wall before and several stone snakes hissed at them. Draco silenced them by laying a hand on one of their heads, and Samara, accompanied by Draco, entered the Slytherin Common room. "By the way, that's just the temporary password while we have visitors. So don't expect to use it later, and if it's not accompanied by a Slytherin's touch--"

"Why would I want to?" interrupted Samara.

Draco shrugged. Instead of staying in the common room with Edward, Ethan, and the two other boys who had come from Ravenclaw to visit, Draco, holding his wand, went to an alcove that held a sneering picture of Salazar Slytherin. He had a large snake wrapped around his shoulders. It seemed to be sleeping as its eyes were closed.

"Apertum Pseudothyrum," Draco said and a small green door under the picture opened. Samara was looking at a dark tunnel leading straight down. Draco had to duck his head to get onto the stairs.

Samara hesitated, wondering at how many unlikely objects Draco had muttered the incantation "Open the secret door" before he found this place. She grinned. She wondered when he did it. Probably at night, otherwise everyone in Slytherin would have thought he had gone barmy.

"Come on." He was pulling her hand.

"I can't see the stairs," Samara complained.

"There are thirteen," said Draco as he started down them.

"It's dark," she said still holding back.

He stopped. "Scared?"

Samara didn't speak. She wasn't going to grace that question with an answer. She pulled her wand from her hair "Lumos," she said.

The tunnel wound down the thirteen steps, across a hallway and down some more steps. Samara was hopelessly lost. Even in the dim wandlight, Samara could see Draco's aura shining and changing: It was a deep and vibrant red. Whatever he wanted to show her, he was terribly excited about it. He paused in front of a large stone door. He put his hands on it and concentrated. Obviously, this was no simple Alohomora spell.

At last, Draco raised his head and ran his wand around the edges of the door. It opened. A flickering light was coming from within. There was yet another set of steps, which Draco hurried down, this time not waiting to see if she followed.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stood in silent awe. The room was huge and basically empty, but it wasn't dark. Various bits of color floated in the air. Magic had been done here. Old and powerful magic. She could feel remnants of every emotion from terror to bliss. It felt like her Book in a room--and more.

"Draco?"

"Lumos," he said. The colors vanished before the light. "I'm here," he said. He had kicked off his shoes and was standing bare footed in the dirt. His aura had deepened even more to a swirling mass of maroon and violet, but several dark spots marred its beauty.

Samara came to stand beside him. "Nox," she said softly.

"Nox," Draco repeated and the colors of the room returned, chaotic and fragmented.

"Do you feel it?" asked Draco in a hushed tone.

"Oh yes," said Samara. "I see it."

Draco caught his breath.

Samara suddenly knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to dance. She kicked off her shoes and felt the cool earth between her toes. As she began to move, she called the fragments to herself and they formed into drops of dew, then long streamers like shining ribbons that clung to her. She raised her arms and felt the magic running down them to the Elementals again. She moved it, carding it and weaving it into something that was not there before something wild and wonderful. She dug her toes into the cool soft earth and reached for the magic and the dance.

Picture: http://www.artisticalley.org/reviews/showthread.php?s=&threadid=20927

She began with a ballet that she had learned in the Muggle world. At first she was the maiden dancing for Kostchei, the Deathless, and then she was the Princess with the darkest hair dancing for Prince Ivan. Unlike any dance she had done in the Muggle world, she felt afire with the magic as she danced the magical title role--she was flying. It was intoxicating. She had to release--release--and release again. Fulfilled, yet spent, she lay with her cheek against the dirt. It smelled fresh and alive and cool against her hot skin. She felt wonderful.

When she finally lifted herself from the earth, she found herself looking into Draco's steely grey eyes. "What have you done?" he asked softly, not in anger, but in wonderment.

"I--" Samara was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Although the silence deepened, there was no feeling of discomfort--no rush to speak.

"You've made it yours," he said at last.

"I suppose I have," Samara said, pulling her eyes from Draco's and looking around at the room. "At least I've added my magic to what was here before." She paused, "Draco, why did you bring me here?"

He moved closer to her, but still did not touch her. She wanted him to touch her. The scent of him reached her nostrils--the sound of his heartbeat--the rich red-violet of his aura--unhurried and sure. "Why did you dance?" he whispered.

As she searched for an answer, she looked at the Room--the fragments of magic--the Earth at her feet--anywhere but his soft searching eyes. How could she not dance? When she felt the music with every fiber of her being--when she felt so full of magic in this place-- "I don't know," she said. "It just--called to me--"

"As it calls to me," he breathed against her hair. "I knew," he said, "even before I cast the runes. I knew you were the one to share this with." His lips brushed her temple--her cheek. Waves of heat seemed to emanate from him, or perhaps it was just the magic of this place. He caught her in his arms and kissed her cheeks. Her neck. Her mouth. "Make it ours," he whispered against her lips.

His mouth was hot and insistent on her skin. For a moment, Samara gave into the delicious feelings, but as she felt his hands brush the clasp that held her robe, fear flooded her. He couldn't see that tee shirt now. It was practically sacrilegious.

"No." She backed away from him clutching her robe. "I can't," she lied. "I'm too tired. I gave too much to the dance."

The shadow of a frown crossed his face, but it was instantly erased. He was unused to being denied. Nonetheless, he took her back into his arms and relented without asking her a second time. "Then later," he said. "I understand."

Pride would have some part in that, thought Samara, but then would he ask her again?

"And until then, every time I come into this room I will be immersed in your magic," he murmured against her hair.

After a few moments he released her. "Are you ready to go?" he asked impassively.

Would she ever be ready to go? She thought, but she nodded. "Yes," she said. As they reached the bottom of the stairs that would take them back up to the common room, she paused. "Draco," she said, and he stopped. She felt so guilty about that stupid curse. It was just her quick temper and now she wanted nothing to spoil this afternoon. "I just wanted to say. I'm sorry again--about--about--"

To her surprise, he started to laugh.

"Draco?"

He chuckled and shook his head and then he reached down and picked up a handful of dirt from the floor of the Room. "Close your eyes," he said.

Obediently she shut her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Quiet! I need to think." He took both of her hands and poured a small amount of the dirt in a thin line along one palm and the rest of the dirt he put in the other hand.

"Draco?"

"Still and quiet," he demanded. She felt the magic growing in her hands as he murmured a spell she didn't know, but she knew immediately what was in her hands--a flower. She opened her eyes to see a lavender rose.

"Oh it's beautiful," she said, closing her hand around the stem and cutting her palm on an overly long thorn. "Ouch! You're supposed to take off the thorns," she complained.

"Oh, no," said Draco. Taking the rose and examining it, he continued, "Isn't it a marvelous piece of work that can produce such beauty and softness as the petals and such dangerous thorns in the same plant? No, a rose without its thorns would not be half as intriguing."

"I'm not sure I understand," said Samara aloud as she performed a healing spell on her cut hand. It almost sounded as if he were glad that she had cursed him.

"The power that made the curse is the same power as what made the dance."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Samara said as she carefully took back the rose that he had transfigured from the Earth of this Room.

They walked without speaking, without touching, through out the lower levels and the tunnels. Just before they got to the main door which led under Salazar Slytherin's picture to the Slytherin common room, Draco paused. Samara could see people coming into the common room from the dorms to go to supper. She could hear them talking.

"Samara, I'm not sure what just happened, but I'm damn sure that it didn't happen for a Gryffindor." He reached up and traced the crest on her robe with his forefinger. "Samara--"

Samara put a finger to his lips. "They'll hear you in the common room," she said.

"No, they won't," Draco corrected her. "There's a spell on this door--silencing and something else--it's not invisibility, but no one sees it. No one sees you come in or out of it. For some reason they think you just came from the dorms or the corridor. Not many people know it is here, even Slytherins. It's a special place Samara."

"I know it's special."

"The lower door won't even open unless you're a Slytherin. Samara, you know you aren't a Gryffindor. Tell McGonagall you belong in Slytherin. Professor Snape won't be hard to convince. Ever since you cursed his feet to the floor--"

"I did not curse his feet," said Samara. "It was his shoes."

"The only reason you're in Gryffindor is because that damn Weasley stood up."

"I like Ginny Weasley," Samara said shortly.

In the background that was the common room, Samara heard a faint voice she recognized. It was Edward. "At least I can sleep at night," he said, "as long as I wear a sleep mask to block out the bright red."

"What kind of mask?" someone sniggered.

Draco was continuing undaunted, completely ignoring the voice that held Samara spell bound. "I know you belong in Slytherin, Samara. How can you doubt it?" Draco said.

And then another voice drifted in from the common room. "I can't believe you told McGonagall you were speaking from your heart when you said you were a Gryffindor." The voices were moving further away.

"Well, I vomited the words up from somewhere around there." Those words were still softer.

More sniggering. Getting softer, and then gone.

Samara tried to drag her attention away from the conversation Edward and another Slytherin had had.

"Why? Why would someone fake which house they were in? What purpose could it possibly serve?"

Draco grew annoyed with her inattention and cupped her chin in his hands. He turned her face to gaze into his steely grey eyes. Suddenly, his voice was blocking everything else from her ears. "Everyone else who stood for you was Slytherin. I stood."

"You stood?" said Samara. "Why?"

"I felt--" Draco started to speak and then hesitated. "Really?" he smiled that quirky little grin that she was starting to understand.

"Yeah. Truth."

He shrugged. "I thought you'd be a good Quidditch player."

Samara burst into laughter, and Draco took her in his arms, and kissed her. But this time her whole attention was on him, and she realized something she had missed before, in the swirling emotions of the Room and in her moment of panic that he would see the tee shirt. She realized that, although his kiss was well practiced, there was an innocence that did not seem contrived. It existed to the very bottom of his soul. If he were anyone but Draco Samara knew how she would have interpreted what she saw in his touch and in his aura. She would say this person was a virgin, but Draco was entirely too passionate for that assumption.

===

As Samara headed to the Gryffindor table for supper, she pondered what this meant. Much later, she came to the conclusion that she was correct. As she remembered some of the Old Magic claims, she knew that virginity proclaimed innocence so loudly that major criminal acts had been hidden by it. That was why evil so often sought out children to do the most dastardly deeds. There were certain potions and powerful spells that could only be performed by virgins. She needed more information to be sure, but she was almost positive that in spite of Draco's charisma and charm, sex was not his passion, MAGIC WAS.

So what exactly was he asking her for in the hidden chamber? She shivered, uncertain whether it was in fear or anticipation. Was it even possible for her to share the kind of magic she had done in the Dance? What would the spell entail? She looked deep inside herself, trying to ascertain the answer. Perhaps. But the Dance wasn't just part of her body, it was part of her soul, and if she shared it--if she even could--she was quite certain that she would never become untangled from that person again.

Of course, she could be completely wrong...

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