Vernon squished the newspaper as his fleshy palms slapped together and his blood pressure spiked. Ruddiness suffused his flappy jowls and worked its way toward the tip of his nose. "What is that bloody racket!?" He brayed. He could hear it was a child crying, but as he was an incredibly obese and fundamentally lazy person, screaming petulantly was his way of demanding that someone other than himself do something about it.
Petunia simply pressed her lips into a thin line with a "tsk". Just like Vernon, she could hear the incessant child screaming that came from just outside. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked with quick, terse steps to the front door. She opened it, and gasped at the bundle of blankets and screaming child on her doorstep. She picked the child up, and it quieted some. A sealed envelope lay on the doorstep next to the child, so she picked it up and brought it inside. She kicked the door closed and threw the letter onto Vernon's stomach. It was addressed to him.
"What!" He spluttered. "What is this then?! Is that a bloody child?!? Why have you got a bloody child, Petunia?!"
"Read!" She snipped. She jiggled the toddler up and down, and it seemed to quiet the child further.
"Humph!" Vernon wobbled as he broke the seal and grumbled. His eyes scanned the sheet of parchment for just a moment before he broke into enraged shouts. "It's a FREAK, Petunia! Throw it back outside! I'll not have freakishness in my home!"
She snatched the letter from his hand and read it.
"Lily!" She hissed. "Everything is always about Lily, even when she's dead! RRrrr!" Petunia held the whimpering child out at arms' length to examine it. It was chubby, as children tended to be. It had a head of pure black hair that stuck out at strange angles, just like its father's had. Its eyes, however, its eyes were exactly the same as Lily's. Vibrant, unnatural green stared back at her, but only for a moment, as it scrunched its eyes shut and began to wail again.
"Tssh!" Petunia hissed again and set the child down on the sofa. "Mind the thing, Vernon. I'm going to inquire at the police what to do with it." She pulled her coat on and picked up her purse and left the house.
Vernon stared at the closed door with his florid jowls wibbling in rage. She was meant to remove the problem, not stick him with it! Bloody shrewish bint! The sound of the thing's whines and whimpers made the skin on the back of his neck shrivel in irritation.
"Shut it!' He screamed at the thing.
The Freak just ignored him and kept on fussing. Vernon put his paper down entirely and sat forward in his chair, leaned over the arm to face the Freak.
"I said SHUT IT!" He bellowed. "SHUT YOUR FILTHY FREAK MOUTH!"
The Freak screwed its eyes shut and wailed even louder. Vernon's eye twitched and he stood up from his chair. He pushed his sleeves up.
"Right. In this house, I say what goes on, Freak, and you WILL obey." He reached out and grasped a fistful of black hair and brought his other hand across the Freak's chubby little face once. "I." Twice, a backhand. "SAID." Thrice. "SHUT." Backhand. "YOUR." Forehand. "FUCKING." Back again. "GOB!" He roared with a final slap. He picked the Freak up and carried it to the cupboard under the stairs. He opened the cupboard and brought the Freak close to his face. "SHUT UP!!!" He screamed at it. He tossed it into the cupboard and shut the door.
He was rewarded with silence once the door was shut, and a righteous smile graced his moustached visage. "That's right, bloody freak. You'll not ruin the peace and quiet in my proper, normal home. I won't have it. Hmph." He sat back down in his chair and resumed his paper. His self-satisfied grin lasted nearly an hour before the quiet was sundered by tiny wailing from inside the cupboard.
He slammed his meaty palms together again and threw the paper to the floor. "Right! That is enough of that!" He yanked the cupboard door open and bellowed at the top of his lungs. "SHUT UP YOU FREAK!!! DO YOU WANT ANOTHER SWAT? SHUT!! UP!!" He raised his hand as a warning, and the little Freak opened its eyes wide as it looked at him, then took a deep breath to scream again, and promptly vanished with a loud POP sound.
Vernon stood up straight, surprised and suddenly quite pleased.
"Well, there you go, then!" He smiled. "Give it a good whatfor, and the Freak goes away! I shall remember that for the future."
The front door opened and Petunia entered, followed by two police and a dour-looking woman in a gingham overcoat.
"Ah Vernon. This is Mizz Shoddingham with Child Services, and Officers Blakely and Dripp." She turned to them, and invited them inside.
"Lovely, lovely. Welcome." Vernon greeted them. He closed the cupboard door and moved into the living room, still pleased to be shot of the squalling brat.
"Where is the child?" Mizz Shoddingham asked.
Petunia turned to Vernon. "Vernon? Where is the child?" She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room.
"Ah." Vernon said, suddenly aware the child was no longer in the house. How to explain it though? "It... ah... mm. It vanished. Pop."
The two police officers shared a look, and Mizz Shoddingham's face drooped into a frown. "Vanished? Pop?"
"Yes, yes! Exactly! I was looking straight at it, and pop! Vanished." Vernon spread his hands and grinned with embarrassment.
Mizz Shoddingham gave the officers a flat look. "Search the house if you please."
Petunia gave Vernon a sharp look, and he shrugged back at her and mouthed the word 'freak', and repeated 'pop!' Petunia frowned harshly at him in return.
Officer Blakely said some quiet words into the radio on her shoulder while officer Dripp ran up the stairs and began searching the bedrooms. After receiving a reply, officer Blakely began looking behind and under the living room furnishings. She even looked up the flue of the chimney. The sound of footsteps and furniture moving around floated down from the upstairs.
"What did the child look like?" Mizz Shoddingham asked.
"Black hair, green eyes. Perhaps a year old." Petunia told her.
Officer Blakely looked in all the cupboards in the kitchen, the pantry, and the laundry room. She even opened the washer and dryer.
"Do you have any idea who the child might have belonged to?" Mizz Shoddingham asked Petunia.
Petunia set her lips in a thin line and shook her head. "It was in that blanket there, it was on our doorstep this morning. Never seen it before, and there was no-one about outside, not anywhere near."
"I see." Mizz Shoddingham said as she wrote the details down.
"Fresh blood here." Officer Blakely said tersely. She pulled her head out from the cupboard under the stairs and turned her torch off. She strode toward the door while speaking in tense tones into her shoulder radio.
"I'm afraid you won't be allowed to leave the premises, Missus Dursley. I suspect you and your husband may be under arrest shortly. However, as you were in the company of the officers and myself, I don't believe you will have anything to worry about personally. Depending on what the officers find, however, I cannot say the same for your husband."
Petunia frowned and sat on her sofa as she breathed out through her nose. She looked over at Vernon, who spread his arms and looked over at her in return with a look of helpless apology on his face. Unlike these poor civil servants, she knew that freakishness existed and didn't doubt for a moment that the child had in fact simply vanished. However, she also knew her husband's temper and knew with certainty he'd done something to the child that made it vanish. Well, she was safe, she'd been with the civil servants when Vernon had done whatever he'd done. He was facing a possible murder charge. It didn't matter whether he was innocent or not, he would be arrested and that meant Petunia was finished in this neighbourhood. She would have to take Dudley and divorce Vernon as soon as possible. Their savings might make the transition to another town easier, but she would need to secure employment before they actually moved. She made a mental note to speak to their solicitor and find out what Vernon's incarceration meant for her financially.
If things went well she'd end up shot of the stupid pig, and better off for it. She missed the heady days of youth when Vernon had been a normal bloke rather than a raging walrus. There wasn't a single day or week or month she could point to and say 'that's when things changed', but change they had. Vernon had ended up lazy and spiteful and neglectful of her, after years of assurances that she was beautiful and desirable. Now she'd not be shocked in the slightest to find out he had mistresses. He'd not touched her once since Dudders had been born. Well, he was going to get what was coming to him now, and she'd not be caught on his sinking ship. She and Duddykins were going to vanish as well, with as much financial security as possible.
She held her chin high as more officers arrived with the forensics team. Those Freaks had barged into her life again, and within a half-day ruined what it had taken her ten years to achieve. It didn't matter though, she would carry on. She would take the ashes of her life and create a new one from them. A better one. And if she ever married again, she would make sure he was perfectly Normal, without so much as a hint of freakishness, AND attentive to her needs.
She looked over at Vernon and he had the gall to try to pat her hand as if to tell her it would be alright, the ignorant prig. She removed her hand and simply regarded him with cold eyes, and she hoped he understood her message. It would be alright, perfectly alright, as soon as he went to jail.
She made a mental list of who to contact and in what order as the civil servants did their jobs and tore her lovely home apart. As the minutes stretched into hours and hard-faced Inspectors showed up and asked hard questions, Petunia was reminded of one simple truth:
It simply didn't pay to be involved with freakishness.
It wasn't the sound itself, but the plaintive quality of it that roused her. The sound itself was just mindless wailing, but beneath that, in the emotions that spawned it, there was fear- Fear, pain, loss, and want.
It was the wailing of a shardling.
She listened and understood the information behind the noise. It cried for hunger. It cried for cold. It cried for protection. Most of all, it cried for Love.
That meant its Mother was not present. That meant she had been killed or captured. The thought blossomed pain in her chest as her own thoughts naturally jumped to her own Mate, captured and taken before they could Nest.
She rose from her hoard and lumbered to the edge of her lonely, forever empty nest, and gazed into the distance. It was bright out, though clouds did grey the sky and for that she was grateful. She spotted the shardling almost immediately. It lay on its back in the yellowed grass atop the bluff directly across the ravine from her nest. It was alone, and it was.... a pinkskin. She hadn't had any dealings with pinkskins before, aside the ones that had taken her Mate, and she was still furious about it. She would always be furious about it. Better, then, that there be one less pinkskin in the world. She turned her head away and almost left her perch on the edge of her nest, but she noticed two things that prevented it.
The first was that the plaintive cries of the pinkskin shardling had grown weaker. They grew weaker as each moment passed, each lungful of air the thing drew. It was weakening and would die soon, unless she did something about it. For some reason she could not place, her own need for young latched onto the pinkskin and would not let go despite her fury.
The second thing she noticed was an eagle, its spiral search pattern ended, dove directly at the shardling. Renewed cries of shock and pain and fear carried on the wind from the pinkskin, and she could smell its hot metallic blood on the wind.
She was airborne before she understood why, and watched the eagle with its talons embedded within the pinkskin begin to eat. It pecked at the soft belly and drew more blood and more cries. It pulled a small strip of skin from the belly of the shardling and angled its head back to swallow when her jaws closed around it and left the talons behind, still stuck into the wailing shardling.
She circled and landed next to the pinkskin after swallowing the mid-morning eagle snack. The pinkskin shardling was leaking red and turning blue. She had never seen a pinkskin do that before. Was it normal? She considered for a moment, and decided it was likely not. It was somewhat pretty, she decided. Pinkskins were apparently colourful things.
She scooped the shardling into her claw along with the ground it lay upon, and flew back to her nest. She knew what she would have to do in order to preserve the functioning of the tiny thing, and while it was unpleasant, it was no real threat to her. She set the shardling and its earth down next to her Hoard, and breathed on it to heat it up again. Once it radiated a cozy warmth, she retrieved the Hateful Thorn from its special hiding place. She used the gleaming instrument to cut the tip of her tail, much more cleanly than she could have with her claw. That was the reason she kept the dangerous thing - that, and if it belonged to her it could not then be used against her.
She thrummed deep in her chest and stirred her power to life. It swirled and coursed through her veins, but she directed it to the tip of her tail. As it arrived, she fed the tip of her tail to the pinkskin's tiny, rabbit-toothed maw. Rather than biting and chewing and gulping, as she expected, the shardling held her tailtip in its mouth and... pulled somehow. She could see it swallow her blood and the power it contained, but it did not consume her the way her own offspring might have. It was strange, but to see that made her feel somehow closer to it.
Her power had begun to heal her the moment she cut her tail, even as the same power flowed out of it. When the cut was fully healed only a moment later, the pinkskin let out a pained cry and let go of her tail. It's colour slowly turned from blue to pink, and the open, leaking spots on its body closed. New skin grew where the eagle had torn it. Its cries returned with vigor that she had not witnessed previously, and grew in intensity for several wingbeats while its form swelled. Its hindquarters lengthened, its torso lengthened, its forequarters lengthened, and its shoulders grew further apart.
She was confident this was also not normal pinkskin behaviour.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore strode into his office and immediately reached out to his bowl of lemon drops to pop two into his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and placed each of his thumbs against its corresponding eyebrow.
Two weeks was nothing compared to the amount of work to be done, and yet at the same time it was an eternity in the company of debaters and politicians. He was both himself, and had earned his place in the ICW, but it seemed that every single year faces got younger, speeches got longer, and actual action got less and less.
He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out, and smiled at the scent of sweet lemon. As he relaxed and his headache receded, something niggled at the back of his skull. Something was wrong.
He dropped his hands from his forehead and glanced around the office. There were a large number of amusing little gadgets on his desk and on shelves about the room. He catalogued each one as he witnessed it spinning or whirring or swinging.
All except one.
There were two new ones on the shelf behind his desk, beneath the portrait of Phineus Black. One of them was keyed to the wards surrounding Number Four Privet Drive, and that one was still chuffing along in place as it was meant to. The one next to it - the one he'd keyed to Harry Potter - was silent. Its soothing whirr was nothing but hollow quiet.
Harry Potter was dead.
The copy of The Sunday Times Minerva perused was the victim of sudden violence as she crushed it in one hand and rose from behind her desk to stride more quickly than she had in many years toward Albus's office. His door was closed when she arrived. He normally knew she was coming and opened it before she got to it; the fact that he hadn't meant he knew and didn't want to eat the humble pie she was going to serve him.
She didn't bother to knock, she Vanished the door entirely. He was there behind his desk and had the nerve to look surprised at her entrance.
"Do you realize what you've done?!" She shouted at him as she threw the newspaper at his chest. "I TOLD YOU, ALBUS! I bloody told you they were horrid!"
She paced back and forth in her fury, far too angry to maintain even the semblance of control. He had murdered their saviour, murdered an innocent child, and ENDED the oldest, most noble lineage in existence. The whiskered idiot would probably try to keep it quiet, too, just like every other bloody thing. She wouldn't have it. She strode to his floo and grabbed a handful of powder.
Albus flicked his wand at her, and she collapsed. "I'm afraid we can't have that." He said as he got up from his seat. He heaved her into a chair, then stood up straight with a grimace of pain and a hand at the small of his back. He was getting too old for that.
"I apologize, Minerva, but information needs to be contained. A spot of loyalty, a twinge of compulsion, and, of course... Obliviate."
He woke her a moment later.
"Careful, Minerva." Albus's smooth voice cautioned.
"What... what was I saying?"
"You've just spent an hour ranting about Crouch throwing you out of his office after not listening to you about Harry. You just finished saying you were going to curse him for not being concerned about the child's welfare. Speaking of which, when was the last time you ate, Minerva? You should look after yourself better."
"Yes, yes. I will, Albus. I can't believe neither the ministry nor the paper give a dram the boy's dead."
"Well, I think it's clear who we can trust." Albus smiled at her.
"Quite right. My apologies for ranting, Albus. Thank you for listening." She stood up and headed for the door.
"Are you sure you're alright, Minerva?"
"Yes, I'll be fine, thank you." She exited his office and he could hear her thick heels on the stones as she walked back to her own. He cast a quick Notice-Me-Not on himself, and Apparated directly to Scotland Yard.
He found Dursley exactly where the muggle paper had said he was.
"Now see here, you freaks can't just come waltzing -" Dursley started to protest and then froze as he flicked his wand at him. Full-body bind was ever so useful. Without preamble he looked the disgusting lardpot of a man directly in the eyes and pulled the story of the child's disappearance from his mind.
"Apparation, so young!" Albus mused. He'd not have expected such a thing - though he'd not have expected Dursley to slap a baby either. He'd have to keep that under wraps forever. Where would the boy go though? Godric's Hollow? Worse, to Sirius? Albus frowned. Sirius was the boy's Godfather, and he would never stop attacking until the boy was in his custody, like a dog with a bone. He would have to take steps to secure Sirius and remove him from the Arithmancy. It was a good thing he'd thought to seal James and Lily's Will just in case.
He'd thought it would be impossible for anyone but Tom to kill the boy, and he was pleased that he seemed to be correct in that assumption. It was a shame, really. Dursley might have been the perfect tool for keeping the boy timid and controllable.
No matter, he would adjust his plans accordingly. He could always give him the memory of abuse even without actual abuse. He also knew that the boy would show up to Hogwarts in September of 1991, so that left him time to prepare. First, however, there were loose ends to tie up. He would have to get the letter back from Dursley's home, and preferably the boy's blanket. The charms he'd placed on it were rife with his magical signature.
He'd also have to deal with Dursley, of course.
"Avada Kedavra."
"You must focus, Hidden Colours. Do not still your mind, do not push away from the surging of your blood. You must feel it course through you. You must ride it with your mind, circulate through yourself. Resonate with it."
"Yes, Mother. I am trying." He squat upon his haunches with his eyes closed. She could feel his progress; it was substantial, but the blockage came from within. She suspected it was more questions about his people.
The Nascent gathered his eyeridges as he concentrated.
"Flow, my Young. Feel your blood move, your core thump, your air as it feeds them. Be calm while you rage. Flow to the source of your thoughts. Be within and without."
"Calm... while I rage." His breathing became deeper and slower, and she could feel him begin to understand. His magic began to flow.
"Feel everything around you. Feel your awareness grow."
The floor of the nest began to tremble. Wind began to spiral around the boy.
"Yes, that's it... that's it. Resonate."
His magic swelled to heights that matched her own as he finally claimed himself. He threw back his head and breathed a column of white-blue flame into the night sky that burned the brightest she had ever seen. She smiled to herself then, satisfied. They would have all seen that. Every last one of them.
When his breath finally left him, he drew a deep, shuddering one, and with a smile up at her, he fell onto his side, asleep.
"Rest, HIdden Colours. You've done well." She rumbled. She picked him up from the floor and placed him atop his tiny hoard to rest.
It was certainly more difficult to climb the spire to the nest with the goat slung about his shoulders, but it wasn't what he would term difficult by any real measure of the term.
"Good morning, Mother." He greeted her as he crested the lip and entered the nest.
"You're up early today. That is good."
"You said today would be a long day, I thought it best to start with a good meal." He dropped the longhorned mountain goat to the stone floor and gripped fistfuls of its skin. With a jerk of his shoulders, he tore it open. Blood and entrails spilled onto the floor. He picked up the goat and allowed the innards to spill to the floor in front of Mother.
"Thank you, my Young. So thoughtful you are."
"You're my Mother." He said with a shrug. "I would do so even if I liked the slithery bits."
She chuffed quietly and scooped the entrails up with her tongue and slurped them down with a wiggle of her long, sinuous neck. He hammered his fist on the hip of the goat and crushed it, then pulled its leg backward and tore the skin to free the leg entirely. He pushed the rest of the goat toward Mother, and went to sit atop his hoard as he started to stoke his magic and Resonate. He breathed gently onto his hoard to warm it and himself, then blasted a spot on the stone floor on the far side away from Mother. He heated the stone until it warped the air above it, then threw his goat leg onto it. The hair and skin shrivelled almost immediately, and the juices began to baste it as it cooked.
Mother blew a short gout of flame as she snorted.
"I know, I know, Mother. Why would I ruin such a lovely meal by heating it." He grinned at her. "I'm a pinkskin. It's just better this way. To me, anyway."
"I love you as well, my Young." She bumped his ribs with her snout. "It is about you being a pinkskin that I wished to speak with you this morning."
He reached out with his magic and turned the cooking haunch over. He waited respectfully for her to speak.
"When the sun reaches apex, there will be a Conclave this day. It is my intent to Declare you."
His eyes went wide. "Really?! Do you really think I'm ready, Mother?!"
She nuzzled him affectionately. "Yes, my Young. You can hunt, you can breathe, you know the laws, and you respect Territory. You are ready."
"That's great!" He wrapped his arms around her head and squeezed gently.
"It will not be so easy as you think, Hidden Colours. You are a pinkskin, and no pinkskin has ever been Declared before."
His joy evaporated. "Oh. The others will Challenge."
"It is almost certain. You know the Laws, a challenge to you must be equivalent. You won't have to face any of my peers, only your own. You may die today. I do not think you will. You have proven both unexpectedly powerful and intelligent. Mind what you have learned. Exercise Awareness."
He would fight one of the Svurtr today. He may very well die. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out. Mother had confidence in him, and she always knew best. He could do no less. To lack confidence in himself would be to disrespect Mother.
He nodded and hugged her again. "I understand, Mother. I will do my very best to live and make you proud."
"I know you will, my Young. I am very pleased with you."
Her words made warmth bloom in his chest. She'd never said anything like that to him before. It made a hard, sharp-scaled feeling surround his desire to make her proud.
Armed with the knowledge that he would likely have to fight for his life shortly after apex, he decided to only eat four or five bites of his breakfast haunch. Enough to provide fuel, not enough to weigh him down.
True to Mother's word, they descended into the central valley just as the sun stopped rising higher in the sky. Other Svurtr families were there already, with several more clearly visible against the grey clouds.
His appearance caused some of the younger Svurtr to hide behind their parents, and some of their parents to rear up in aggressive display. Hidden Colours couldn't help but wonder if it was his wingless flight that startled them or the fact that he traveled with Mother but was a pinkskin. He would have preferred to run since flying tired him greatly, but it was important he be seen as capable. It reflected on Mother.
He landed next to Mother and sat on his haunches in front of her, as the other Young did with their mothers, and just like them held his tongue and paid attention. He listened, but otherwise sat very still and did as little as possible to try to rest and recover.
The other adults strayed to the very edge of disrespecting Mother as they neither looked at nor interacted with her. They tried to shy as far away from her as possible, but they were constrained by their places in the circle, so nothing much changed at all. More and more Svurtr families arrived and took their places in the circle, and in the space of ten or twenty wingbeats they were all assembled and waiting only on Blocks-the-Moon to arrive. It was her right as Matriarch to arrive when she chose, and Hidden Colours was grateful for every moment he had to rest.
Blocks-the-Moon arrived shortly - too soon for his liking, and landed in her place at the apex of the circle while every Svurtr bowed. She looked at the assembled Svurtr and shook her neck. "Conclave is entered." She decreed.
The assembled Svurtr lifted their heads and settled.
"Territory! Who disputes with whom?" Blocks-the-Moon asked solemnly.
Mother had told him that Territories were all old and set since her parents' time. Usually Territory disputes only happened when a Svurtr was old and feeble and Youngless, so it came as a surprise when a large male Svurtr stepped forward.
"Nightwater, what is your dispute?" She asked him.
"My eastern reaches produce less and less prey. I suspect Ten Goats of treachery."
Blocks-The-Moon blew a gout of flame from her nostrils and turned to Ten Goats. "How do you answer, Ten Goats?"
Hidden Colours had been trying not to stare at Ten Goats the entire time he'd been there. Ten Goats was like no Svurtr he'd ever seen before. He wasn't stunted - Ten Goats was still far larger than he was - but he had a certain roundness to his body that was completely out of place, and as he lumbered forth into the circle to answer the dispute, his steps were exaggerated and round, like his frame. He moved like a water bird. How did he even fly?
Ten Goats had no Mate and no Young behind him as he entered the circle. "I enter no other Territories. The prey in my territory is my prey."
Blocks-the-Moon rumbled in her chest, a sign of irritation. "As usual you answer with no answer. Once Conclave is concluded I will travel to your territory to see for myself."
"I protest! Territory is territory! My prey is my prey!" Ten Goats seemed... not excited... scared? Hidden Colours couldn't quite put his talon on what Ten Goats's behaviour was. It was clear he didn't want Blocks-the-Moon anywhere near his Territory.
"Discourse was given. Action decided. Do you wish to Challenge me, Ten Goats?" Blocks-the-Moon purred sibilantly.
"No! No... I... I accept the action decreed." Ten Goats bowed his head, but his eyes and voice dripped anger and resentment.
Hidden Colours was confused by that. He resolved to ask Mother later how anyone could say one thing but mean another.
Ten Goats returned to his place in the circle, walking like a water bird, and Blocks-the-Moon gave everyone a wingbeat to settle down before she spoke again.
"Territory resolution is delayed. Who brings Young forth to Declare?"
Two Mothers nudged their Young into the circle, and they took the hint to congregate in the center of the circle. He felt Mother's nudge on his backside as well, and remembered he was supposed to go too. He walked over to the others and relaxed on his haunches once again.
Blocks-the-Moon reared back on her tail and flapped her wings twice in surprise. "Swims-in-stars! You would Declare a pinkskin!?"
His Mother regarded the Matriarch calmly. "I have raised him since he was a shardling. He speaks. He breathes. He flies. He hunts. He respects Territory. He is Fit and I would Declare him such."
"NO!" A voice to his left cried. "NO! Pinkskins killed my Mother! I will not allow a pinkskin among Svurtr!" A large adult male stood next to the speaker, who looked to be only slightly older than Hidden Colours.
"You wish to Challenge the Declaring of this Young, Breathes First?"
"I do!" Breathes First rose up on his haunches with his wings spread and threatened him directly. "There is no place for you or your kind here!" He hissed derisively.
Blocks-the-Moon turned from Breathes First to look at him directly. "How many summers have you, Young one?"
"I have ten summers, Matriarch." He replied respectfully. Some of the assembled Svurtr hissed as he spoke, clearly surprised that he could.
"You are of age. You will be allowed to defend yourself. How do you respond to Breathes First's challenge?"
"I am very sorry pinkskins killed his Mother, that is a pain I would not want. I am no pinkskin. I am a Svurtr. I will kill him to prove it if I must."
"You must. All Challenges are to the death."
"I understand, Matriarch." He bowed his head again.
"Return to your Mother, I give you one wingbeat to prepare."
The circle of Svurtr opened wider to give them room to fight.
"He will breathe first, as his name says." Mother told him when he returned to her. "Let him waste his breath. Resonate. Maintain your power, use it as speed. He will try to catch you with his talons once his breath is faded. Fight well. Save your breath until you are close and cannot miss. Survive, my Young."
He bowed his head low to her. "I will do my best, Mother."
She nudged his head with her snout. "Know that even if you die I am proud of you, my Young."
He grinned at her and nuzzled her snout with his head. His wingbeat was almost up, so he simply turned from Mother and strode into the circle. He stoked his power as he walked forward to meet Breathes First. They stood in front of each other as they waited for Blocks-the-Moon to begin their combat. Breathes First glared hatred at him, but for some reason that only made him excited.
"Should Breathes First win the Challenge, pinkskins will be forever barred from the Svurtr. Should Hidden Colours win the challenge, he will be Declared and the way open for other pinkskins in the future. Begin." Blocks-the-Moon had no sooner started the combat than Breathes First lived up to his name. Hidden Colours had anticipated it, thanks to Mother, and leapt sideways and forward so that Breathes First had to move his whole body to be able to reach him with his breath.
Hidden Colours continued to run faster than Breathes First could turn, but he kept right on breathing for two whole wingbeats and never even came close to warming his hindquarters. He exhausted his breath and closed his mouth as his nostrils flared. He changed directions suddenly and tried to slam Hidden Colours with his tail, but he was aware of Breathes First's change in posture, and simply leapt over his tail.
That was when he made his mistake.
He should have reversed his own direction, but instead Hidden Colours simply ran forward as he sought distance from his foe. Breathes First was much larger and therefore faster than he was, and even though he was aware of Breathes First racing after him, he could not go fast enough to escape the clutch of his foe's talons. Great ragged, red rents opened across his back and spilled pain into his mind as he flew to his right and rolled on the grass.
Breathes First slammed a talon down on him, through him, just under his ribcage on his right side. Pain exploded inside him and he struggled to make his lungs work, but despite all the damage the important part of his mind still worked. He spiked his power as Breathes First reared his head back to bite him, and Hidden Colours breathed as his enemy's fanged maw descended. The column of white-blue fire lanced upward and engulfed Breathes First's head, then continued on and on into the sky.
All tension left Breathes First, and his body collapsed. His talon was wrenched free of Hidden Colours' body, and almost jerked him to his feet.
"Take his heart." His Mother called. "Take his heart or you will die."
She was right, of course. Mother was always right. He knelt in front of his foe's body and used his power to cut a long slice beneath one of Breathes First's chest plates. He could feel his own heart begin to quiver irregularly as his blood ran down the right side of his body. He had killed enough prey to know his time was short, and that spurred his movements. He levered one of the chest plates up and tore the skin and muscle beneath. He made a hole just large enough for his arm, and shoved it inside his enemy's chest. The heart still beat in his hand as he took hold of it and pulled. It came loose with a great squelch and began to beat faster. It still had bits of flesh and fat and long... things dangling from it. It was only the second one he'd ever seen up close. The first had been his first kill so many years ago, before he understood that Mother deserved those bits for herself. He took the bright purple organ from his foe's chest and shoved it into his own, through the hole that leaked his blood and upward into his chest.
For a moment there was nothing, and Hidden Colours looked toward his Mother, certain he was about to die. The thought upset him, he found. He would never meet his Mate. Never sire Young. He would never claim Territory, and worst of all he would never fly again.
Then he felt the enemy's heart move. It beat, yes, but the sensation wasn't of beating, it was of the organ moving around inside him. It settled into a place in his chest on the opposite side from his original heart, and blossomed into an inescapable ball of pain. He froze. He burned. Acid coursed through his veins. His back arched, his mouth screamed, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.
"Wat the fook were tha'?!" Darcy hissed. Argonna's eyes still tracked the stream of white-blue light as it shot into the sky.
"Keep yer voice doon!" She whispered back. "Ye want fifty black dragons up yer arse?"
Darcy shook her head. "I dinnae want me own boyfriend up me arse. Yer boyfriend, maybe."
"Theivin' witch!" Argonna whispered back with a grin. She rose up on her elbows to peek over the lip of the bluff. The dragons were all still in a circle, watching one in the center. The one in the middle was lying on its side, quiet and still. It had no head.
"Can ye see wat's goin' on?" Darcy whispered.
"Nae. Jus' a mo'." She took her wand out and cast an Eagle Eye charm on herself. It took a moment to be able to focus and not get queasy, but when she was used to the enhanced eyesight, she reached out and clutched at Darcy's arm. "A bai! There's a bai doon there! 'E's thrashin aboot on the graind in the maiddle of 'em all. Soom kainda black mess coomin' out his haid."
"Are ye sure?"
"DAIfinitely a bai. Nae a man yet, but luvly bits naetheless. He's quaite, quaite nakid."
"Now I wanna see!"
"Toof. We hae tae git back an' tell da aboot it."
"Ye jus' want te keep 'im te yersailf. An' ye call me a thievin' witch."
"Shut it, an' move yer arse. I dinnae fancy bein' roon when tha' pairty ends."
They crept backward on their elbows and knees until they were not in danger of being spotted by the dragons below, then stood and ran a short way down the bluff before they Apparated home.
Before he even opened his eyes he could tell they were waiting for him. He could feel the attention on him like the hum of drying tendons in the wind. He opened his eyes and squinted at the brightness, even though the cloud cover was dense.
"He lives. He is Declared." Blocks-the-Moon's voice called out.
His hand went to his chest as he remembered being transfixed by Breathes First's talon. Most of the right side of his body was covered in his blood, but the hole in his torso was gone. He took a deep breath and smelled the wet highlands, smelled the thick grey clouds full to bursting that roiled above. He felt... different. He felt strong, he felt whole, he wasn't in any pain, but he did not feel the same as he had before. He would have to ask Mother what it meant.
He went to Breathes First's sire and bowed low to him, then returned to Mother. Hidden Colours was sad that he needed to kill Breathes First, but he would not die for anyone willingly. Not even because pinkskins had killed his mother.
The other two Young were Declared without any challenge after that, and returned to their parents with happy nuzzles.
Blocks-the-Moon declared the Conclave concluded and immediately set off into the air with Nightwater, likely to visit Ten Goats's Territory. Ten Goats took several galumphing bounds while beating his wings hard, but managed to somehow claw his way into the air. He set off after Nightwater and Blocks-the-Moon.
The rest of the Svurtr took the opportunity to visit and speak with each other, except of course Mother and her disgusting pinkskin Young. Once unbound by circle protocol, the rest of the Svurtr immediately moved away from them both. Mother turned and ignored the slight against her as she walked him away from the congregation.
"I meant eat his heart, or drink it, though your solution seems to have worked as well. Do you feel up to flying back to the nest?" She asked him.
Hidden Colours smiled at her and reached for his power - and was stunned to find it instantly at his talons. He started to Resonate immediately, and lifted silently and swiftly into the air.
He settled back against his hoard, still warm from his breath earlier in the day. The stone floor had kept his breakfast warm as well, so he resumed eating. He was surprised at his own hunger.
"I am proud of you, my Young. Happy and touched with sorrow, but very very proud."
"Sorrow, Mother?" He paused and set the goat haunch down again.
"You are Declared. You are Fit. It is time for you to leave the nest. Time to travel and hunt and find a Mate before you make a nest of your own."
"What? I have to go?"
She chuffed at his sudden distress and nuzzled him. "It is not an immediate thing, Hidden Colours. It means you are free now. You are free to go explore the world, to answer the questions that swirl inside you like stars in the sky. You are always welcome in my nest, I am your Mother, even if you did not come from one of my eggs."
"Oh. That doesn't seem so bad."
"It isn't bad. It is a gift. You have proven Fit. I also have other reasons for saying you should go."
"Other reasons?"
"You are a Svurtr, my Young, but you are also a pinkskin. You know nothing of them, not their speech, not their ways, not their depths. You will need to learn such. You will need to learn to be one of them, because you are."
"I understand, Mother. It's just... If it was so grand to be a pinkskin, why did I appear over there? Why would I become a Svurtr in the first place?"
She nudged his ribs. "That answer will only come when you understand the pinkskins. When you learn your history and your place among them. I know you know this already."
He sighed. Mother always saw through him.
"I don't want to leave you."
"I want you to grow."
She was right, of course. He knew she was right. She was even right that the faster he left the more time he would have to learn his way among the pinkskins.
Mother turned in the nest and used her tail to point in a direction. "If you go that way, for thirty wingbeats of flight, you will find some pinkskins who have been helpful in the past. Svurtr allow them because they have never harmed any. I thought they might help you to at least learn their speech."
"You're probably right. You're usually right."
"I only want the best for you, my Young. When you are confused or lonely, you can always come to visit your Mother."
He smiled and threw his arms around her neck and held her for a long moment. When he let go, he took a step back. "I will, Mother. I will come and tell you all about what I've seen and learned.
"I would like that, Hidden Colours. I would like that very much."
He smiled at her, and wrapped himself in his power. He rose into the air and flew in the direction she had shown him.
After thirty wingbeats, just as Mother had said, he came to an unnatural place. It looked to be made of trees, but somehow smoothed. He guessed it was a pinkskin nest. Pinksins apparently made nests like sharp-edged boils on the ground rather than the way nature intended.
He touched down on the ground outside the place, and several pinkskins emerged from it almost immediately. They looked a little like he did, but their skins were deformed and baggy, and fluffy in some cases. He wondered what kind of sickness could cause such a thing. He was suddenly less sure about being there. He didn't want any kind of disfiguring affliction.
One pinkskin who was taller and broader than the others came out of the nest then and gabbled something at the others who stood there looking at him. They went back closer to the nest, but still looked at him. The bigger one - a Mother or Father maybe - pointed a twig at him. Was that a greeting of some kind?
In the background, one of the females held a rock to her face, and flashes of light came from it.
He stuck his talon out at the pinkskin male and smiled.
The pinkskin waved a talon at him, so he waved one back. Their speech sounded like birdsong and goat bleating all mixed together, it was very strange. Still, he supposed he was there to learn it, so he might as well try.
The parent walked toward him carefully, as if it was afraid he might fly away. It put the twig into a pouch in its skin and offered a claw to him, so he offered one back. It gripped his claw and raised and lowered it. Was it another greeting? Or something else?
The pinkskin reached up slowly, carefully, while it gripped claws with him, and brushed his hair to the side of his face. It's eyes opened wide.
"Airy fook'n Pottarrh!" It said.
"Airy fook'n Pottarrh!" He repeated. He hoped he did it right.