The Crystal Cave, Part 1

"Regulus! That's who!" Harry cried. "How on earth could you have let them do that to me?"

Dreia held back a badly disguised smirk and had the decency to lower her head.

Harry balled his fists tightly. "Couldn't you have taught that spell to someone other than him?"

"I didn't teach him," Dreia said softly with a giant smile and a mock look of innocence.

"You didn't teach him? Well… then… then… Why couldn't who ever taught Regulus the spell cast it? I mean, you know how I feel about being in the same room with him. It's-" Harry stuttered.

"What did you dream about?"

"Wha…?" Harry swallowed hard and took a mental step back. "I... I… What?"

"What did you dream about?" she asked causally, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, still suppressing a laugh.

Harry set his jaw stiffly. He wasn't about to admit that he had actually enjoyed the dream he was so heartedly objecting too. "Sirius. And Regulus, when they were boys."

"Ah," she said standing up fully and clasping her hands behind her back, biting on her lower lip. They were in the library. A small, cramped dusty room covered from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall with books of every shape, size and age. It hung just off the left of the stairs in a little alcove that upon first inspection, you would have believed to be nothing more than a closet. Harry was surprised to learn of its existence having been told numerous times that Druid magic was mostly oral in tradition. He'd only had a brief glance or two at the room since he began his stay, but now, with unpleasantness of having to board with Regulus for the night, he was in no mood to inspect the many books upon the shelves and stacked high in the lone brown armchair.

"You're alright though? The spell went well?"

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, and attempted to blow some of the confusion he felt out with a breath of air. He was so sure that he was going to let her know how angry he was with her for letting Regulus of all people be her backup plan, that now that he didn't have the option, he didn't know which way to go.

"It went alright, I guess. I dreamt the dream he sent me and nothing more," he said.

"Good. I am glad to hear it," she replied, studying the books on one of the shelves.

"How did he know though? I thought he wasn't a Druid?" Harry asked.

Dreia stiffened slightly, but said offhandedly, "Oh, I never said it was Druid magic."

'Not. Druid. Magic.' Harry thought back to the night he'd first arrived and tried to remember what she had said. It was all a bit blurry, considering his mental state and that it was all so new. "You said ancient magic. Isn't that the same thing?"

"Ancient magic and Druid magic are two different things, Harry," Dreia replied loftily.

"But that still doesn't answer…He's the one that taught you?"

"You can't have expected for him to have come from one of the oldest pureblooded families in England and not know something of ancient magic, Harry. He passed quite a lot of it on to me." She tapped her finger on her chin just then, scanning the titles of the ancient tomes looking for something

"Ah, here you are…"

She pulled down a ragged looking, cracked leather bound book and began scanning the pages. When she had reached her desired page, she began mumbling an enchantment that Harry could not decipher which made her hair blow lightly about her head and the pages of the old book flutter. As her lips ceased to move, Harry heard a distinctive click and the groan of old springs.

Dreia returned the book to its resting place and looking quite serious, began to push the bookcase into the floor with the tips of her fingers.

Curious, Harry slipped up just behind her to take a closer look. But the sight he found was less than astonishing. Indeed, he was fairly certain the ordinary looking wooden trunk that sat behind the bookcase could have been hidden in plain sight and no one would have been the wiser.

"What's in the trunk?" Harry asked causally.

"Your immediate future," Dreia said, huddling over the box and clicking open the trunk.

"Oh, well that's good. We wouldn't want to keep it a mystery would we?" Harry said annoyed.

Dreia pulled something out of the trunk, turned around, and revealed a rather thin looking robe of unbleached cotton placing it gently on the little table next to the arm chair.

"This is the robe worn by all of our initiates," she said, standing up and facing him squarely. "It has been the way for over 210 years. 127 men and women have worn this garment before you, and by gods, I hope at least twice that many after you."

Harry stared at the robe. "Has it been washed?"

Dreia's mouth dropped open like a great cod and stared at him for a moment before sputtering, "Yes… Harry… it has been laundered. What do you think we are? Heathens?"

"Well-" Harry started.

"Never mind! Never mind…"

Harry laughed nervously and asked, "So, it's tonight then?"

"Mhmmm." She nodded, turning back to the bookcase. She opened the book once more, muttered something quickly, and the bookcase slid easily back into place. "In fact, it's time."

"Here," she said, handing him the robe carefully. "Bathe as Winston has instructed you, dress in this and someone will come fetch you where you are through. We must prepare now, so good luck!" Before Harry could even blink, Dreia grasped him firmly around the shoulders in a warm hug and then backed away, beaming at him.

Harry's throat went dry. He'd expected a bit more than a simple embrace and wish for luck. He had thought there would be some instruction, some thing more than the quick speech about the bath and this scruffy old –was that blood there? – robe. He guessed maybe there wasn't enough time with her running off to London…

He had promised himself he wouldn't ask. He knew he already had any answer he was going to get the moment she floo'd away to Grimmuald place the evening before. But something opened his mouth and he was asking before he knew it, "What is so important about the stag?"

Dreia stopped where she was and turned slowly to face him. "Trade secret," she said with a guilty smile. "I can't tell you… not just yet." She sighed. "There are some things you will have to learn for yourself. Dumbledore will explain –"

"Dumbledore explains little," Harry countered.

Dreia shrugged. "I'm just the messenger. But come, you have other things to worry about. Like surviving the night!" She smiled in what Harry was sure was reassurance, but did little to help take the edge off her pronouncement, and disappeared swiftly out the doorway.

"Right," he said to no one in particular and resigning himself to his ignorance – at least for the moment – Harry made his way to the guest bedroom on the second floor.

The bathroom itself was nothing special. An ordinary tub, toilet, small sink and walls of pale yellow was all it had contained during his short but intense stay; a common guest bathroom for washing up. The sight that met his eyes now was something else entirely.

The sink was absent, as was the loo and the tub. In its place was a large circular pool of grey colored stone that sat low to the ground looking rather like an old well. The water that filled it was as still as a pane of glass. Twigs, berries, and herbs seemed forever frozen as they floated silently on top of it. The room was as dark as night, save for a few lit candles floating near the ceiling that reflected softly off the surface of the water. And curiously enough, not even the afternoon sunshine from the adjacent bedroom passed the threshold into this dark tomb.

Winston had warned him earlier in the day that the pre-ritual cleansing was an important aspect of the ritual itself and to expect some changes to his bathing quarters. Harry thought that perhaps there might be a different bar of soap to use, or maybe a special towel or something equally mundane; certainly not the transformation that he saw now. The room was so different, Harry felt as though he should have been looking into the Room of Requirements.

Harry put his things to one side of the room, closed the door quietly, and discarded his clothing before slipping into the bath.

The sensation of the water was one that put all thoughts and quarrels in Harry's mind at ease. The water was warm. Not hot or even mild but warm like the touch of human skin. It felt silky, smooth, and filled him with a great sense of contentment and a sense of peaceful tranquility.

The pool was not deep like the one he had visited in the Prefect's bathroom in his fourth year at Hogwarts. It was filled enough for Harry to sit upright comfortably on the bottom and have the water reach the top of his chest. He inhaled deeply the scent of the herbs and twigs that floated mutely on the surface, and let his limbs relax beside him as his mind drifted to nothing in particular.

He stayed that way for quite some time, floating comfortably in the darkened abyss. The soft waters surrounding his body held him gently and caused a relaxation so complete he felt as though he were drifting easily between sleep and consciousness.

Somewhere behind his head he felt a soft breeze play in his hair and around his neck. He knew even before he saw the man in long white robes with his face hidden in the shadows of his hood that his time had come.

Harry's throat constricted just a little, as he reached for the towel he was offered, pulling himself out of the bath and over to the old robe.

He dressed quickly, and although the nervous prospect of what he was about to go through danced in the back of his mind, the sense of peace instilled in him by the pool kept him calm.

He turned to the hooded man who said, "Harry Potter, is it still your wish to make this journey? To prove your way into the brother and sisterhood of the Druids? To stand beside them? To defend with your life all of nature and mankind? To always protect and honor our ways?"

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation. He knew in his heart that he might never truly be one of them; that his place was an honorary role in their ranks. But he had decided somewhere in the course of the last week that he would be daft to abuse the honor he was given by these people; to count himself, however distant, among this spiritual, magical community. It would help him in the coming confrontation, to be sure.

A second taller man appeared silently next to the first as if the smoke and light from the candles above had transformed in to a second human form. He carried a black swatch of cloth over his arm and a simple strand of twine.

"Kneel," he said, and Harry, having been prepared for this by Winston that afternoon went down on bended knee.

The second man blindfolded him, and bound his hands together behind his back securely.

Harry felt himself being lifted to standing position and then led with naked feet through the house, down the porch stairs and across the meadow.

It occurred to him now that he wasn't entirely sure what time it was, or in what direction he was headed. He felt as though he must be going west. West was the most likely choice as that was where the wind was coming from and the direction of the forest that he now felt beneath his feet.

They walked for sometime, or at least, he thought it was walking. He was sure that three or four times he had felt his feet leave the ground, but he wasn't sure how that was accurate. His feet were moving as if he were walking forward, but from time to time it felt as though he were walking on air. His feet touched not twig, or leaf, and yet what ever was under his feet was just as tangible and real as any floor.

They turned direction many times. So many times in fact, that Harry lost count. Sometimes they would take three steps forward and then three to the right. Or perhaps three to the left--he wasn't entirely confident. Twice they had spun in clockwise circles for no apparent reason and then started off again.

Harry's feet--leaving the earth at times or not--were starting to tire. He wished they'd stop and let him get on with it. Show him whatever obstacle he would have to get through to prove he was worthy enough to join the circle. It wasn't as if he'd never done this sort of thing before.

Unbidden, the third task of the Tri-Wizard tournament and the look of astonishment on Cedric's face as Harry told him they would both take the cup flashed before his eyes. Harry clenched his fists in his bindings and swallowed his aches hard.

They went on a bit further, turning and misdirecting the entire way. Before Harry had realized, it they had stopped and his blindfold and bindings had been removed.

The two white-robed men before him regarded him for a moment before the shorter one said, "If you wish to join, your task is thus: make your way back through the forest to the ring of stones and join your brothers and sisters there. You have until sunrise."

And without another word, the two men faded away into the darkness of the night.

Harry looked around him. Gloomy, towering trees stood in every direction, and owls hooted somewhere high above. The full moon had already past, but he could tell from the little light that filtered in through the canopy that it must have been very late in the evening. Of course, the rumble from his belly could have told him that anyway, but these days it seemed to rumble at the drop of a hat.

"Great," Harry said out loud, with a sigh of resignation.

He felt around the worn old robe looking for his wand so he could light his way, but with a jolt, he remembered that it was still sitting on top of his clothing back in the bathroom.

"Great!" he said again, cursing himself and took another look around at his surroundings. He felt naked now in what he assumed was the middle of the forest with no discernable means of defense. Not even a way to transfigure a twig or leaves into something to cover his bare feet.

Harry clinched his jaw and looked around himself once more. The only thing for him to do was figure out how to get out of the wood without running into anything too nasty and up to the hill.

He looked in the direction the moonlight was filtering in, and the few stars he could see through the thick canopy above him, and, setting the most reasonable course, began making his way through the thick underbrush keeping a watchful eye out for anything that even slightly resembled a path.

The chill in the light, night breeze kept Harry's arm crossed against his chest and his naked feet moving swiftly through the forest terrain. Through thick brush, towering trees, and black shadows Harry trod, his eyes ever scanning the dense and quiet wood. Animals, coloured by darkness with moonlit bright eyes studied his progress from tree hallows and dense patches of grass, sometimes following him at a distance, sometimes running, hidding in the underbrush next to his chosen path.

The hours grew later and later as Harry made his way through the wood. A fine mist had developed, twisting its way above the forest floor like a spectral snake that made the old robe Harry wore damp, sticking to his already cold body like a second skin.

Harry spotted a small brook up ahead of him and decided to stop for a moment to rest. His naked feet were wary, and scratched, and despite the mist in the air his mouth dry. He cupped his hands in the water for a drink before he settled himself on the bank and closed his eyes. He was tired. It must be around 2 o'clock in the morning he decided, and not an end in sight to the wood.

He had been trying to figure out for the last half and hour how exactly the two men had taken him as far as they had, in as comparatively little time. And why was the forest suddenly turning against him? The branches of the trees seemed to position themselves into odd angles, obscuring his view. The bushes caught in his clothing when he was sure he was not close enough to be caught and just when he thought he'd found the right path he found that instead of moving forward out of the wood, he was in fact moving backwards deeper into the forest.

It seemed no matter how he turned, no matter how far he went, he found himself walking in circles and sometimes spirals all around the forest. The trees were still very dense and it was all he could do to guide himself by the stars and the moon. He had tried, as he had the day before, to ask the elements for help, but he quickly learned that they were leading him more firmly away from the correct path than he was leading himself.

Harry gritted his teeth and frustration. This was part of the test, he knew, but what was the point of it?

Just as Harry pondered this last thought, a shadow passed downstream catching his attention. He looked up sharply, his vivid green eyes widening and jaw dropping open considerably. The yearning desire that had filled him the afternoon before by the river filled him again and he nearly fell in to the brook in his haste to stand and regard the majestic beast before him.

The form of the Great Stag was encompassed with a moon bright halo, and his stiff muscular features shifted not one inch as he observed Harry with his liquid black eyes.

Harry met his gaze equally, not daring to break the unexplainable standoff between them.

But then something happened, something that in later days, Harry would ponder in hopes of gleaming some facet of truth as to what possessed him that night. The Great Stag moved his rear leg backward, and Harry, with every inch of his body crying out and not willing to let him get away this time, lunged.

The Great Stag waited until Harry was inches from him and took to the rough terrain of the forest. Harry followed him as fast as his human legs would carry him.

The air whipped past his face brutally and his heart beat out a rhythmic tune sharply against his breastbone as he struggled to keep pace with the forest king. Sweat ran in swift currents down his body despite the cool air and his feet already sore from the nights events bore terrible gashes soaking his feet in tiny rivers of blood.

But Harry kept moving.

He kept a respectable pace with the Stag that was running gracefully, almost tauntingly before him.

That which possessed him wanted that Stag.

And so they ran. Ran through thick underbrush, skirted past low-lying branches, and dodged over fallen logs and forgotten trees.

The stag veered left and then veered right as if trying to shake the young wizard from his trail. But Harry's legs kept in stride and soon, much sooner than he would have anticipated, the soft beat of a dozen drums reached his ears and the Stag broke free of the forest.