Six

House-elf apparition was nothing like the wizard variety, and Snape made a mental note to avoid it in the future if at all possible. The only thing he could compare it to was riding an ill-maintained Gringott's cart while suffering from a hangover caused by consuming a barrel of Firewhiskey. His head spun for several moments and his eyes watered furiously, and his stomach wrapped itself around his spine in protest. He swallowed hard, blinked several times to clear his vision, and then looked around.

He was in a forest clearing surrounded by fine old evergreens. Ancient trees, judging from their height and girth, for the smallest one he could see measured at least ten feet across. His breath steamed slightly in the air; it was considerably colder here. Shafts of sunlight played in the branches above his head and the splashing of water told of a nearby stream. The forest floor was covered with a light dusting of frost, and a fire burned nearby within a circle of stones. The scent of burning pine tickled his nose gently. Delky was nowhere to be seen.

Before he could call the elf's name, a tall figure stepped out from behind one of the trees. Cloaked and hooded, the figure gave no clue as to race or gender, though Snape estimated its height at near to his own six feet. The figure went over to the fire and added more wood so that the flames danced freely. That done, he or she sat down on a fallen log and regarded Snape from under the hood.

This silent study was thoroughly disconcerting. Snape stood it for a few moments and then cleared his throat. "Delky says you can answer my questions."

"Delky?" The voice was definitely masculine, rich and vibrant. "I suppose that will do as well as any name for him. What would you know?"

"Who are you?" That wasn't what he'd come here to ask, but he was definitely feeling out of his depth.

The other gave a deep laugh and threw back his hood revealing a fall of silvery hair that framed a long, thin, pale face and was parted on either side by pointed ears. Startling blue eyes were set beneath upswept eyebrows. "Do you recognize my kind, mortal?"

"You are Sidhe," Snape answered definitively. The stakes had just gotten much, much higher. His mind dredged up what he knew of these forest dwellers. When he was little, his mother had often threatened to send him off to the Sidhe to be boiled and eaten alive if he didn't behave. They were trickier than a goblin. Dangerous. Not to be trusted. Ever. Everything he'd ever read about them told him that he'd need all his wits and Slytherin cunning to get out of this.

"Bravo, mortal. Sidhe I am. You may call me Erias. You are called Severus, I am told."

Snape nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Why in the name of Merlin's left little toe would Delky have brought him here?

"Well then, Severus, what would you know? Delky would not have brought you here simply to ask my name."

"Delky implied that your magic isn't the same as the magic I know and use," Snape answered, deciding that the absolute truth was called for. He didn't know if the Sidhe could sense lies or not; some stories implied that they could. "I would like to learn more about that."

Erias snorted. "We look much the same, you and I. But we are not. Why should our magic be any different? It runs in our blood and bone. You mortals have made magic into something with rules, all done by rote. For you, it is not Art, but Science; science that you don't truly understand so you make up laws of magic to try to explain everything." He held up a clump of mistletoe. "You know this plant? You use it in making your elixirs?"

"Of course. It's used in several potions."

"So it is. Where do you get mistletoe when you need it?"

"I purchase it from an apothecary."

"And there are, of course, numerous apothecaries. Do you find, perchance, that some have a better quality of ingredient than others?"

Snape thought about that for a moment. "Yes, but it depends on what I need. The one in Diagon Alley usually has fine plants, but some of their other products are lacking. I have a list of preferred shops for the ingredients I use most commonly."

"And you've never wondered why this disparity?"

"Not until this moment. I've assumed," he said thoughtfully, "that apothecaries have different sources for their wares, and that the quality of the source for a given item varies from one to another."

"Mistletoe, to be at its best, must be harvested with a silver blade and stored in a ceramic container. If it comes into contact with any metal other than silver, its effectiveness is reduced. This is true of all things that come of the plant, the berries, and the leaves, all of it. I suspect that your mistletoe supplier has learned some of this."

"Mr. Sipps does keep his mistletoe in ceramic rather than glass," Snape allowed. "I've always thought it was just an affectation." He looked at the Sidhe. "There's more differences in our magic, though. What you've told me so far is just a more complex set of rules."

"You are quick," Erias applauded. "Yes, our magic is made of instinct and reflex rather than rules and books." A brief pause. "Are you answered?"

"Somewhat, yes. I have much to think on."

"Think on this as well: Nearly three thousand years ago, a small band of Sidhe lost a wager to a human. As a result, they and all their descendants were bound by Geas to serve the human and all his descendants. There were other conditions of the wager, but the only one that need concern you is that the term of service was three millennia. When the term runs out, they will be free again."

Snape blinked at the swift change of subject. "And this human was... or became... a wizard?" He did not like the sound of this at all, and wished he knew more of Geas theory.

"No, but his children did. His name was Merlin."

He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Merlin is acknowledged to be the founder of wizard-kind."

"So he is. Briefly, the tale is thus: Merlin sired twenty children on the Sidhe who served him. Those children were raised as humans, their appearances altered, but had their mothers' magic. They, in turn, were bred with the goal of increasing their children's magical abilities, and their children likewise. Those with no magical abilities were killed out of hand – a custom that some of your people still practice today." Erias reached out with a long stick and stirred the fire, making the flames dance. "Merlin forced the Sidhe to warp their appearances into something that could be mocked, and he bred them like cattle so that his descendants would never lack for servants. He called them elves to separate them from the Sidhe who did not serve him, and he taught his children to hate and fear us. By the time four generations had passed, wizards had become used to arranged marriages, and having servants."

"So if Merlin was a mortal, the legends of the great wizard are false?"

Erias snorted and threw more wood on the fire. "Not precisely. Merlin became a hereditary title handed down to the most powerful wizard of each generation. Their exploits were told and retold, and the tales grew with each telling. Over time, the distinction between the various Merlins blurred into one. The tradition ended rather abruptly when a the last Merlin attempted to seduce one of my people." He smiled in a rather unpleasant way. "We had no mind to become slaves like our brothers. At any rate, the term of the wager is drawing nigh."

"And all the Sidhe will be freed." Snape ignored his desire to ask what they had done to this last Merlin, and thought for a long moment. "They will want redress for the way many of them have been treated over the centuries."

"Yes. And they will want it in blood. When the shackles binding their magic are snapped, they will look to war. That is what I wish to prevent. Thousands of lives on both sides will be snuffed out if we cannot make our peoples see sense."

"How long until the wager runs out?" Snape asked. "If our two races can come to an agreement before then, it may be possible to prevent a war. I know people with some influence in our government." His mind raced. Hermione, of course. Potter, certainly. But the Sidhe was speaking again.

"A year and a day. As for negotiations," now Erias graced him with a sardonic smile, "we have chosen you to speak for us to your people."

"Me?" That was one too many shocks even for Snape's practiced self-control. His mouth fell open in astonishment. "I am not... My people will not listen to me."

"Because your magic is fading from disuse?"

"That, and because of things done in the past. You would do better to choose someone else. Anyone else."

"We have selected you because you have borne the wrath and scorn of your people. As for your magic, could your healers do nothing for you?"

"They tried," Snape admitted. "I didn't make it easy for them. I... do not like healers poking and prodding me like I was a side of beef at a market."

One corner of Erias' mouth lifted slightly. "I misdoubt I would like that either. It can be mended if you are willing. But these things are best done swiftly and it has been five years already. If you tarry overlong in deciding, the chance will be lost."

"You can restore me? Give me back my magic? What do you want in exchange?" Snape did his best to hide the hope that flared inside him at the Sidhe's words.

"Speak for us."