The Raven

“I think she’ll show—”

I angrily cut off that twit, Malfoy. “She hasn’t showed to the last three classes. Don’t get too excited.”

Malfoy sighed, quietly but angrily, before returning back to his supplies. I, too, sighed in the same fashion while I pressed my back against the uncomfortable wooden chairs. What does it matter where Nyathera is? It’s nice to get a room that doesn’t reek of smoke. I don’t know why Malfoy wants to talk about her so much. He must have some stupid school-boy crush on her. There are five other boys with whom he can speak about her, but he chooses me, for the silliest of matters. Really? Does he really think I care for his desires?

Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, his rope scratching at the smooth, granite-like flooring of the classroom. He magically slammed the doors shut as he turned at the front of the classroom to face us. He made eye contact with each and every one of us before saying, “All of you in this room have a short time before Hogwarts can reveal you to our world as fully functioning wizards and witches. Alas,” he sighed and slid his gaze over to me, “we don’t tell you about everything that’s out there. There are glorious victories awaiting you outside of these gates, but there are also terrible, terrible dangers waiting to feast upon your naïve desires, your weaknesses.” Dumbledore crossed his arms against his chest and said, “What I’m about to show you does not leave this classroom. The secrets I’m about to unlock—the information I think you’re ready to receive, is my lesson to teach. Speak of it amongst yourselves as you please, not to no others.” He swiftly opened his arms, cutting the air, before any of us could ask any questions.

A humanoid figure, dripping in liquid, metallic, strangely glittering gold walked into the room. The doors slammed shut behind it, yet made no noise. The gold was almost gooey; it stuck to floor, yet weren’t exactly puddles, and it all somehow slid back up to the humanoid. The humanoid figure stopped at Dumbledore, stared at him for a moment, then stepped aside and turned to face all of us. The dripping, gooey gold flowed from the floor, to the figure and up its body. The gold swirled around and up, made a few loops around the upper part of the body, and flowed downward, just to repeat this cycle. Dumbledore pointed to the strange figure and said, “This, witches and wizards, is the literal, physical embodiment of not just immortality, but eternal youth.”

Malfoy blurted out, “What?”

Dumbledore ignored him; I slid forward in my seat, pressing the front of my body against the cold, black desk.

Dumbledore looked at the human figure and dropped his arm, “Go ahead and change back.”

The figure breathed in deeply, its breath sounding and feeling like the breeze; all the gold started to swirl around the figure’s body so quickly that all one could see is the blinding glitter quality. A scream erupted from the figure as a bright light exploded in the room; when we all could see again, only mere seconds later, a naked Nyathera appeared, though her body was heavily coated in the glittery, gooey gold substance.

“The honey-like substance isn’t the literal part. That honey-like substance is what Nyathera’s inners looks like. Her cells, her organs, her parts—they don’t decompose. They stay as a… an…” Dumbledore chuckled to himself, “elixir of life, if you will.”

Everyone was too shocked to give a giggle. Nyathera already told me of her power, but I never thought of her form as so… so magnificent. I knew she sounded like honey, but I didn’t realize that she was made of it.

“Nyathera can take your life source away and keep it for herself, give it to someone—or something—else, or give it back to you. If she gets injured, she automatically heals. In your bodies, parts and cells age and die with the hopes that another cell is there to take its place. Nyathera’s cells and parts never get tired. They age, but they never die. They don’t even get recycled within her body. They stay pure and strong forever.”

The class’ bewilderment heavied the air.

“There’s so much that Nyathera can do—”

I cut Dumbledore off, “Can she show us?”

Dumbledore went to speak, but Nyathera walked toward me, which stole Dumbledore’s chance to reply. The gold dripped and slid off her body, slowly forming streaks of movement on the floor. She leaned her torso onto my desk, grabbed my forearms in her hot hands, pulled me up and heaved me toward her. She sucked at the air I puffed out from the force, but suddenly, it wasn’t air to come out of me. A dark, muddy green evaporation was pulled from deep in my body and released into the air. I couldn’t close my mouth. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t escape her. She even let go of me, but her sucking kept me frozen. My body grew weak and my sight left and returned in quick spurts.

She suddenly let go of me. I slammed down onto the desk and somehow rolled to the floor. She blew the evaporation back into my mouth, sealing it back into my body with a burning hot lip-to-lip attachment. We’ve met like this twice, but never has it been a kiss. Always a seal. A tearing or a sealing.

As the evaporation settled back in my body, I was able to see and breathe regularly again.

“That was your soul,” Nyathera said, only her voice didn’t sound like it regularly does—like honey. It resounded into the air, absorbed into the walls, as if it were a wave of beautiful beat in a song. “You don’t have much left, Tom. Stop ripping it around everywhere.”

Dumbledore walked to me and magically placed me back in my seat.

I gasped for air, my spittle flying around and my chest heaving. I grabbed at the desk—the full force of the experience suddenly shook my body. It felt as if a seizure was rocking me, but from within my marrow rather than my muscles.

And I looked at her. The gold dripping away, almost melting off. Her bare body revealed yet unseeable. And her form, her being, her power—it all was too much. Everything I wanted treated like a curse—a power being used as a puppet for Dumbledore.

I found the strength to get up and walk to her, but I collapsed at her feet. I couldn’t move to look up at her, so I pressed my cold lips into the hot flesh of her ankle and mouthed, “How?”

Nyathera squatted down, dipped her finger in the gooey, honey gold, and slipped it into my mouth. The goo instantly fell off her finger and absorbed into my body. I started to thrash around again, only this time my body felt hot. I was being slammed all over the floor until I ended up at Dumbledore’s feet. He looked down into my eyes and said, “I don’t know what you’ve done to yourself, Tom, but that feeling was healing.”

My breathing felt cool and easy, as if her sustainability coated my lungs. “I don’t need your advice, old man.” I shifted my gaze to Nyathera—I tried to speak to her, but my voice was high and musical like hers was. I looked around and realized that no one understood me—either time. Dumbledore still stared down at me; my classmates looked horrified, yet calm. I looked back up at Nyathera and said, “Let me use you up—”

“You’d have to give me your young life.”

Dumbledore broke the airwaves with a magical, thunderous clap, which fixed my voice, as everyone understood my cursing. He looked back down at me and said, “It’s not just outside these gates that are waiting to take advantage of your naïve desires, Tom. Healing is just as easy as deceit in the guise of self-interest. You must be care—.”

Nyathera turned into a blinding light; we all shielded our eyes from the blast, but when we looked around she was nowhere to be found.