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Books > Harry Potter
Basilisk-born
By: Ebenbild
What if the Dementor attack in 5th year had ended with Harry losing?
What if someone had stepped in to save him? And what if Harry ended
up in the past with a chance to be more than he ever was before? A story
about a forcibly time travelled Harry and its consequences...
Manipulative Dumbledore, 'Slytherin!Harry', Time Travel!
Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery/Adventure - Harry P., Salazar S. -
Chapters: 72 - Words: 630,630 - Reviews: 7,851 - Favs: 13,873 - Follows:
12,185 - Updated: 27.03.2021, 01:48:20 - Published: 22.09.2014,
23:33:21 - Status: Complete - id: 10709411
26. Chapter 25: Ca 900 AD The
Gathering
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Well, if I counted right, the vote said Sal. So… on with another chapter in the
past – I promise, the next will be in the future with Harry again (for those that
voted for Harry...)
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Ca. 900 AD
The Gathering of The Lords
sss
Just a few days later, Godric and Peverell left to Londinium again for the
next Gathering of the Lords. Sal originally did not want to come along,
but soon found out, that he had no choice in that matter. Godric and
even Peverell were insistent.
When they reached Londinium, the other two Lords took Sal to a cave
that contained the hall for the Gathering of the Lords. The day before in
the morning Sal had decided to brush up his etiquette lessons.
"Don't worry" Godric had told him at that time, when Sal asked how he
should behave in front of the other Lords. "No one will judge you for not
knowing the etiquette. Just behave as you usually would – Peverell and I
will do the rest."
Sal had not been happy with this answer, but stayed silent. He had
guessed that Godric had wanted to sooth him because the other thought
Salvazsahar never had any formal training – and Sal could not fault him
for that. Still, he would have preferred a short over-view over the
common etiquette – just to see if his knowledge still matched with the
current time…
In the end however he decided not to ask again. If his knowledge didn't
match anymore there was no way he would be able to learn it all until he
met the other lords – and if it still matched then he did not need the help
of the other two. So he stayed silent. The next morning however he
searched his meagre possessions for the official court robes he normally
had worn on Arthur's court. Then he combed his long, black hair and
started to braid it in the way he had been taught by Gawain. Simple
green and silver ribbons – the same colour his official robes had – now
adorned the braided parts of his hair and a simple hair piece, which
looked like a silver three-angled spider web completed the headdress.
Over his robes he simply wore his travel cloak with the hood concealing
his hair.
Godric and Peverell also wore more formal robes that day, but told Sal he
should not worry about something like that. So Sal shrugged and decided
not to mention that he indeed possessed and wore formal robes – even if
their style was older than the robes Godric and Peverell were wearing.
So he followed the two lords to the hall where the Gathering would take
place. The first thing, Sal saw when he entered the cave, was the obelisk.
In the middle of the hall stood an obsidian obelisk which was high
enough to lay your hand on it comfortably.
"The stone of judgement" Godric whispered. "It was enhanced by Myrddin
himself. It's the same stone, Arthur drew Excalibur from."
Sal said nothing. He knew, that his father Arthur definitely did not draw
Excalibur from anywhere – after all the legendary sword originally
belonged to Sal…
But Sal also knew that Arthur indeed drew a sword from the stone.
Caledfwlch – the first sword he had had. And it had been this stone,
apparently…
"The stone judges you. It will decide if your family truly is a part of this
Gathering or if it isn't" Peverell added.
Sal just sighed and looked at the rest of the room. The most of the room
was made of stone. The only exception were the wooden chairs for the
Lords. And even there was an exception. A throne-like stone chair was
seated at the end of the hall, facing the chairs of the lords.
"The throne" Peverell whispered, when he saw Sal looking at it. Sal
blinked and turned to look at Peverell.
"You're joking, aren't you?!" he said shivering. He vividly remembered
sitting on a throne for three agonizing weeks while Arthur recovered
from his wounds. Sal had no intention doing so again…
"I am not" Peverell answered. "We are still subjects to the Pendragon-
family – even if there is no one who can claim the title anymore…"
"Lord Grim!" a voice snarled in that moment and interrupted Peverell
while speaking. "What a pleasure to meet you and Lord LeFay here in this
humble halls."
Immediately Peverell's back stiffed with distaste. One moment his
features darkened, but then he schooled them to an unreadable mask and
turned to the speaker.
"Lord Gaunt" he greeted. "The pleasure is mine."
The other Lord just waved with his hand.
"I am truly surprised that you even decided to come, Lord Grim" he said.
"I thought a Gathering from such lowly men like us is way beneath you –
but then, you also decided to bring a commoner to this holy halls… I am
intrigued how Lord Selwyn will react."
Sal raised an eyebrow when he heard the words. His eyes searched
Godric's and asked a silent question to explain.
"Lord Selwyn is the leader of the Gathering" Godric whispered but before
he could add another thing, a second man entered the cave.
"Lord Gaunt" he greeted. "Lord Grim, Lord LeFay." Then he looked at Sal
and raised an eyebrow at Peverell and Godric.
"I hope you have a good explanation for disrespecting our traditions and
bringing a commoner to this place" he said.
"There is a very good explanation, Lord Selwyn" Peverell said. "Just hear
us out before…"
"I told you that the Lords LeFay and Grim still think themselves superior
to us" Lord Gaunt interrupted him. "They even think that they have the
right to bring a commoner in the Halls of the Gathering! This behaviour
is outrageous, Lord Selwyn!"
Sal saw that other lords had entered the cave while they were speaking.
The most of them nodding when Lord Gaunt spoke.
"Throw him out and punish these two children! Even if it is the first time
– we cannot let them do everything they want just because they are Olde
ones!" Gaunt finished and Sal snapped. He had grown up (again) on
Arthur's Court and had been taught how to behave as the son of Arthur.
Throwing a person out of a lordly hall after this person was invited by
other Lords was one of the foulest things you could do…
And not asking for a person's name before throwing them out was an
even greater break in etiquette – after all, throwing someone out of a
Gathering was like declaring a blood-feud. It was especially foolish to
declare a blood-feud with a family that could have more influence than
your own…
Of course, it could have changed over time – but the rules Arthur,
Gawain and Lancelot had taught him were routed deeply in his mind and
Sal could not stop himself from reacting like he would have reacted if he
had been on Arthur's court.
Salvazsahar threw back his hood and stared at them with emotionless
eyes and a face like a mask, in his green eyes hidden the blasting of the
Phoenix's eternal flames.
"I thought this hall was build out of stone to last for eternity" he
reprimanded the lord softly, still displaying no emotions at all. "Now I see
I was mistaken. The stone seems to be here to shadow your eyes from the
world around you, my dear lords. And truly, this chamber works
wonders. There even is a shadow on your names as you have not named
yourself and also not asked for mine until now."
Lord Gaunt blinked and stared at him.
"What are you implying, boy?" Lord Selwyn asked in Lord Gaunt's stet.
"I am merely inquiring why the lord asks for strife between our families
by looking down on his own breeding and everything his parents might
have taught him since the day he was born" Sal said softly. "I am quite
sure a lord of his calibre would not fall so low to forget his own
education in our ways."
Lord Selwyn simply gawked at him and Sal started to ask himself if the
etiquette he had been taught had changed so much since the last time he
had to use it, that they did not recognize the faux-pas they had
committed.
It was another, very old looking man who broke the sudden silence with
his laughter.
Then he stepped up to them and bowed to Sal.
"I am Alistair Conor Declan McGonagall, Lord of the Glen Gal in Pictia"
he said formally. "I am intrigued who you are, dear child. I have never
seen someone chastising a lord with so much elegance like you did
today."
Sal raised an eyebrow when the old lord answered.
"So I take it that the conduct in a formal Gathering has changed since the
days of my father?" he asked the old lord softly. The man – Lord
McGonagall – simply shook his head.
"It hasn't, young child" he answered. "They simply are not used to anyone
who knows better how to behave then them themselves. It has been a
long time since I last encountered someone who knew our ways as good
as you seem to do."
"I am honoured by your words, Lord McGonagall, even if I am sure that
you are exaggerating" Sal said, a little bit surprised that the other lords
seemed not to have been as harshly reprimanded for behaving wrongly in
their youth than he had been. "For my name, I am Salvazsahar Serendu
Harryjames Emrys, Lord of Emrys and ward-holder of my ancestral home
in Pictia. I am pleased to meet a neighbour of my realm."
Sal also answered the bow of Lord McGonagall, but kept his bow not as
deep as the lord had bowed before. He did it automatically and stiffened,
when he stood straight again and recognized his slip. A lord to another
one bowed equally low, a prince or king instead – like Sal had been
trained – bowed less than a lord. And the lord in front of him definitely
had seen his slip and was calculating its meaning…
Was he the only one?
Sal glanced at the other lords – especially his slack-jawed friends – and
relaxed. To his relief no-one – except of the old lord in front of him, that
is – had seen his short slip up. The lord in front of him still stared at him
with calculating eyes. The others instead roared at him.
"Emrys?!" Gaunt roared. "You should know that it will not become you
well if you make a joke like that in this halls!"
"The Emrys line is extinct!" Lord Selwyn hissed. "There is no way that a
mere boy like you does belong to a line as powerful as Emrys!"
Others said the same and more while Godric and Peverell still seemed to
gawk at him for his ability to act like a lord should – until Lord
McGonagall intervened.
"Follow me, young lord" he addressed Sal and winked him to the obelisk.
"Just lay your hand on the stone and state your claim."
Sal hesitated just a second, then he followed the instructions. The stone
was warm to his hands when he touched it softly.
Then he stated formally: "I am Salvazsahar Emrys. I am Lord to my line. I
call forth the Lordship I carry. I am Lord Emrys as I was born to my
father who was the last Lord Emrys. So be it, so mot it be."
White light erupted from the stone and bathed him in a soft golden glow.
At the same time the throne, to Sal's dismay, started to shimmer in the
same golden glow that enveloped Sal. The old lord raised an eyebrow
and looked pointedly at the stone throne and then at Sal.
Sal sighed and shook his head.
"But you could" the lord whispered softly so that the other lords who
were staring at Sal could not hear him.
Sal just raised an eyebrow, then the mischief took over and he answered.
"Of course I could" he said. "I am his son after all. I just won't because I
hated to be a prince – and I definitely will loath it even more if I were a
king. So don't tell anyone." And with that he chuckled and returned to
Godric and Peverell, leaving behind a slack-jawed old man.
"Well" that was Godric. "Well – that should be enough to prove that we
did not bring a commoner to our Gathering."
Lord Selwyn simply blinked at Godric, still absolutely flabbergasted after
the display he had seen a minute before.
"Er… of course, Lord LeFay" he finally said. "And I apologise to Lord
Emrys for doubting his claim."
"You do not have to apologise for doubting my claim" Sal answered.
"Doubting the claim was nothing I would hold against you. Breaking the
rules of a gathering and trying to throw me out without hearing me out
at first and even without asking for my name instead – that is something
you should apologise for, Lord Selwyn."
The lord blinked again, then he inclined his head.
"You are right, Lord Emrys. I apologise for my behaviour."
"I accept" Sal answered, also inclining his head. "But do not forget. I will
not accept another breach in etiquette against myself as easily as now
next time it happens."
"You are a harsh lord, Lord Emrys" Lord Selwyn said softly. Sal just
shrugged.
"If I would have followed my father's lead, you would be dead by my feet
now – I do not see it as harsh when I think of the answer my father
would have given you by now."
Lord McGonagall nearly choked on his own saliva when hearing Sal's
answer.
"Er… yes… well… we should get started…" Lord Selwyn finally said and
the other lord sat down in one of the chairs. Sal followed Godric and
Peverell and sat down next to them. Lord McGonagall instead sat next to
Sal.
And while Lord Selwyn took one of the chairs and sat it down next to the
obelisk so that he could see the whole gathering, Lord McGonagall
whispered in Sal's ear: "Was what you told me earlier a joke – or are you
really somehow the son of… of King Arthur Pendragon… or did I just
understand it wrongly…?"
Sal smiled at the old lord.
"My mother belonged to his line" Sal answered as softly as the lord. "I was
adopted by him as his son and heir until he would have a child of his
own. He never had a son he recognized except of me."
The old lord shuddered.
"So you're…"
"I am fine by being my blood-father's heir. The title of Emrys is definitely
enough to carry. I do not need this…" he nodded to the throne. "Also on
my plate."
The lord opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by Lord Selwyn,
who started the Gathering.
"Today is the seventieth Gathering of the Lords" he said. "Our people are
flourishing and the cooperation with the mundanes is getting along well.
Is there something you want or need to discuss today?"
"There is, my Lord" a Lord in the background said and stood up.
"The Gathering recognises Lord Arthur Bones" Lord Selwyn said and Lord
Bones continued.
"My clan is flourishing well but there aren't enough teachers for our
youth" Lord Bones said gravely. "We need some masters to teach our
ways and our magic to them but there is no-one in my clan that hasn't an
apprentice or that has the ability to teach an apprentice. I came today to
ask for places to send our youths to so that they learn to control their
magic."
When he ended six other lords also stood up.
"I have come for the same" they chorused and after that stared at each
other, surprised that they were not the only ones.
"I am looking for a place of our youths as well" Lord McGonagall said
while standing up. "I do not need it this year – but I need it next. I simply
have not enough masters anymore that can take on an apprentice."
"I told you that the apprenticeship will be a problem in the near future,
Peverell" Godric whispered softly. "Rena and Helga are right. Taking on
more than one apprentice will be the only way to ensure the education of
our youths."
Peverell just inclined his head and stood up.
"I came here with a declaration that could aid your needs" he said loudly
to the gathering. Lord Selwyn nodded and said.
"The Gathering recognises Lord Peverell Grim" he said and the eyes of the
other lords fell on the Grim-Lord.
"My wife and my sister are planning a new concept of apprenticeship" he
said. "The Lords Emrys and LeFay are also aiding in their task. My clan
will have the same problems like yours in a few years' time, because of
that my wife and sister want to open a place to teach our young in
groups. It will not be an apprenticeship, instead it would introduce the
children to magic and its ways. We plan on teaching them enough so that
a real master will be able to take on more than one apprentice at the time
they have finished their education with us. We are here to ask for your
allowance to do so and to ask for your trust in our abilities so that you
would send your children to us to be trained."
"How do you plan to take on more than one apprentice?" Lord Selwyn
asked surprised.
"We plan to teach them the basics for all apprenticeships" Peverell
answered hesitatingly. "The easy things that could be taught to more than
one child even now. It's simply the idea to take away the first eight years
of apprenticeship from the masters. After that the children should know
enough so that a master does not have to worry anymore. And when the
children do not learn only the basics of one apprenticeship but of more
there should also be less problems with their understanding of magic
which would aid the masters in their tasks. Then maybe the masters also
can take on more than one apprentice at a time. It would aid all."
"An interesting concept you have" Lord McGonagall said, staring at them.
"I think I would like to send you some of my children to test it. If it really
aids them and the masters I would think about giving the rest of my
children in your hands for the next eight years."
Another lord in the back nodded.
"I would do the same" he said. "But there is the problem with harvest. A
lot of the parents need the aid of their children at that time of the year."
"And if we would send them back for harvest every year?" Sal asked and
stood up. "They could be taught by us for the most of the year and they
could be send home for harvest. Like that you can test them and be sure
that they know as much as they should know at that time in their
apprenticeship. And if they do you can send them and others that want to
join back after harvest. If they don't you can chose to search for another
way."
"As long as they learn to control their magic and they still can help in
harvest I would not even be bothered if they would know a little bit less
than they would if they were apprenticed" another lord said. "The
children need to be taught and I would like to test your idea. If they learn
less I still would send them back until I have enough masters that could
teach them better."
"There is just one question: When will you start with it?" Lord
McGonagall said.
"We planned to start in a year's time after harvest" Godric said. "We still
have to gather some ideas about what we need to teach the children. It
will take some time to decide what we will teach and how we will teach
it. We will send out letters when we are ready to take in the first
apprentices."
"Then I will wait for your letter eagerly" Lord McGonagall said and others
also inclined their head to show their content.
"Well – your idea seems to have merit" Lord Selwyn said. "The Gathering
recognises the idea of the Lords Grim, LeFay and Emrys. We will watch
over it for the next years. If it really aids us we will think about inducting
laws that will establish this idea in our culture. Anyone against this
decision?"
No-one raised a hand.
"Anyone for this decision?"
Nearly everyone raised their hands this time.
"Well, so mot it be. Let us see the following years how this idea of yours
will develop."
And with that the last word was spoken in the Gathering about the idea
of a school. Nearly eighty years later the laws about Hogwarts would be
added to the laws of the Gathering – until than every year the Leader of
the Gathering would ask about the school and how the lords felt about it.
It never had a negative reply in all the years the leader asked…
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That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
27. Chapter 26: Thowing Out The
Bait
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
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Throwing Out The Bait
sss
Dear Readers,
I am proud to present you a new column in The Quibbler. Our new columnist,
Oliver Twist, will present you with facts about the wizarding world you never
knew and never thought about.
Xenophilius Lovegood
Editor-in-Chief of The Quibbler
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxx
Founding Facts
It's the end of August and soon it will be time to return to Hogwarts again. I
am sure you all remember the stone walls of Hogwarts, her homey feeling and
the warmth that will fill you as soon as you set a foot on her grounds.
And with the beginning of the new year also some new students arrive. They
will enter the halls of Hogwarts with huge eyes, innocent of the trials of life.
They will stare at this beautiful castle in wonder and will learn to love it like
they love home.
But there they will not just learn magic; they will also learn house-rivalry,
house-rivalry and prejudice. Why staying friends with your best friend since
you were children after he or she was sorted in Slytherin and you yourself in
Gryffindor? The Founders of Gryffindor and Slytherin hated each other – the
blood-feud cannot be mended even in another thousand years!
Let the Sorting Hat talk about school unity, let him sing. There is no mending
of the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin! There are no friendships
between the houses – and no teachers who even try to be fair to every house!
You think that?! Really?!
Then let me tell you a story.
There is an old book in the library of Hogwarts. It's hidden in a little room and
its name is 'The Teachers of Hogwarts'.
Last year I found it just by accident. So… whoever you are, when you still go
to Hogwarts, go looking for it. There are some interesting things provided in it.
Some of these things are some important facts about the teachers who teach or
taught at Hogwarts. Just ask the book for the Founder of your house – or
maybe another Founder?! – and read yourself. I did it – and I found things
you would never have guessed…
Did you know that Slytherin argued about the safety of Hogwarts and that he
did not want Muggle-parents come to Hogwarts?! Did you know that even if
he and Gryffindor had a falling out in the middle of the Great Hall that three
days later the other Founders gave in to his wishes?!
When I read that I searched the library about the historical events at that time.
Did you know that at that time Britain was attacked often by Viking-ships?
They murdered, they maimed and they made slaves to bring them back home.
Did you know that the Muggles at that time blamed sometimes wizards for the
Viking – simply because wizards could hide but did not even thing about
hiding their neighborhood?!
Not everyone was so brave and foolish like Gryffindor who nearly lost his life
protecting a Muggle village in his neighborhood. Well, maybe he would have
lost his life if Slytherin would not have aided him…
So Slytherin was trying to protect his students from the wrath of Muggles who
were not protected by his students' parents – and don't forget: at that time
Muggles knew about us. We were living with them, even marrying them.
When they would have known about the school they would have been able to
enter it without wards against them…
And the Founders even tried to be fair. They did not only exclude the Muggle-
but also the magical parents. Or why do you think no parent ever entered
Hogwarts except if their child was mortally wounded?! And even then they
had to be brought in and could not come by themselves…
But back to history.
We know, Slytherin left.
Well, I cannot argue that statement. Slytherin left. Rowena died, then Helga,
then Godric and finally Slytherin left. 'Hu?!' you might think. 'Isn't that the
wrong order?!'
Just check the dates. Even if Slytherin has no date of death, he has a date
when he finally left Hogwarts – and that's more then twenty years after Godric
Gryffindor's death. So when the Sorting Hat tells you that the unity shattered
after Slytherin left it simply tells you that the Founders were a unity until the
most of them had died.
So back to our first years…
Back to Hogwarts.
Think about it this way: When the Founders could be united until they died –
don't you think you can do it, too? Forget house-rivalry, forget biased teachers
and self-named Heirs of Slytherin. Look at your classmates. They are not
different then you. They are nervous, they are able to love, to hate, to be sad,
to be happy…
Even if they love to learn, even if they are living in the dungeons… they are
still humans like you. You can still be friends.
Just forget the red, the blue, the yellow and the green on their uniforms. Their
uniforms are all black. They all have classes. They all eat in the Great Hall.
So how about trying a little green for today or a little red?
And when you want to protest, think about this: the Sorting Hat gives you a
choice – so how can you really be sure that the red, blue, yellow or green on
your opponents black uniform is earned?
Maybe you are a Gryffindor and have shared a dorm with a Slytherin all
along…
Oliver Twist
sSsSs
"Thanks" Harry said, handing back The Quibbler to the blond girl in front
of him. She had lend him her newspaper after he had asked her – after
all, he could hardly take out his own copy and read that one when he
officially not even knew about the development with Oliver Twist.
"I don't mind" the girl – Luna Lovegood, Ginny had called her – said and
took the newspaper. "Its always good to know the more important things
in the wizarding world."
Ginny snorted while Neville nearly chocked on his own saliva.
"Er… sure" Harry said.
Ginny just roled her eyes at his reply and Neville whispered in his ear:
"The Quibbler is known for its more… excentric view on the world…"
"Ah… all right" Harry replied then he contemplated a bit before he
added. "Well, the article about Hogwarts didn't seem too excentric in my
opinion. There were some details I never knew in it – but all in all it
seemed to be the truth. And that's more then the Prophet is writing at the
moment."
Neville stared at him then he turned and asked Luna if he could borrow
her newspaper for a bit. He opened The Quibbler and began to read while
Ginny was looking over his shoulder, also reading.
"Well?" Harry asked when they finished.
"Do you… do you think it's telling the truth?" Neville asked wide eyed.
"Of course it is" Luna said. "Daddy is always printing the truth – and since
Oliver Twist is writing for him there are finally a lot more people
interested in it. He's now thinking about hireing a few people because he
has started to have trouble printing all the subscriptions he has…"
"Ah… all right" Neville said, clearly unsure what to think about that.
Before he could add something else, the compartment door opened and
Ron and Hermione entered. And while Ron instandly hunted down the
food they had, Hermione plucked The Quibbler out of Neville's hands.
"You're reading Twist's article, aren't you?" she asked.
"Hu? How do you…?"
"I heard the adults talking about the boy who is writing letters to The
Quibbler" Hermione answered. "Mrs Weasley thinks that a young boy like
him should think about school and not about listening to rumours but
Si… Snuffles thinks it's brilliant. Until now I had no time to look at one of
the articles myself, may I?"
"Er… I think you already have" Neville pointed out. "But sure, I guess…
not that it's my newspaper. It belongs to Luna over there…"
Hermione did not even listen. Instead she started to read out loud.
Harry just roled his eyes at 'his' best friend. As if he couldn't read the
article himself…
"Slytherin's in Gryffindor?!" Ron blurted out when Hermione ended.
"That… that's a joke, isn't it?!"
"What are you talking about, Weasley?!" another voice said – this time
coming from the compartment door. Malfoy was standing in the door,
sneering at Ron.
"This article from Oliver Twist, Heir Malfoy" Harry answered, plucking
the newspaper out of Hermione's hands and handing it to Malfoy. "It talks
about choices – and about Slytherins in Gryffindor."
Malfoy looked at Harry oddly before he snorted, hesitated, but finally he
took the article nevertheless and looked it over.
"Rubbish" he finally said. "The same rubbish as always. You shouldn't
believe the newspaper of an insane editor, Potter!"
Harry just inclined his head.
"But you also shouldn't disregard an article like that, Heir Malfoy" Harry
said softly. "After all there is always the possibility that the article might
be genutine or that the article – even if it is wrong – might influence
people who don't know better. You might be at a disadvantage if you
don't know about something like that, Heir Malfoy."
Ron stared at Harry with an open mouth. Hermione frowned and Neville
looked back and forth between Harry and Malfoy as if he was following a
duell.
Malfoy just sneered.
"Why so formal, Potter? Forgotten how to insult over the holidays?!"
Harry just smiled.
"Of course not, Heir Malfoy. But after the faux-pas I committed in first
year I cannot ask for your forgiveness without being formal."
The apartement was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Harry's friends
were staring at him as if he had gone insane and Malfoy suddenly seemed
usure what to do with him. Of course, before the summer, the original
Harry would have never been civil with the Heir Malfoy. The new Harry
instead had been raised the pure-blood way of life and had decided to act
on it – it was after all better to minimize his opponents instead of trying
to fight the whole world all alone. And Malfoy could be useful at some
occasion…
"Potter – what are you up to?" Malfoy sneered, but Harry did not falter.
He knew the original Harry had offended the Malfoy heir. Harry had
decided to mend the relationship to the Malfoy family. He needed to
mend the faux-pas from first year before continueing with his plans.
So he ignored the tone of Draco Malfoy and bowed low to the heir.
"I wish to apologies for my attitude the last years" he answered. "I did not
wish to offend you in first year – I was merely a child without guidance
about the rights and wrongs in the world. As the Lord of the Grim Family
and your cousin by blood I beg you for your forgiveness, Heir Malfoy."
"Cousin?" Malfoy asked asktonished.
Harry did not look up while answering.
"My grandmother was Dorea Black."
He knew that being family was important in a plea for forgiveness.
Malfoy would not be able to forgive Harry easily if they weren't blood. As
blood-relatives instead Harry was able to get forgiveness more easily
without the Heir Malfoy losing his face. Family should work together,
after all.
Of course, Harry had other means to ensure that Malfoy would not stand
in his way – but why forcing something that maybe could be mended
through other means? After all, the young Heir Malfoy would loose his
face if he swatted away the formal apology of a family member. If Harry
had murderered someone of Malfoy's family, then Malfoy would have
been able to say no – but the faux-pas Harry had committed was not even
enough for a blood-feud among their families… well, at least until Harry
entered the Wizengamot as a member…
Malfoy hesitated just a moment.
"I will forgive you, Lord Grim" he finally answered, stocking by the title.
"But you still own me your allegiance."
"Aid, Heir Malfoy" Harry corrected. "I am a Lord. I cannot follow you."
Again, Malfoy stayed silent for a minute. Then he nodded.
"Aid it is" he said. "You will not go against me or my house – even if we
end up on different sides."
"So mot it be" Harry answered and stood straight again.
Malfoy stared at him.
"I still don't like you, Lord Grim" he said and then he turned and shut the
door behind him. Harry instead grinned.
"You don't have to" he answered the closed door.
"Harry, what…? Why?" Ginny asked with huge eyes.
"Because I had to" Harry answered simply. "Albus Dumbledore might
think nothing wrong with grudges but I will not let a mere child-grudge
become a blood feud between our families. As I am still not a member of
the Wizengamot I still could mend it. I wouldn't have been able to if I
would have been a member."
Neville nodded.
"I understand. Grams told me often enough not to offend someone
because it would do me no good if I had an enemy in the Wizengamot."
"And it definitely wouldn't be good if that enemy would be family" Harry
confirmed.
"Definitely" Neville answered. The others just gawked at him.
"But… but… that was Malfoy!" Ron finally stuttered. "Malfoy, Harry!"
Harry snorted.
"I know, Ron" he answered. "But I cannot go around and insult him just
because I do not like him. I am a Lord, Ron. A Lord – do you understand
what that means?!"
Ron just gawked.
"Harry" that was Hermione. "I don't understand. What do you mean with:
I am a Lord?! You cannot be a Lord… I mean… how…?!"
This time Harry sighed and then frowned.
"It's simple, Hermione. My father was a Lord and because he is dead and I
am fifteen I am the Lord now."
"Your father… but how do you know that?! I mean – I thought you didn't
know anything about your family!"
"I didn't" Harry answered sincerely. "But I found out this summer – and I
definitely won't act like a disgrace to my family name anymore."
"But… how did you find out?! I mean you weren't allowed to leave…"
"We should change our clothes" Harry said, stopping her mid-sentence.
"We will be at Hogwarts in ten minutes."
"You cannot just end…" Hermione started, this time looking determinded.
Harry sighed.
"I know, Hermione. It's just something I cannot…" he stopped, then he
shook his head. "Snuffles told me." He finally said.
"Oh" Hermione blushed. "I should have guessed it myself…"
Harry just left the compartment so that the girls could change. He felt a
little bit guilty for lying – but then, it wasn't the first time he had lied to
someone and it definitely wouldn't be the last. He just hoped that
Hermione would not ask Sirius why he hadn't told Harry about his place
in the world before this summer…
xXxXxXxXxXx
When they finally reached Hogsmeade Harry had gone silent. His friends
were talking about the holidays, the new school year and guessed what
kind of Defence Professor they would have this year.
Harry instead had taken to looking out in the dark. In his mind he could
feel the heavy feeling of magic humming at him. He closed his eyes,
listening to the humming of the magic that was filling the air.
He felt sick by just listening!
The more he listend, the more nauseated he felt by what he heard.
"Harry? Are you all right?"
Harry startled and looked at Hermione who watched him with a worried
expression on her face.
"Er… yes. I am fine, Hermione" he answered.
"You sure?" Ron asked. "You look a little bit queezy."
"Just nervous" Harry answered. "You know… I'm not sure if I should look
forward to this year…"
"Why?" Hermione asked surprised.
Harry just snorted.
"Four words, Hermione: Quirrel, Basilisk, Dementors and Tournament."
"Oh… yeah… well… maybe this year will be nothing…?" Ron said, now
with understanding in his voice.
In that moment they hit the wards of Hogwarts and Harry had to bite his
cheek so that he would not cry out because of the pain he felt as soon as
the wards settled on his shoulders. Like a rock the wards fell on his
shoulders, nearly breaking him with their wight. The nausea sparked and
his head started to ache as if someone had hit it with a war hammer.
Blood filled Harry's mouth when he refused to cry for pain. He turned his
head and looked outside so that no-one in the carriage could see the
agony that was displayed on his face and the tears that threatened to fall.
"I don't think that this year will be a quiet year, Ron" Harry replied,
proud of himself that his voice was nearly tremmour-free while he still
felt as if his head had exploded with pain.
"I definitely know now what I have to do first" he thought to himself. "I
will go mad if I have to feel this strain for the whole year I am here!"
In that moment a soothing sensation softly caressed his mind and the
strain eased.
Again tears threatened to fall, but he helt them back. He could not cry –
the others mustened know!
"Well, you can at least hope for a quiet year" Ron said in that moment.
Harry shrugged, still refusing to look at the others.
"I will think about it as soon as I know that the Defence Professor is no-
one who wants me dead" he answered.
"Touché" Ron snorted. "Well then let's stop hoping until after the feast."
"Exactely."
With that Harry turned and closed his eyes. The soothing sensation still
caressed his mind and eased his unease. It was this warm feeling that
finally reminded Harry why he loved Hogwarts so much. Why he
considered Hogwarts his home. And why he had decided to come here in
the middle of the lions den to kill of the pride that was hunting him.
A maybe foolish step to do – but a step he would not change even if he
would think about it again. Even if he had to destroy the school and
everything it stood for – he would have come here for his revenge and he
never would regret it…
And then a familiar whisper filled his head, its origin in the soothing
feeling that caressed his mind.
"Welcome home" it said. "Welcome home, child. Welcome home, child of
my child."
"Harry? Are you truly all right?" Hermione asked him in that moment
again. Ron was also looking at him with a funny expression on his face.
"Oh, I am, Hermione, I am" he answered, bathing in the warm embrace
that aided him with swatting away the pain he felt. "Why shouldn't I be
alright?"
"I'm not sure – you just suddenly looked as if you were far away, you
know…" Hermione answered. Harry just smiled.
"Don't worry, Hermione" he said. "I am really fine. I am just happy to be
back, you know."
"And I thought you worried…" Ron said.
Harry shrugged.
"I still do. But I am back at Hogwarts – and whatever comes comes…
even with Voldemort… I cannot change it even if I wanted to…"
Ron snorted.
"And a minute before you looked as if you wanted to balk…"
Harry shrugged.
"No" Harry answered sincerely. "I might worry about what will happen
this year but Hogwarts… Hogwarts is home, you know, mate?"
Ron blinked, then he shrugged.
"If you think so, mate" he answered and Harry let it go. He knew Ron
would never understand his feelings. Harry was not even sure if anyone
else would. Hogwarts was home. But not like it had been home for
thousands of orphans and unlucky ones. No. For Harry Hogwarts meant
more – even more then it had meant for the previous Harry who had
been an unlucky orphan.
But that was something Harry surly would not discuss with any of 'his'
friends.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When the Sorting Hat started to sing, Harry was startled. He knew that
the latest Oliver Twist text in The Quibbler was about the Founders – but
he was still surprised that the Sorting Hat had decided to sing about their
history this year.
Even if the history the Hat was singing about was slightly wrong…
Harry sighted when the Hat exclaimed that Slytherin had said 'We'll teach
just those Whose ancestry is purest.' He knew that history got that one
wrong. There had never been any talk about purity like they knew today
from the proud man that had been Slytherin – but that was something
long lost in time…
So Harry bit his lip and kept quiet. Instead he took the time to scrutinize
the woman who would be his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
He was sure that they would learn nothing in her classes – and after she
started talking he just got more convinced that his prediction would hold
true.
He sighted inwardly.
"I will check the wards" he thought to himself. "Not only do they feel as if
they want to kill me by just being there but the choice of Defence
Professors is also unbelievable! There must be a curse on the Defense
position. No-one can have this much bad luck in choosing their
teachers…" Well, except it was a part of the plan – Harry wouldn't put it
past the Headmaster to explicitly hire bad professors when it somehow
would fit in his plans…
Still – it was better to check the castle-wards now before having another
Defense teacher who couldn't teach next year.
"I should have checked them last year", Harry thought. But there was
nothing he could do now – and last year he had been busy with his
preparations for this year. And these preparations had been more
important then a curse on the Defense position…
"Oh how I hate to be me" Harry thought wryly. "Sometimes I truly wish I
would have never started my plan to get revenge. There is simply so
much to do and too less time to do it…"
And it was in this moment that he wished he had recruited someone else
to aid him with his plans…
But there was no-one – well, except Regulus and Augusta who did not
know what he was up to. Not that he did not trust her… but he had not
decided what he should tell her and what he shouldn't tell… and until
then he had no-one but Regulus, the house-elves and his own insane
mind to aid himself. But having the help of just one person and two
house-elves was nothing when you compared his forces with those of
Albus Dumbledore or Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort.
"Well, I never planed to go against them one on one" Harry thought
wryly. "We would be dead before even one curse was hurled at us…"
Riddle and Dumbledore would strangle them with their bare hands for
daring to interfere with their plans…
Harry smiled when this thought entered his mind. Then he buried it
beneath his Occlumency shields and turned to 'his' friends and entered
their conversation as if nothing had happened at all.
This year would be the turning point.
This year he planed to drive them all insane. And he would start with a
man who saw it coming for more then fourteen years…
Harry surpressed an insane grin when his eyes met those of his first
target this year.
For a moment Severus Snape felt a cold shiffer running down his back. It
would take a long time until he would understand what he felt at that
time of the year…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
And while the students returned to the dorms, an enthusiastic little
teacher hurried for the library to search it wholly. It took him the better
part of the next hour to finally find what he was looking for, but in the
end he found it.
In a little room, hidden in the farest corner of the library, the book he
was looking for, was situated on a pedestal. 'The Teachers of Hogwarts' it
read.
The tiny professor smiled, then he placed a hand on the book and
whispered: "Salazar Slytherin."
The book glowed and then it opened somewhere in the front. The first
thing the tiny professor saw was the picture of a regal looking man in
plain, black clothes. The man had starteling green eyes and he looked
coolly at those that opened the book on his page.
He was quite handsome but the tiny professor could tell that the man was
no-one that should be crossed. On the other page were listed the things
Salazar Slytherin had done and taught. The tiny professor also found a
date that showed when Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts. There was
no date of death and neither a date of birth but there were a lot of other
interesting information. The tiny professor absorbed himself in the book,
first reading Slytherin's entry, then those of the other founders. Finally he
started to check the book itself.
Another hour later the tiny professor looked at his watch and cursed. He
put the book away and hurried out of the library. Maybe he still would
make it in time for the first teacher's conference in this year…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Welcome to the first teacher's conference in the new year" Albus
Dumbledore said, looking at the teacher's faces around him. "There are
some points I have to discuss with everyone…"
"Like the story The Quibbler has been printing?" Minerva McGonagall
asked sharply. "I cannot understand how Xenophilius could print such
rubbish! I know he is a little bit… odd… but he has never ever printed
something utterly false before! He was a Ravenclaw for Merlin's sake!"
"But the story he has printed wasn't rubbish at all, my dear Minerva"
Filius Flittwick squeaked. "I checked the facts behind the story – and it
was true. There really is a book about the teachers of Hogwarts in the
library and it really contains the story like this Oliver Twist has written it
down."
"So he didn't make that up?" Pomona Sprout asked surprised.
Flittwick just shook his head.
"I looked up everything" he said. "I also proved the date 'The Teachers of
Hogwarts' book was connected with Hogwarts. Very impressive charms
work. I would be unable to do something similar even if I would know all
the charms used."
"But you were able to confirm some facts?" Snape asked with a raised
eyebrow. Flittwick nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes! Oh yes!" he said with bright eyes. "And what I found out is
unbelievable! The book is about one thousand years old! I would guess
that Rowena Ravenclaw herself cast the spell to connect the book with
the castle!"
"So the facts of the article…"
"True! It has to be – except Slytherin did something to confuse the book
and I doubt that even he was able to do something like that!"
"Interesting" Albus said.
"I never thought that Hogwarts would contain secrets like that!" Filius
Flittwick said enthusiastically. "And these are not the only facts that have
been twisted in time! Did you know that the names of the Houses were
not based to the last names of the founders?! The founders would have
had some problems if they really had decided to name the Houses after
their last names as Helga Hufflepuff was in fact the sister of Godric
Gryffindor! And Rowena Ravenclaw was his wife! And then there is the
fact that Slytherin was a heal…"
"Filius, please!" Albus interrupted. "I am sure we can discuss this another
time. Now we should turn our awareness to the resent problems."
"Oliver Twist" McGonagall guessed.
"Yes" Albus answered sighing. "Him also."
"What else?"
"Harry" Albus answered. "I fear he might be slowly influenced by
Voldemort. He should not have known what he knew at the trial… I need
you to look out for him. If he really is starting to be influenced we must
know it as fast as possible to stop the influence."
"Influenced… how?"
"I am sorry, Minerva" Albus said sighing. "I am not sure. What I know is
that Harry has a connection to Voldemort and I guess that now that
Voldemort has his body back he might somehow have found a way to
influence young Harry."
Minerva McGonagall looked at him in dismay.
"What should we do?"
"Watch him. If he displays an a-typical behaviour come to me instantly. It
might safe Harry's life if you do."
"We understand" Minerva said, nodding. The other teachers also nodded
their content.
"Thank you. Now…"
"And what will we do about this Twist-fellow?" Minerva McGonagall
interrupted Albus.
Albus just shrugged.
"Until now he did nothing that is worrisome. We should read his articles
and act when it changes but I would let him be until he does something
more then questioning the Ministry and the Daily Prophet."
"But his last article was about Hogwarts!" Minerva McGonagall said
worriedly. "What if he starts to criticize us? He is after all a student at
Hogwarts – and Xenophilius Lovegood has shown him that he can write
what he wants and that no-one will reprimand him for it."
"I do not believe he will start to criticize us badly" Albus answered
confidentially. "He might have written an article about Hogwarts but
there was nothing bad in it…"
"And it was definitely based on the truth" Filius Flittwick added.
"I am quite sure that the young man will soon stop writing again – after
all he will have classes to attent and then there are his homework and his
friends. I am sure whoever it is will soon have no time anymore to
write…"
Minerva McGonagall just pressed her lips together but said nothing
anymore. There was no arguing with Albus. If he wanted to be blind he
was until it was too late. That Twist had already started his doings at
Hogwarts with his last article, Albus would not see until it was shoved
into his face.
So they turned to the more important tasks for the next school year.
Albus had forgotten all about the article Oliver Twist had written when
the meeting finally ended. He had other things in his mind. Like the
weapon that might be turning into a weapon for Voldemort. Albus would
have to look closely at the boy – and he would have to decide on the next
step he had to take…
"Maybe it is time to teach Harry some things he might need against
Voldemort… and maybe I should ask Severus to teach him
Occlumency…" Albus thought and returned to his study, not seeing the
little shadow of a house-elf popping out of existence after hearing
everything they had discussed in the meeting today, not knowing that
somewhere in the castle the boy he was thinking about, was briefed on
everything that had been discussed in the meeting today.
"I see" the boy said after hearing everything. "Well, let's show the
almighty Albus Dumbledore that Twist is not taken lightly. Let the war
being." The boy knew that whoever would have the longer breath would
finally win. But it did not matter at all. The boy had strings he could pull
the old man wasn't even aware of.
Harry was sure, that in the end he would win this little war he had
started against the Headmaster of the renowned school of magic – even if
it might cost Harry everything he had to bring the old man down to his
feet...
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
28. Chapter 27: Take Down Target
No 1
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Take Down Target Number One
sss
Severus Snape was sure that something was wrong today.
It was his first lesson of the year with the fifth-year Gryffindors and
Slytherins this year. But something was somehow… different… wrong
maybe – and Severus could not figure out what had changed so suddenly
that he felt disturbed.
So he stood in front of his classroom and looked at the class, trying to
place his feeling of wrongness…
What in Merlin's name was wrong with this silent brewing class?!
xXxXxXxXxXx
Harry was standing in the classroom. In front of him was his bubbling
cauldron. Next to him were Hermione at his left and Neville at his right.
Ron was situated next to Hermione. Harry had been the one to arrange
his place – simply because he remembered all too well Hermione's kind
help to Neville, a help that in all these years unfortunately had not
helped Neville at all…
"No Ron!" Hermione hissed at that moment. "Don't do it like that! It says
crushing – can't you read?!"
Like Harry had thought – no help at all. But on the other hand it was
Ron…
Harry ignored them both.
He knew that Hermione tried to channel a genius in every class she was
taking – but he also knew that her potion was slightly off. Of course for a
beginner it was definitely good enough – but every potion master in the
world would feel ashamed if he had produced something like that…
Still Hermione acted as if every brewer should be proud of her result.
Harry squeezed the next ingredient to get the juice. He did not even look
at the instructions on the board.
"Harry! You have to slice it – can't you read?!" Hermione hissed.
"I can," Harry answered. "But I do not need to read wrong instructions."
And with that he entered the juice of his ingredient in his potion. It
turned a lovely sky-blue color. Then he stirred and golden stripes started
to mar the blue.
Without looking up and also without stopping stirring, Harry reached
with his left hand to Neville and stopped him from adding an ingredient.
"The nettles first, Neville" he said without looking up. "And wait another
two minutes. Your potion does not smell as if it has simmered enough."
Neville next to him blinked.
"But… but the instruction says…" he stuttered.
"You forgot the frog-blood earlier" Harry answered absentmindedly.
"When you add the nettles first and then add the frog-blood you can
remedy your mistake. Just don't add the Asphodel until you have added
the frog-blood or your cauldron will blow up. Your potion is simply not
stable enough without it."
"Harry" Hermione said in that moment. "You forgot to add the flour!"
"It's used as a stabilizer, Hermione" Harry answered shrugging. "I don't
need it. My potion is stable."
"But…"
Harry just added the next ingredient to his cauldron. The healing balsam
they were brewing turned silver with green streaks. Harry looked at it
critically and then smelled in the air.
"All right" he murmured, reaching out again, this time to Ron to stop him
from cutting his ingredient.
"No force, Ron" he told his friend while he was still concentrated on his
own potion. "Think simply of it as butter in the sun. You don't need
strength to cut nearly molten butter."
"Uh… okay, Harry" Ron said, changing his way he held his knife. Then he
scrutinized his ingredient critically before he started to softly cut it.
Harry instead reached in his robe and extracted a little bag. He opened it
and threw some herbs in his potion.
"Harry!" Hermione hissed horrified. "Peppermint?! Are you crazy?!"
XxXxXxXxXx
The class was silent.
The class was silent!
Suddenly Severus Snape knew exactly what was wrong with this class!
Normally Draco Malfoy would have tried to taunt Harry Potter at this
point of time! And normally the imbecilic Neville Longbottom would
have nearly blown up his cauldron at least three times by now!
That was wrong with this class!
Severus Snape searched for Longbottom between the other students and
found him next to Potter – a Potter who did not read the instructions at
the board!
"Imbecilic, arrogant boy!" Severus Snape muttered to himself and strode
over to Potter just to see the boy taking out something out of his robe
and throwing it in the potion in front of him.
Dunderhead!
"… Are you crazy?!" he heard Granger hiss horrified and he hurried over
to stop the dunderhead Gryffindor from blowing them all up…
xXxXxXxXxXx
"Are you crazy?" Hermione hissed.
In that moment Snape entered the hearing range of the table.
"Potter!" he growled. "What are you do…?"
Harry stopped Neville from stirring.
"The Asphodel first, Neville" he said, stirring his own potion.
Snape instead stood in front of his cauldron gawking.
"What have you done, Potter?!" the potion master finally hissed.
Harry looked up from his cauldron, extinguishing the flame beneath it
with a wave of his hand.
"I brewed, sir" he answered respectfully. "I did as I was told, professor."
The professor just stared at the potion in Harry's cauldron.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Severus Snape was not sure what to think.
The potion was perfect.
The potion was perfect!
How by Merlin's soggy underpants could this arrogant Gryffindor… this
dunderhead Potter!... create a perfect potion?! Severus Snape would have
been able to understand if the potion had been brewed better than
normal. He even could have accepted it if Potter had created the best
potion in class today – wonders happened after all. But a potion master
standard perfect potion?! No way by Merlin and Morgana could Potter
produce something like that…!
His eyes met the eyes of the boy and he struck.
xXxXxXxXxXx
"Did I do something wrong, professor?" Harry asked innocently. The
answer was a Legilimency attack by Snape. Harry just met Snape's eyes
and let his professor's assault splatter against his shields – not that his
professor knew that his attack failed.
For his professor it looked like Harry had no shields. Innocent childhood
memories were flying openly for the professor to see through Harry's
mind. But these memories were nothing that someone could use against
Harry. They were innocent. The real troublesome ones were buried
behind Harry's invisible shields.
His professor searched Harry's mind for deception. But he did not find
any of that.
"Did I make a mistake, professor?" Harry asked softly and respectfully.
The man stared at him and withdrew from Harry's mind.
"No" he answered while sounding as if he was tortured to death. "Your
potion is decent." And with that he turned and stalked back in front of
the class.
Harry grinned and stopped Ron absentmindedly from stirring in the
wrong direction.
"Lower the heat, Neville" he told his other companion. "Ron, wrong
direction. The other way round. And just three times, not more."
Both boy's blinked and corrected their tasks.
"Harry…" Hermione said. "Did he… did he just call your potion decent?!"
Harry knew that this was a first. Not even the Slytherins received a
'decent' from the potion master. But Harry also knew that boasting was
the wrong thing to do now, so he just shrugged and extracted some
shrunken vials from his robes. He un-shrunk them and started to fill the
vials with his potion. One of the vials he charmed unbreakable and
brought it the potion master. The others he stowed away in the many
pockets of his robe.
When he gathered his things to wash up he heard a vial falling on the
floor.
"Don't worry, sir" he told the professor when he turned and found the
potion vial he had given the sour man on the floor. "I know that mistakes
like that happen to the best of us. Luckily there is a charm to prevent the
breaking of the vials."
"Potter…" Snape hissed, grinding his teeth.
"Yes, professor?" But the sour man said nothing else and Harry simply
turned around to gather the rest of his things. He brought them to the
sink and let them soak in water.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Severus Snape was watching him the whole time with grinded teeth.
He wanted the child to squirm under his gaze, but the arrogant
Gryffindor just started to wash up, absolutely unaffected by Severus
Snape's stare…
"Potter!" Severus Snape finally growled. "Detention! Tonight after
dinner!"
Not that he had a reason to give a detention – except that there had to be
something wrong with the way the boy had produced his potion!
The boy was absolutely horrible at potions – and even if the Headmaster
claimed that the Dark Lord was starting to possess the boy there was no
explanation. The Dark Lord might be a lot – but he definitely was no
potion master. Decent in potions, definitely. But a master, never…
And the potion in Severus Snape's hands was nothing less but master
standard…
So the only thing Severus Snape could do was to give the boy detention
and rile him up. To his utter surprise the reaction to his unjust detention
was anything but what he thought it would be…
xXxXxXxXx
Harry knew he had done nothing to get the detention – and even Snape
seemed lost to find a reason for the detention. Still, Harry just inclined
his head.
"Yes, sir" he answered, still respectfully.
For a moment his teacher looked at him utterly flabbergasted. Harry
knew why. Snape had hoped to rile Harry up – instead Harry had not
reacted as he had hoped.
"And twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape added nastily.
"Yes, sir" Harry said and returned to his seat. He was just in time to stop
Hermione from letting her next ingredient fall in her cauldron.
"Caution, Hermione. It would do no good if you would let it fall in the
potion. This one has to be stirred in." he told her while thinking about
something totally different – namely the reasons of a sour potion master
and his hatred for Harry.
Hermione blinked.
"Harry, how… how do you suddenly know…" she stopped when Harry
suddenly threw his hand out. Two gold glittering runes shot through the
classroom and a shield sprang up around the potion of Theodore Nott
from Slytherin.
Not a second too late. The next second an explosion sounded through the
dungeons and one moment no-one could see anything but smoke. Then
Snape waved his wand and the air cleared again. He stared at his
Slytherin with absolute loathing in his eyes.
The cauldron was ash but Theodore Nott wasn't injured. A golden
shimmering shield shielded him and the rest of the class from the potion
and the rest of the cauldron.
"Nott" Snape hissed. "Detention. Tonight."
The Slytherin shook under the gaze his Head of House sent him.
Harry growled but stayed silent.
"Your potion is ready, Neville" he finally said his voice still slightly
shaking with rage. "Bottle it up. It's not perfect but it's usable. Ron, stir
again counter clock wise and then also bottle up. And Seamus – when
you do that your potion will end up the same way Nott's did!"
The afore mentioned Gryffindor's stirring spoon clattered when he let it
drop in surprise. Then he blinked and looked at the instructions again. He
blushed, added flour and then took the stirring spoon again. With a
careful glance at the not protesting Harry he started to stir.
Harry just let his gaze sweep through the class, looking for mistakes.
He was angry with himself. He should have seen that Nott was doing
something wrong! Instead he had just seen it in time to prevent the boy
from getting injured!
It took him until he left the classroom to realize that he was a student and
not a teacher. It had never been his mistake to begin with but the potion
master's who had more enjoyed to taunt Gryffindors then looking after
the potions of his wards…
And still Harry blamed himself. He should have seen it – he had been a
teacher for many years…
Hermione and Ron were looking at him strangely for the rest of the day
but when Hermione finally asked how he was able to know all that today
in potions, Harry simply said that he had memorized his potion books.
And somehow he really had. He knew them all by heart – even if he
never actually had tried to memorize them…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The next class was Divination. They duty: dream oracle.
Harry nearly groaned when he took out his Divination book. He could
not believe that the original Harry had taken such a useless subject!
Well, Harry did not argue that there were some individuals who could see
part of the future. But to be able to see you had to have it in your genes –
and Harry definitely didn't and never would. He simply was not a
descendant of a centaur born! And they were the only ones that ever
showed the ability to see anything at all…
So Harry did the only thing he could in a useless class like that: he faked
his work and then took out another piece of parchment to write down
some other things he was thinking about like the work he had to do on
the wards.
He knew that the wards looked absolutely dreadful – in fact they were
worse than he had predicted, worse enough to give him a constant
headache…
"What are you doing, Harry?" Ron asked in that moment and Harry
placed his hand on the parchment with his ideas so that Ron couldn't
read it.
"Doodling" he answered his friend. "Sorry, Ron. Let's continue."
And with that Harry packed away his parchment with ideas and
concentrated again on the useless class he was taking. Maybe he could go
to McGonagall and asked her to change classes…
Regrettably he would blow his cover very fast if he requested to take
Arithmancy or Ancient Runes because there was no way that the original
Harry could know enough of any of these classes to pass his OWLs…
On the other side…
"Maybe later" Harry concluded finally. "First I should go and find a way
for Reg to enter Hogwarts again… and then the wards… and Snape… I
think I have enough to do for the next fortnight…"
And regrettably he had, so instead of planning to change electives, Harry
suffered through this utter useless class and finally left with Ron.
"And now Defense" Ron said. "I hope she's better then she looks like…"
Harry doubted it. And just a short time later he was sadly proven right…
Defense class was a joke, Harry soon decided. Professor Umbridge would
have done well in staying away from a classroom. The book they had
been assigned to read was just theoretical and when Hermione pointed
out that there was nothing mentioned about practicing the spells they got
into a discussion with their new teacher.
Harry just sat back and watched them interact. It was not even ten
minutes into class when he was finally absolutely sure that Hogwarts
would have better done without Professor Dolores Umbridge as a teacher.
Umbridge clearly did not want to hear any critique by anyone and she
definitely did not care the slightest about the students she would teach.
This final conclusion was just emphasized when Professor Umbridge
spoke about her plans for class.
"Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more
than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what
school is all about. And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said, staring at
Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.
Harry just sat back and admired Parvati's courage, after all until now
Umbridge had dismissed everything Hermione or Dean Thomas had said.
To try again – well, let's say that was definitely Gryffindor…
"Parvati Patil" Parvati said her name first like they had been asked to do,
before she added. "And isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the
Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the
counter-curses and things?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why
you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled
examination conditions" said Professor Umbridge dismissively.
"Without ever practicing them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously, "Are
you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our
exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough…"
"I fear there are still people in this class who will have trouble without
practicing the spells beforehand, Professor" Harry said, finally having
enough. "It would do them no good if they have to cast the spell the first
time for their exam."
Umbridge turned to Harry. Her face was blank but Harry could see the
distaste in her eyes and in that moment he knew he would not leave this
classroom without a detention.
"Do you doubt the ability of your classmates, Mr Potter?" she asked him.
"I didn't," Harry answered. "But there are always those that are nervous.
It is easier for them to practice beforehand just to know that they can do
it, Madam."
"So you're telling me that the only reason you want to practice is for your
examination?" her eyes looked at him in challenge.
"Should there be another reason, Professor?" Harry asked coolly.
"Do not mock me, Mr Potter. I am well aware of your illusions and the
lies you spread in the summer!" the Professor hissed.
"I do not remember any lies, Madam" Harry answered calmly. "I was at
my relatives the most of my summer holidays – as they are Muggles I did
not talk with them about anything of the magical world. The only contact
I had with the magical world were the Dementors and the Wizengamot
and I do not remember lying to any of them."
"Lies, Mr Potter! I am well aware of what you talked about last summer!
Everyone knows that you are under the illusion that You-Know-Who's
back! You must have talked about this illusion for them to be aware!"
Umbridge hissed.
"I did not talk about anything like that in the summer" Harry answered
coolly.
"Detention, Mr Potter! First you dared to spread lies and now you deny
that you told them!"
Harry just stared at her with cool, calculating eyes. He knew that the
reason for his detention was not good enough to even lose house-points
but he decided to not go against her. He had no time for her disbelieve
and hate.
"You will spend the rest of this week in detention with me, Mr Potter"
said she.
Harry just looked at her.
"We will begin this afternoon at five o'clock."
"I already have detention today, Madam" Harry said calmly. "Professor
Snape gave it to me this morning."
"Is that so?" she said, looking at him as if he was an insect she wanted to
crush beneath her shoe. "Well, then I simply have to take the whole next
week as I am sure that it will take some time for your lesson to sink in."
"As you wish, Professor."
She had sneered at him but then set her detention for the next week.
Harry was alright with that – at least for now. He definitely would come
back to her as soon as he was ready to take another step… and then she
would be judged by him like everybody else in this school…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
At that evening after dinner he went to the office of the potion master for
his detention.
"Enter" Snape growled when Harry knocked.
Harry did as he was told and waited patiently in front of the teacher's
desk until his teacher would look up from the essays he was correcting.
"Tell me how, Potter" Snape finally said coolly pointing with one of his
long fingers at the vial with Harry's potion.
"There is nothing I could explain, sir" Harry answered sincerely.
"So you could do it again?" Snape sneered.
"Yes" Harry answered without hesitating.
Snape just snorted.
"Well, we will see" he finally said. Then he led Harry in the classroom
and pointed at a working space. "I want another batch of Healing Balsam,
a Calming Draught, some Skele-Grow and… well… how about a
Dreamless Sleep."
Snape grinned evilly.
"You have until ten o'clock."
Harry knew that Snape had tried to trick him with the potions. When
Harry tried to do them one after another he would not even have begun
his second when his time was up. The only way to get them ready all in
time was brewing them at the same time – an extremely difficult thing to
do for even experienced potion masters. For a student it was impossible.
So there was just one reason for Snape to give Harry a task like that.
It was a set-up to destroy Harry's self-esteem.
"Yes sir" Harry simply said while he wondered, what to do next. Should
he botch it like every student did? It would be the reasonable thing to do
– but Harry wanted to see the potion master all riled up – and doing
something even a good student should not be able to do… well, that
definitely would let his teacher's head spin. Finally Harry decided that
seeing Snape gawking again was definitely worth to show skills Harry
shouldn't have and started to look for usable cauldrons. Snape just
sneered at him but before he could say another thing it knocked on the
door again.
"Enter, Mr. Nott" Snape said, his voice chilly.
Theodore Nott entered. He was pale and definitely nervous.
"Brew it again" Snape said in this icy tone he had been using with Nott
since Nott's cauldron exploded. "Do not make another mistake. We will
speak afterwards." And with that he swept out of the room.
So they would be alone – disastrous if they really were both
inexperienced students. Harry guessed that Snape hoped for a disaster to
happen. Well, Harry would definitely not obey the potion master's
wishes…
So Harry just started to set up his cauldrons.
"Don't worry" he said to Nott while doing so. "You will succeed this time."
Nott just snorted.
"I am rubbish at potions, Potter" he spat. "And this time I don't have
Blaise to guide me when I'm wrong. I will not succeed."
Harry just pointed at a place next to his working space.
"Use this working space and I will tell you what you have to do" he
answered while starting to heat his cauldrons to different temperatures.
"As if you could really help me – and as if you would if you could, Potter"
Nott just spat.
"I can and I will" Harry answered while starting to prepare his ingredients
with experienced motions.
Nott stared at Harry's working hands.
"You really know how to brew, don't you?" he finally asked astonished.
"I do" Harry answered and pointed again at the working space. "Now set
up your cauldron."
Nott did as he was told but stopped before lighting the fire.
"What are you doing, Potter?" he asked Harry, looking at the four
cauldrons in front of the Gryffindor.
"Brewing" Harry answered sincerely.
"I see that, Potter" Nott said annoyed. "But why do you have four
cauldrons in front of you?"
"I have to finalize four potions until ten" Harry answered. "I can just do it
when I brew them simultaneously."
"Are you crazy?! You are not a potion master, for Salazar's sake!"
Harry just shrugged.
"Professor Snape's instructions" he answered. "I think he tried to set me
up."
"Well – I think he set you up! You will never be able to…"
"That's my problem" Harry said. "Yours is another. Start with your
potion."
But Nott did not even listen.
"What potions shall you brew? You have not instructions and you also do
not have your book out…"
"The Healing Balsam, a Calming Draught, some Skele-Grow and a
Dreamless Sleep" Harry answered while adding ingredients left and right
in his cauldrons. He heated up the cauldron on the right side, added
another ingredient in the left, and then he stirred another cauldron and
set the last one's flames down.
"Now start or you will never finish tonight." Harry said.
Nott blinked, then hesitated another minute. Finally he did as he was
told.
Harry let him brew while he himself added ingredients, stirred, lowered
the temperature or heated the cauldrons more and prepared the next
ingredients.
"No, next is the powdered snake fang, Nott" Harry said a few minutes
later, stopping Nott with one hand while adding ingredients to one of his
own potions with the other.
"You have to grind it more. It has to be really soft powder. When it's
ready it feels a little bit creamy" Nott followed Harry's instructions. But
Harry did not just instruct. He knew that Nott would not learn anything
if he just followed what Harry was telling him, so Harry also added some
practical knowledge while he aided the other.
"The powdered snake fang is acid. When you would add the nettle after
it, the substance of the nettle would be destroyed before it can react with
the potion. Think about it like building a house. You need something
between the stones to glue them together. When you don't do it your
house will break down with the first storm it is facing…"
When it was half past ten Harry and Nott both bottled their potions.
"You really knew what you were talking about" Nott said, looking at his
potion with a flabbergasted look. "I never knew that I would be able to
brew something like that all by myself! And I even understand now why I
should not do some things!"
Harry snorted at that.
"So Professor Snape does not even teach his own house properly?" he
asked while bottling the potion in his next cauldron.
Nott just shrugged.
"I never understood what he was telling us" he said. "It seemed all so
complicated. When you told the same it sounded… well… simple."
"Well, Professor Snape is a potion genius" Harry said shrugging. "He
might have problems to understand that you are not like him."
Nott snorted.
"Definitely not" he answered. "But you… you are like him, aren't you? I
mean: you brewed four potions simultaneously – and you still were able
to instruct me properly."
"I do not think very much when I brew something simple like that" Harry
gestured at the potions in front of him. "I brewed a lot of more
complicated stuff."
"What?" Nott asked half astonished, half interested.
Harry just shrugged and took out of his pockets some potions.
"This is Veritasserum" he said pointing at the clear potion in his hands. "I
brewed it in the summer. The next one is a healing draught. It's for
internal injuries. I brewed it last year on Midwinter. The last one is Felix
Felicis – you know liquid luck. I brewed it the summer before last."
Nott just stared at the potions in Harry's hands.
"Why by Salazar and Mordred did you ever have nearly failing grates in
potions?!" he asked flabbergasted.
"Because I saw no benefit in showing my talents to someone who wanted
to hate me because of my father" Harry answered shrugging. "I thought I
was rubbish in potions because our esteemed potion master told me so. It
took some time until I understood that I was utterly wrong about that."
Nott just snorted.
"I cannot believe no-one told you!"
"I am Muggle-raised" Harry pointed out. "And there was no-one who ever
explained this world to me… well, there was no-one until last summer."
Nott just stared at him.
"But you are a Potter!" he finally said.
"No" Harry answered smiling. "I am more than just a Potter. But even if I
am – there are some persons who like me being clueless. They like it so
much I did not even get the typical introduction in the wizarding world
the Muggle-born get – but enough of that. We should clean up."
Nott sighted and carried his empty cauldron to the sink.
Harry frowned, and then he sighted and shook his head.
"Let me do it or you will have to scrub endlessly" he said sighting. Then
he drew a single rune on every used cauldron. The cauldrons glowed blue
– and then they were clean again.
Nott stared at the clean cauldrons.
"It was you!" he suddenly said.
Harry frowned again.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"It was you! You were the one who shielded me! I could not understand
where the shield had come from and Blaise didn't know either. We
thought that maybe Professor Snape… but it was you!"
Harry stared at the cauldrons and then back at Nott's face.
"And if it had been me?" he asked cautiously.
Nott just stared at him.
"Why?" he finally managed to asked. "Why did you do it?! You are a
Gryffindor and I a Slytherin – you hate me just because of that!"
"I would be a hypocrite if I did" Harry answered snorting.
"Pardon?" now Nott was utterly confused.
Harry jut smirked.
"I am no Gryffindor" he finally confessed grinning. Nott blinked.
"You know that your school uniform says you are, don't you?" he finally
commented.
"Oh, I know" Harry answered smiling. "I asked the Hat not to be put in
Slytherin."
Nott stared at Harry.
"But… but why?!"
"Because I was a child" Harry answered amused and then added to his
story. After all – why not give this Slytherin in front of him something to
chew on for the next few weeks or month... "I was Muggle-raised and the
only things I heard about Slytherin were bad. Of course I didn't want to
be there."
"So… so you just begged it to change your house?!"
"Yes" Harry answered. "Now I find it utterly amusing. When there would
be someone who would belong to Slytherin it is I."
Harry knew that if he ever would have been sorted instead of the original
Harry, there would have been no way that Harry Potter would have been
a Gryffindor. Harry might be brave if he had to – but he was far too
Slytherin to ever be a Gryffindor and far too Ravenclaw to ever go into
Gryffindor even if he had ask the Hat not to be put in Slytherin…
"But why…" Nott said.
Harry just smiled. In that moment he felt a soft tingling in the back of his
mind.
Their time was up.
"One day I might tell you" he said. "But not today. We get a visitor in a
minute. The professor returns."
And Harry was right. Just a minute later the door opened again and
Snape entered. He stopped in the door and stared at the two students in
front of him that placed the last vials with ingredients back where they
belonged.
"What…?" he said, but Harry interrupted.
"Our potions are on the desk, professor" Harry said.
The potion master stalked through the room until he reached the desk
with the potion vials. He picked up one of Harry's then he picked up the
next. His eyes widened.
"I told you I can do it again, professor" Harry said. "But when you suspect
that Mr. Nott aided me I am willing to do it again in front of you."
Snape just stared at the vials, and then he finally sneered.
"I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Potter" he said still sneering. "Give me
your potions book."
Harry blinked.
"I do not have it with me, sir" he said. "I'd have to go to Gryffindor tower
to bring it."
"Do. Not. Lie. To. Me, Potter!" Snape growled.
"I do not" Harry answered, and simply emptied his school bag on one of
the tables. "Look for it yourself."
Snape sneered but he did. He even went as far to test Harry's other books
for spells. He did find nothing.
"Very well, Potter. You may go. Nott – follow me" and with that he
stalked from the room. Nott had turned pale again when Snape spoke his
name. His hands shook. Harry fetched Nott's potion from the table and
gave it the shaking boy. Then he took out one of his own potion vials –
one of the three he had shown Nott before.
He filled an empty vial with a little bit of his potion and gave it to Nott.
"Take it before talking to him" he suggested.
"What…?"
"Felix" Harry simply answered. "I do not know what he normally does to
punish his Slytherins – but I know I would never let some of mine come
to harm. Take it and whatever it is you are fearing, you will be lucky
enough to prevent it somehow. Just trust Felix. He knows what to do."
Nott blinked and stared at the vial in his hands.
"Thank you, Potter" Nott said and downed the vial. "And I don't fear the
Professor; I fear my parents. He calls them when we do something
wrong… and my parents are horrible."
And with that he left.
Harry stayed behind and waited until the door closed again. Then he
smiled and started to hum. He was alone in the potion classroom. There
would come no-one anymore for today…
"Why not brewing something enjoyable" he asked himself smiling. And
with that he returned to the cauldrons in the corner and picked one of
them. He sat it up and started to brew again.
There was a reason he once had been a potion master and teacher, after
all…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Later that evening Severus Snape was sitting in his office. The
conversation with Theodore Nott's parents had gone better then he
thought it would and now he had the rest of the evening free…
So he sat at his desk, five potion vials in front of him. He stared at them.
No, he glared at them.
They. Were. Wrong!
Well, they weren't. The potions they carried were perfect. Potion master
standard perfect.
But exactly that was the problem.
They shouldn't be perfect! And it was driving him insane that he didn't
know how they were!
The Potter boy had brewed them – Severus Snape had even gone so far to
use Legilimency on Nott to verify it. So how?!
How?!
By Merlin! It was driving him insane!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
29. Chapter 28: 900-1000AD
Building A School
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Thanks to Danneyland for beta-ing.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Somewhen between 900 and 1000 AD
Building A School
sss
After they returned home from the Gathering, they told the ladies that
they could go ahead and plan the new form of apprenticeship.
"The lads will arrive after harvest, and will have to return home for every
harvest that follows," Peverell said.
Sal, who was sorting through his potions to decide what he needed to
brew more often in the future, stopped sorting and turned to Peverell.
"Lads?" he asked, surprised. "You will take on only the boys?"
It was Rowena who shrugged.
"There is no way for Peverell, Godric or you to teach a lass," she said. "So
of course they will just send you the lads. Every lass that will need to be
taught will be taught the basics by her father like it has always been."
"But you …"
This time it was Helga who answered him smiling.
"We are both married woman and when we teach Godric or Peverell will
always be in the same room with us – if it wasn't like that, it definitely
wouldn't be proper for us, you know?"
Sal wanted to protest but his education on Arthur's court stopped him
from doing so. You did not argue with a lady …
So he just hissed his displeasure in Parseltongue under his breath.
Peverell and Godric both looked at him with interest when they heard
him speak but neither said a word.
"So you will not teach the lasses," Salvazsahar finally concluded sighing.
"That's not truly fair, isn't it? Rowena and Helga are after all at least as
intelligent as we are and I am sure they aren't exceptions …"
"So … you want to teach the lasses as well?" Peverell asked surprised.
Sal contemplated this.
"I know it wouldn't be proper to do so," he finally said. "But we should
look into it. We shouldn't shun the lasses just because it is improper for
them to be somewhere without a male family member."
"Well," Rowena said, after she heard his proclamation. "We should not
think about this now. Of course I would wish to teach the lasses as well,
but I understand that it's impossible for now. Instead we should look at
those we can teach for now – and for that we will have to decide what
we want to teach our apprentices."
Sal just sighed and closed his eyes. He was not truly satisfied with just
teaching the boys for now, but he also knew that there was no way to
establish an education for the girls with the current societal standards.
After all, they had just talked about the boys all along – and the other
four were definitely children of their time …
"I know what I will teach," Godric answered Rowena promptly. "Battle
Magic and Weaponry. I planned to teach them that since the day you
asked me to aid you in your plans."
"You know that you also will have to teach them how to ride a horse,
Godric," Sal entered the discussion, deciding to think about the girl-
problem another time. "It's a useful skill, but not many have any
experience in riding."
"Well yes, that also…"
"And etiquette. You are a Lord, you should know it well enough to teach
it to the young ones," Sal added. Godric grumbled but nodded.
"Well, if you are teaching etiquette you may also include writing,"
Rowena added sweetly. "That way, we will be sure they know it and we
won't have any trouble deciding who will teach them…"
Sal just shrugged. Writing was an important skill – but there was far too
little parchment available to bother teaching writing first. Most of the
things that the apprentices would learn they would have to learn by
heart, as there was no way to use parchment for something that required
physical practice.
"Well – I will teach them Transfiguration, as I am a master myself,"
Rowena said. "I will also teach them Arithmancy and Astrology. They will
need Arithmancy for Transfiguration and Astrology is generally useful to
everyone. They need to know what time of the year it is, after all."
"You are a Transfiguration master?" Sal asked, surprised.
Rowena shrugged.
"Father was one as well. A woman who knows more than the basics in
magic will have a better chance to marry someone of high standing –
after all, she will have the knowledge to teach her sons before they start
their apprenticeship and that will broaden their spell-knowledge far more
than just the apprenticeship."
"Then shouldn't we also accept lasses for this exact purpose?"
"We definitely wouldn't turn them away if their fathers ask for them to be
here," Peverell answered shrugging. "But the chance that they do will be
slim…"
"It will be," Helga said. "Maybe if Rowena and I offer to teach the lasses
separately, at a time when there are none of the other apprentices …
maybe we could send the lads home a little bit before harvest and then
invite the lasses for a few weeks to learn some things – you know, the
weeks when the Gathering of the Lords is taking place. We would all be
in Londinium for the Gathering anyway – so why not take the lasses aside
and teach them? No one could complain, as the lords of the clans would
still be there, and a father or brother could accompany the lass in
question so all would be proper. We could aid their teaching with
household spells and herb lore – something that every sorceress needs.
The sorcerers would not need these classes anyway, so there would be no
argument from that angle."
"I think they should know some of it as well," Sal said frowning. He still
wasn't pleased by the idea to teach the girls for only a few weeks in the
year – but for the beginning, something was better than nothing. "Maybe
you could teach them those spells as well, when we have them as our
apprentices …"
"Household charms for lads?" Helga asked, sceptical.
"Or you simply add other useful charms to your class, and simply call the
class 'Charms'," Sal interrupted.
"I do not think that men need to know such things …"
"Maybe they don't," Sal acquiesced. "But what about future widowers?
They might need it then – or do you want them to die because their wife
perished and took away the knowledge of how to cook?"
"The sorcerers won't like …"
"They do not have to," Sal interrupted. "But do you really want them to
grow up as useless as Godric?"
"Hey!" Godric exclaimed good-naturedly, but Helga looked at him
thoughtfully.
"No," she finally said. "I don't. You're right. I will also look for other spells
they might need that I will teach."
"So your class will be 'Charms' and not 'Household Spells," Sal concluded.
"What about also adding a creature lore class to your herb lore? The boys
might need the creature lore more than the herb lore but both might be
good to know for both genders …"
"We won't teach the lasses that, Salazar," Rowena rebutted.
Sal just shrugged. Of course they wouldn't at first – but he definitely
planned to add the girls as soon as he could. He just had to think around
the hindrance of tradition and what was seen as proper … but in a few
years' time …
Helga looked at him oddly for a moment as if she was trying to read his
mind, but then she just shrugged.
"I might as well add herb lore and creature lore to the teaching of our
apprentices …" she gave in.
"And we also should teach them the mind arts," Sal added. "I do not like
the thought of them being unprotected – and the mind arts will also aid
them in their studies, so that will be another benefit for them."
And the mind arts were needed. Even the females were taught them – Sal
had tested the shields of Rowena and Helga both. He was sure that it was
not by chance that he had not been able to read the minds any of the
sorcerer or sorceress he had met.
It seemed it was part of the typical education – Sal guessed it was to keep
family secrets and other secrets they were taught by their masters.
"Well – I won't teach them," Godric said in that moment. "I am not really
good in them and I would not want to teach them something I am faulty
at, at best."
"I also won't," Rowena said. "The mind arts are a complicated thing to
teach. I do not know enough to even think about teaching them." The
other two just nodded.
Sal stared at all of them.
"How can you not know?!" he finally asked astonished and then decided
to bait them just because he could. "There are a lot of Legilimens out
there, and you go around unprotected and not even concerned for what
they can plant in your head?!"
"Oh, shut it, Salazar! We're not unprotected! We're simply not very good
in the mind arts!" Rowena exclaimed and Sal suppressed a grin when she
took his bait and got a little bit riled up. "We're good enough to get by
but not good enough to teach. But you may do it when you are certain
they should learn. You seem to be really good; you seemed horrified
when we told you we weren't."
They argued for another half an hour, but Sal finally gave in to their
demands and added the mind arts to the list of classes he was responsible
for – not that he hadn't known from the start that he would give in, in the
end...
"You will also have to teach them potions," Rowena added.
Sal just sighed.
"And Runes," he said. "I want them to be able to write and speak
Brezhoneg like they were born with the knowledge. I would not trust
them to attempt hexes and curses in runes without this knowledge … and
we will have to combine runes and Arithmancy somewhere in their
schooling. It would be good for them to have experience in combining
them …"
Rowena nodded.
"Maybe when they're twenty or twenty-one," she said. "When we take
them in at fifteen that would give us five years to …"
"Fifteen?!" Sal interrupted this time, truly astonished. "Why do you want
to wait until they are fifteen to teach them?!"
"Because their magic needs to be matured to teach…" Godric said
surprised. "Don't you know this fact?!"
Sal stared at Godric, then at Rowena, Helga and Peverell. They all stared
back at him.
Finally Sal shook his head and sighed again.
"What by fire, ice, and the fairies have you been taught when you were
children?!" he finally asked, exasperated, while rubbing his forehead.
"Salazar? What are you talking about?" Rowena – of course.
"The first time a child's magic matures is when they reach their tenth or
eleventh year of life," he answered finally. "After that you can start
teaching. The second time they mature will be between fifteen and
nineteen, the last time between twenty and twenty-three. There is no
logical explanation why you should wait until their second maturity to
start training them …"
"An apprenticeship always starts when you turn fifteen, Sal," Rowena
said. "You should know this. You are a healer – you should have started
…"
"I was trained since I was eleven years of age," Sal answered sincerely.
"My father would have been horrified if it had been different. Not
training a child in their first maturity will just lead to a lot of accidental
magic – and that's something I would like to try and stifle. It's not good
for the child to start training years after they had their maturity. There is
a lot they will be forever unable to learn simply because their parents
waited too long to train them …"
"So … you propose that we will start with their training as soon as they
turn eleven?!" Peverell asked, starting at Sal as if he was crazy.
"Yes," Sal answered coolly.
"We always waited until…" Godric started.
"How about trying it out?" Rowena interrupted, staring at Sal with
thoughtful eyes. "We can always change the age to that of the normal
apprenticeships if it does not work – and it would give us some more
time to train them. I do not think the lords would mind if we also took in
the younger children…"
Peverell stared at her, and then shrugged. "It's your apprenticeship. If you
want to try, try it. I do not mind either way."
"That's because you refuse to aid us with it, my dear husband," Helga said
snorting.
"Oh, I will help you, I am here after all. I might as well use some of my
skills to prevent a total failure," Peverell answered scowling. "I will teach
them history, law and politics – someone has to, after all."
"I knew you would see reason," Helga answered smiling.
Peverell just scowled even more and then turned and left the room.
"Well – back to the lesson plan," Helga said cheerfully.
They decided to start with eleven years of age for their apprentices.
The next few months they decided on lesson plans, the costs of the
schooling – they had to add a price because the lords firstly expected to
pay for the apprenticeship and secondly they needed the money to pay
for the meals and the other things the children would need. After that
they sent out letters to the lords.
They finally started the school exactly one year after the Gathering of the
Lords where they had spoken about their idea, in Peverell and Helga's
home – a home that now also inhabited Sal, Godric and Rowena and
nearly twenty students.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The first class Sal taught was … strange.
It was entirely different to stand in front of a bunch of students that
looked at you with eager eyes then to sit there and wait for a professor to
speak.
He stared at them and suddenly the words Severus Snape had used in his
own first class returned to him – or would it be 'would use'? Time-
traveling definitely wasn't good for your tenses…
But still… the words of his teacher were burned in his mind and when he
started the class, he could not help it, he just had to…
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he
exclaimed, repeating exactly what his potion's professor had … would use
in his class. Well – not exactly. He did not want to insult any of his
students when they never even had a potions class before that. He
wanted to capture them, to draw them in – speaking about 'foolish' wand-
waving and 'dunderheads' wouldn't do that…
"As there is little wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is
magic. I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly
simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids
that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses
… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you
listen and follow my lead."
The answer was even wider eyes that were still shining within eager
faces, looking at him as if he was their way to heaven. Sal returned their
gaze with his own, and then he turned and took one of the ingredients he
had prepared before class and showed it to them.
"Is there anybody in this room that knows what that is, and what it is
used for?" he asked softly. A lonely hand shot up in the air and Sal
smiled.
He was looking forward to teaching.
Well – at least he was until the next two days had passed. After that he
got frustrated. He had taught them about the ingredients – then why did
he have to repeat himself every time he entered the classroom?! Why
couldn't they remember things he had taught them the last time they had
classes?! Did they not want to learn?!
He had looked in their faces and thought that they were eager to learn –
but now, that seemed to have been an illusion. After all, if they really
would have been eager they would know the ingredients he told them
about by heart now! So why didn't they?!
What did he do wrong?!
Had he been wrong about their interest in learning?!
Had he been wrong about their wish to brew by themselves?!
He had told them what they could mix, about what they shouldn't mix
and about the whys behind that – he had told them again and again. He
had to question them every time they had classes and had to supervise
their brewing so that he could react before they blew up the room.
It was like swimming through mud. It was tiring and Sal doubted the
children learned anything at all.
But they were eager – weren't they…?!
And still …
Why?!
What did he do wrong?!
It was simply frustrating.
After two weeks he finally talked to the others.
"They are not learning!" he said. "I thought they were eager to learn –
eager to know! But they still do not know more than before!"
Rowena just stared at him as if he was crazy.
"They are fast learners, Salazar," she said. "I just had to tell them three
times until they got it right. I do not understand what is bothering you…"
"Yes," Godric said. "They even learned faster than I did. When I was
taught my first spell I needed a week to get it right – they just needed
four days. They are amazing, even the eleven year olds!"
Sal just gawked at them.
Fast learners?
Amazing?!
"They are not like you, Sal," Helga said softly. "They need time to
remember everything. Be patient and they will get it right…"
"That's not the problem!" Sal cried, just to stop midsentence when Snape
came to his mind. Helga was right. That was the problem.
At that moment Sal understood his father. He himself had lived for over a
thousand years – he simply had not thought about the problems he had
had when he first came to the past. He had never seen the difference
between the ability to memorize he had gained from his father and the
memory of others as clearly as that day.
It was also that day that he finally understood Severus Snape. Like
himself, Snape could not see how a child could not understand potions.
Snape might not have an eidetic memory like himself but Snape was a
potion-brewing genius. He simply could not understand the problems a
normal person had…
Snape had never understood the problem – Sal instead swore that day
that he would follow in his father's footsteps and not his potion
professor's.
And so he swore to himself to be patient.
"A normal child cannot remember its entire life," he told himself when he
had to tell them again and again. "They cannot remember every day and
everything they have learned in their entire life. I will have to teach them
patiently until they are able to remember…"
And so he did.
At first it was still like swimming through mud. Then the weeks passed
and suddenly his students knew things. Suddenly they got them right. But
Sal was not content with that. He questioned them again and again until
they could answer his questions while sleeping.
He did not stop until they knew all he knew about the ingredients he was
talking about by heart and could tell him about them without hesitating.
"You are too harsh on them, Salazar!" Rowena chastised him. "They are
children – they do not need to know all that by heart."
"Potions are dangerous," Sal simply replied. "Just one moment can kill
you if you are not concentrating. I will not stop teaching them until they
do it right without thinking about it first. I want prevent them from
killing themselves because of stupidity!"
When Rowena wanted protest against his words, Helga stopped her.
"Let him be," she said. "It is his right to ensure their safety. If he thinks
that that is the right way we will not stand in his way to do so, will we?"
Rowena just sighed after that and shook her head.
"We won't," she answered. After that no one criticized Sal again.
At the next Gathering of the Lords in harvest, there were only positive
responses to their teaching.
"They learned even more than they would have if they had been
apprenticed in the usual way," Lord McGonagall said. "I am impressed by
their knowledge. I will definitely send you the rest of our children after
the harvest."
The other lords nodded.
"Even the eleven year olds know their magic, and their problems with
accidental magic have declined. I will follow Lord McGonagall's lead and
send you other children of my clan," another lord said.
This was the time Godric told the other lords about the summer school
the two women planned for the girls. At first, the lords were hesitating
but finally they decided to try it – after all they were there and the
women had nothing to do while the lords gathered…
After the first harvest Sal and the others had thirty more students that
wanted to join. The year after that there were even more.
The trial run of the summer classes for the girls a year later brought
better results than they thought it would and so the summer classes for
the girls by Rowena and Helga were added to their new system.
Soon the five were recommended teachers in the world of sorcerers, and
even more lords started to send requests to enter their young ones in
either the apprenticeship of Sal and the others or Rowena's and Helga's
summer school.
And so they suddenly had fifty more request letters of apprenticeship on
their table at the end of the third harvest since opening the school.
"They will not fit into the manor," Peverell sighed when he saw them.
"And even with the money we make from teaching them, we cannot build
enough rooms so that they would all fit in. We will have to turn away
some …"
"Or we change the location," Helga said, who was standing next to him
and also looked through the letters together with Rowena and Godric.
"And where do you want to go to, Helga, my dear wife?" Peverell asked
with a raised eyebrow. "Do you maybe have somewhere a castle in hiding
I do not know of?"
"Well … no … but …"
"So where do you want to go?"
Sal was standing next to the arguing pair. He hesitated just a moment.
Then he gave in to his idea – he had to, he had known long ago that he
would give in one time.
"I do," he said.
"What?!" Peverell, Helga and also Godric and Rowena who had been
following the argument stared at him. "What do you mean, 'I do'?!"
"I have a castle hiding somewhere," Sal answered.
The others blinked.
"You … do …" Peverell said slowly. "How, by Morgana, do you have a
castle hiding somewhere?!"
Sal just shrugged.
"It's hidden behind blood and soul wards," he answered. "We could use it
if you want."
"Where?!"
"In Pictia," Sal answered. "I can guide you and the students there."
The other ones just stared at him.
Then understanding lit Peverell's eyes.
"You're talking about your ancestral home. You talked about it in the
Gathering of the Lords…"
"Yes."
"But … it's your ancestral home …" Godric said.
Sal just shrugged.
"I do not need it – so why not use it for our project?"
The others hesitated, but finally after some arguing the others gave in
somehow.
"Let us see it first – then we will decide if we can use it for our students,"
Peverell finally decided. Sal shrugged and nodded. But he was smirking
inwardly. Maybe he would finally have a chance to add the girls to their
schooling. He just had to lead the others slowly to his growing plans …
So they started to travel to Pictia three days after. A few weeks later they
reached Camelot …
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That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
30. Chapter 29: 900-1000AD
Founding
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Thanks to Danneyland for beta-ing.
PS: Tsukiyomi Cecilia decided to aid me with the previous (from Prologue
until the chapters Danneyland started to beta) chapters to correct my
grammar, so I will (hopefully) soon update those again, corrected this time…
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Somewhen between 900 and 1000 AD
Founding Haugh's Wards
sss
Sal had not told them what castle they were heading to. He knew his
friends. Not one of them would accept using the castle if they knew that
it was the legendary Camelot.
"Here we are," he finally said, opening the wards so that they could see it.
"Welcome to my childhood home." Well, it was his third childhood on
King Arthur's court but Sal decided it would be a bad idea to tell them of
the technicalities.
"You grew up here?!" Godric asked, astonished.
"Well, somehow," Sal answered. "It was the home of my father. I came
here when I turned fifteen. Now my father is dead and it is mine."
"And you haven't been here for how long?" Rowena asked, hesitating.
They still had not talked about Rowena's suspicion of who exactly Sal's
father had been, and for now she seemed to have forgotten it – something
Sal had hoped she would lose track of. Of course, she would one day
remember but until then, he was content to act as if she never heard his
almost-exclamation about Myrddin when they met.
Sal simply shrugged.
"I do not know," he answered sincerely. "But do not worry. It was under a
stasis charm. Nothing should be ruined."
The awe in the faces of the others when they entered was definitely
entertaining for Sal.
"So … this castle … it's been empty since the time you decided to travel?"
Peverell asked haltingly.
Salvazsahar shrugged.
"It might have," he answered. "But it also might not have."
"Huh?" this unarticulated question was one of Godric's.
"It's a sanctuary," Sal explained. "If someone truly needed it, it would
have opened for them until they are ready to leave again. It was always
like that – even when my father was still living in this castle."
"A sanctuary?" Rowena asked interested.
Sal just nodded.
"The wards will let anyone who needs to get away from unwanted
persons enter. The castle will guard the inhabitants until they are ready
to move on. This kind of function is imbedded in the wards and even if
you want to, I will not change it. So … even if this castle will be our
school, be prepared to accept those who are in dire need of help to find
it."
"So … they simply come in? Wouldn't be that a danger to the
apprentices?!" Helga exclaimed nervously.
"It won't," Sal answered soothingly. "No one who wants to harm the
inhabitants of the castle would be able to enter the wards – in dire need
or not. But I had to tell you beforehand that it might come to an
unexpected addition if there is someone near who needs help right
away."
For a moment the others hesitated, and then Godric shrugged.
"As long as the apprentices are safe," he said dismissively. One after
another the others nodded their consent.
A few minutes later, they entered the castle itself and Sal let them
explore the rooms and the grounds. He himself settled in the Great Hall
and looked at the ceiling.
"I am home, atr," he whispered and a warmth enveloped him, a warmth
he had missed dearly. His father was still here – imbedded in the stones
of the castle. "I decided to make this castle a school," he told the shadow
of his father. "It will be great, I am sure of it. Camelot should have been
the beginning of a new world – now it will be. It will change the world
with the children that were taught within its walls."
The warmth caressed his hair and for a moment Sal was sure his father
was happy with his decision. Sal did not know how long he sat in silence,
relishing in the feeling of being caressed by his father, when the doors of
the Great Hall opened and Godric strode in.
"This castle is awesome!" he declared loudly. "I found a tower that the
apprentices could sleep in – it would be the perfect place for them!"
"You do not mean that far away tower I saw you coming from, do you
Godric?" Rowena said while entering behind her husband. "Really,
Godric! It would take them far too long to gather when they start their
day from there! But you are right. A tower would be a good place for the
apprentices. There is a nice tower near here that would be perfect for
dormitories!"
Godric just snorted.
"Well, Peverell and I found some nice rooms in the middle of the castle,"
Helga said, entering from another, smaller entrance. "I think they would
be lovely as dormitories – what do you think, love?"
"You are right, my dear wife," Peverell answered nodding. "Quite nice
with a lot of space for a lot of apprentices."
Sal just buried his head in his hands.
"How by wind and fire can you start with the search for dormitories
already?!" he asked sighing. "We did not even decide if we are changing
our teaching place to this castle!"
"Oh, but we have decided," Godric said. "This place is perfect!"
The other three nodded.
"I found some quarters where we and other future teachers could live,"
Rowena said. "And there is a tower where we could have our official
meetings."
"And we can take in all the children that have asked for apprenticeship,"
Helga said. "There is enough space here for them."
"But we will soon be too few to teach them all," Sal said sighing.
"Soon, but not now," Rowena said. "When we are, we will have to hire
others to help us, but for now we do not have to. We are still enough, for
now."
"But maybe we should sort the apprentices somehow," Godric said. "So
that not everyone looks after every student. It would be easier for the
apprentices when they know where to go to and we don't have to look
after all of them, too."
"And how do you plan to sort them?" Peverell asked.
"Well, we could sort them by their character, so that their personality fits
ours," Helga said enthusiastic.
"Do we really have to?" Sal asked, this time pleadingly.
"Well, I think it is brilliant!" Rowena answered. "It will be easier to gain
friends if they have something in common. And we can aid them better if
they think like we do."
"But wouldn't it be improper for the children to go to you, Rowena? You
are a woman after all – you shouldn't be alone with a male without your
brother or Godric nearby …" Sal said.
Rowena just shrugged.
"I do not think the lords care anymore when it is I who breaks tradition,"
she answered and Sal knew she was right. The last few years she had
gained a reputation of a teacher – and her status as a teacher simply out-
weighted her status as a female. The last year Godric and Peverell even
had stopped bothering to be in the same room when Helga and Rowena
were teaching or when the women were with Salvazsahar.
Sal knew that the lords knew and did not object. Godric had brought up
his intentions of letting Rowena teach without a male escort at the last
Gathering of the Lords and the lords simply had inclined their heads. No,
Rowena and Helga definitely had left behind their status as female in the
eyes of the world of the sorcerers – of course nothing like that would
have happened if Rowena and Helga would not have been married …
"So you have nothing to object anymore?" Helga said when Sal said
nothing. He just sighed and shook his head defeated.
"So we will sort them by character," Rowena said triumphantly.
"Well, then you should take those who cannot stop learning," Godric
answered teasingly. "You know: all the know-it-alls and book-lovers!"
"And you will take the courageous stupid ones who act before they
think," Peverell snorted.
"Well, I would take in all the hard working ones," Helga answered
shrugging. "As long as they are loyal to their friends and families, it does
not matter what other characteristics they have."
"And you, Peverell?" Sal asked, knowing that there would be no way the
man would even think about founding a house.
"I will take in no-one," Peverell answered as predicted. "I am our official
face – I have to do enough without having children at my sleeves
wherever I go. But you, Salazar, should take in the sly and cunning ones."
"And those with ambition," Helga added.
Sal snorted.
"Every human has ambition. You wouldn't be able to get anywhere in the
world without ambition. I don't think that's a trait that should be applied
to a house …" he said.
"I think it should!" Helga objected. "It simply fits you to the 'T', Salazar!"
"And why do you think that?" Salvazsahar asked frowning – Sal did not
like where this was leading. He had given up correcting them when they
said his name wrong but he was not taking in cunning, sly and ambitious
children! Definitely not!
"Because that's what you are," Rowena said.
Sal snorted.
"As if," he said coolly.
"Think about it," Godric answered. "You have rescued me once – and you
were cunning enough not to storm in. You used tricks to rescue me and
the others. Definitely cunning."
"And sly," Helga added.
"And you are ambitious," Rowena said. "You did not let us storm off with
half-baked plans. You were ambitious enough to plan ahead, and you do
not let your apprentices be anything but the best. And then there is your
plan about teaching lasses – don't you dare veto this! I know you haven't
given up on that and you and I know you will succeed some day! If that
isn't ambition, then what is?!"
"Rena is right," Peverell said. "You want our apprentices to be the very
best – and even when they are you want them to be better!"
"Yes, but –" Sal said, still protesting.
"Well, then this is settled," Godric interrupted him. "Next stop:
dormitories! My courageous Gryffindors will take the tower I decided on
as a dormitory!"
"Gryffindors?!" Helga asked.
"Well – we have to name them something," Godric shrugged. "And I
cannot name them 'LeFays', as LeFay is a family name and there would be
two of them because Rena's would also be 'LeFays'. And I do not want to
call them by my own given name – that would just be strange!"
"So you used your nickname," Peverell said while shaking his head.
"Do you have a better idea?" Godric asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well … no," Peverell answered.
"Well, I like the idea!" Rowena said. "I will also use something like that!"
"Then you should use Raven's claw," Helga said, pointing to Rowena's
hand where the parallel scars could be seen. "The raven is a wise bird and
the claws would point to you."
"Or you could put it together into Ravenclaw," Godric suggested. Rowena
just thought about it for a second. Then she smiled.
"Taken," she declared. "Mine will be the wise Ravenclaws!"
"And I will name mine Huff-the-puff," Helga declared. The other ones
stared at her. "What?! I like the sound of it – and I love eating pastry –
and that would be 'puff'!"
"But why 'huff'?!" Rowena asked.
Helga just shrugged.
"Because she thinks puffs give off an intoxicating aroma that she wants to
smell everywhere …" Peverell answered snorting.
Helga stuck her tongue out at Peverell. Her husband just grinned.
"I'm right, aren't I?" he said smirking.
"Even if you are – I still will call my House Huff-the-puff!"
"At least make it 'Hufflepuff'! Like that no one will know for sure why the
House is named like it is – or do you want your apprentices to feel
ashamed if they have to tell the name of their house?" Rowena said,
rolling her eyes.
Helga shrugged.
"Well, if I have to," she conceded. "Hufflepuff it is. It's a lovely name, isn't
it?"
"Well … if you must call them that," Peverell sighed. "They're your
apprentices. If you want to call them Hufflepuffs so be it."
"So … that just does leave Salazar's," Rowena said. "How do we call
yours?"
Sal frowned. He definitely did not like where their discussion was
heading.
"How about 'Sal's'?" he asked.
"Nope, not accepted. We have all used a nickname. You will do so, too."
"Sal is a nickname," Sal defended himself.
"But not a good one for a dormitory," Rowena said.
"Well – my apprentices do not have a dormitory, so why bother with a
name?" Sal countered.
"You don't have a place for a dormitory?" Helga asked surprised.
Sal just shook his head.
"I don't," he answered. "All I know is that my classroom will be in the
dungeons. I need the steady temperature for my potions ingredients."
"Well – then your dormitory should be near it," Godric decided. "I am
sure there are enough rooms in the dungeons for a dormitory."
Sal just sighed. They really wanted to, didn't they?! At least there was no
way they would come up with … that … nickname, was there? No, Sal
felt content that whatever they decided on – history was not yet written!
"That just leaves the nickname," Helga said in that moment grinning.
"And that should be easy," Rowena continued.
"And we should be the ones to give him this nickname," Peverell said,
grinning as evilly as his wife. "How about something with 'sly'?"
Sal suddenly had a really bad feeling about that. They couldn't … they
wouldn't …
"Well … you should integrate a snake. Look at his clothing. The snake
seems very important to him," Godric added.
"Well how about 'slithering'?" Rowena asked. "Like a snake slithers. It
would fit. He always startles me because I do not hear him coming!"
"I think 'sly' fits better," Helga countered.
"No, 'slithering' it is," Godric said grinning. "Slithering something or so…"
"I am all for 'sly'!" Peverell added. "Sly something – I think it sounds
better than Slithering something…"
"How about nothing?" Sal intercepted, dreading where the conversation
was leading.
History wasn't written yet! The name shouldn't … wouldn't be written in stone!
"Hush you!" was the answer he got, and all Sal could do was follow the
conversation with big eyes.
They couldn't, wouldn't …
"May I say some –" he started again, but was rebuked by more than one
person – again.
"No! We are the ones who will choose the nickname!" Godric said.
"You did not try when you had the chance," Helga piped in.
"Just wait, Salazar, we're quick with that," the Peverell promised evilly.
"We were quick with the other ones also."
"Hey, what about 'Slytherin'?" Rowena said in that moment, grinning.
"That would include both 'slithering' and 'sly'!"
They had …
"Good idea, Ravenclaw!" the Godric said now also grinning evilly, the
others nodded their content.
"Well – Slytherin it is," Peverell said, still grinning.
"And if I don't like it?" Sal asked just one more time trying to prevent his
fate.
"You have no say in it, Slytherin," Godric said laughing. "I had no say in
mine, you have no say in yours – easy, isn't it."
"But the others …"
"You did not want to take your chance – and now you are stuck with
what we have chosen for your apprentices," Rowena reminded him.
"Yes," Godric said. "And it fits to our names. Look at it like that, will
you?"
"What do you mean now, oh brother mine?" Helga asked.
Peverell just suddenly burst out laughing.
"You're right, Godric. It does fit! Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw,
Helga Hufflepuff – Salazar had to get something with S! Salazar Slytherin
definitely fits perfectly!"
Sal just sighed inwardly.
The others were idly planning the layout of the new classes inside the
castle. They all were content with their chosen names – all but Sal. But
the others had not been named after the villain – and the others did not
know about the future…
"Now I just have to find a Basilisk and ask it to move in …" he thought
sarcastically.
"Come on, Salazar! You will learn to live with it. Salazar Slytherin really
sounds good, you know? We should become famous with these names!"
Godric said. "And it would distinguish between us. There will be less
problems if we ourselves also go by our chosen names, how about that,
Professor Slytherin? You have no idea how funny that will be!"
"And you have no idea that you just have named me the fourth founder
of the first magic school in the world," Sal thought sighing again
inwardly. "And not only the fourth founder, but the 'evil' one."
So there was just one question left: What had Sal done to get his evil
image in the future – because he was sure, that he would not choose the
path of evil in the next few decades …
"Come on, Salazar!"
This time Sal shook his head and cleared it from his thoughts. He had to
do other things – like planning the dorms for his Slytherins and the
change of the castle …
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
And indeed, the castle did change. While the children were away for
harvest, the teachers decided to prepare the castle for the apprentices –
well they prepared it somehow, Sal just doubted it really was solely for
the apprentices … or at all for the apprentices …
So one day Sal woke up and walked in the Great Hall – just to find the
ceiling looking like the weather outside.
"How do you like it, Salazar?" Rowena asked grinning. "Helga and I have
worked on a charm like that for years. We thought that applying it here
would be great."
"It is," Sal answered, staring at the ceiling that he once loved so much.
The ceiling of his first home.
In that moment Godric entered.
"Who enchanted the stairs to move?!" he asked astonished and slightly
cross. "They all moved away as soon as I was near them!"
"Well, they still need fine-tuning," Rowena answered. "But it will be great
as soon as I am ready. And don't worry – I will key them to our wishes."
"Nice," Helga commented when she entered together with her husband.
"Who enchanted the stairs? I like them!"
Godric just sighed and looked pleadingly at Sal. Sal shrugged.
"I live in the dungeons. The stairs definitely don't bother me," he said,
inwardly grinning.
"You're evil, Salazar," Godric commented. "Really, really evil!"
Sal just shrugged and decided to seal the servants' stairs and secret
passages in the walls with Parseltongue – that would prevent Rowena
from finding and hexing them – and it definitely was 'hexing' even if she
would object and call it 'charming' – and as a bonus it would prevent
Godric from using something different then the main stairs …
And Godric deserved it. Sal had not yet forgiven him for the idea to
nickname the dormitories and themselves …
So Sal finally fled from the breakfast table to seal the servant stairs before
Rowena could find them. The only thing that was left in the end, were
little stone snakes where there once had been the entrances to the servant
stairs.
"That should do it," Sal decided, still grinning.
Peverell instead decided to secure his own rooms – the so called public
rooms – from his sister. He enchanted a gargoyle and the stairs so that
they would move upwards. The gargoyle instead became the guard of his
office – an office that later the Headmasters and Headmistresses of
Hogwarts would use.
Helga, Godric and Rowena took his idea and changed the doors to their
dormitories so that they would just open with a password. Godric hung
the portrait of his mother in front of the entrance of his dorms.
"This way, I don't have her following me everywhere at home," he told
them when he was questioned about his choice.
Rowena just enchanted the door handle to ask riddles before entering.
"So they will get used to solving riddles," she told them.
Helga also used a portrait for her entrance in the dorms and the rhythm
of her nickname for the entry.
Sal had watched them all until he knew all their securities and safe-
guards, then he simply vanished the entrance to his dorms so that just a
simple stone wall was left. He secured the wall with a password and a
security code in Parseltongue for himself.
"Godric," Sal said one day.
"Huh?"
"I need some inspiration for my dorms …"
Godric looked at him blankly for a moment, then his eyes brightened.
"Oh! Sure! Do you want to see mine?"
"Er … may I?"
"Of course! Come on, let's go to Gryffindor tower to have a look!"
When they reached the portrait, Godric stated the password and they
entered.
The room was red.
Absolutely red.
Swamped with red.
And whatever wasn't red was gold.
"Great, isn't it?" Godric said. "I colour-charmed it myself; I thought I
could make those two colours the colours of Gryffindor crest …"
Sal just thought that someone in the future must have dimmed the colour
scheme.
"Er … yes, great … now I definitely have inspiration…" Sal said.
"Great."
Sal just was happy to leave again after he had been shown the dorm
rooms for the boys and the added washrooms – not that there was any
plumbing. The washroom was connected to a charmed pipe which ended
in a tub to bring in fresh water and a dumpster pipe to bring away the
used water. It was something Helga had thought of and the other
founders had adopted her idea.
Sal guessed that the original method never fully changed even to his
original time – not that he could prove it, stuck in the past as he was.
So when Sal finally fled Godric he ran straight to Helga.
"Helga," he said. "May I see your dormitories? I need something to purge
from my eyes the shocking colours I saw a few minutes ago."
Helga just raised an eyebrow at him.
"What did you do, Salazar?" she asked.
"I thought it was a good idea to ask Godric for inspiration for my
dormitories …"
"Ouch," said Helga. "I guess we should hope Godric's apprentices are
colour blind … well, come on. I'll show you."
A few minutes later Sal had entered his second dormitory for the day.
Helga's dorms were decked out in black and yellow.
"I decided on those two colours for my crest," she explained.
"Crest?!" Sal said. "Why are all people suddenly talking about crests
today?"
Helga stared at him blankly.
"Because we are building Houses, Salazar," she said. "Every normal House
has a crest – so of course we are talking about crests. Rena and Godric
said we should use animals as a part of the crest so I decided on a badger
for Hufflepuff. Godric said you would take a serpent, he would take a
lion and Rena said something about an eagle …"
"Er … all right," Sal said and finally left the rooms after telling some
platitudes. Helga's rooms weren't as bad as Godric's but …
Sal entered his dungeon dorms and the first thing he did was to lighten
the rooms by turning the outer wall with some rune-work invisible so
that you could see in the lake. Then he used a muted green and some
silver highlights for the common room.
He might not have been very happy with his House's name, but he
suddenly was somehow glad that he had Slytherin as his House. At least
the green gave off a homey feeling – and it did not kill you by just
looking at it like Godric's red!
"So … my crest colours are green and silver," he concluded – not that he
hadn't known it beforehand. "Note to myself: If I ever find out who dulled
the red and gold in the Gryffindor tower later on I have to reward them!"
That night he used the knowledge he had gotten the day before and
entered first Gryffindor tower and then Hufflepuff House. There he
charmed one part of the dormitories and added a charm to make the
others forget about the dorms he had hidden away. The charm he used
definitely belonged to the Dark Arts – it was a charm he had learned
from Morgana – but Sal didn't care. He was a dark wizard, whether he
used the charm or not. After all, everything he had once learned from his
father Myrddin had been banned as Dark Arts at least two hundred years
ago.
Sal had simply stopped caring as long as the charms he used did not
harm anyone …
After he had hidden away the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor dorms he
entered Ravenclaw tower – answering riddles definitely made it easier to
enter for him – and did the same. The hidden dorms were going to be the
girl's dorms. Sal just had to work out all the charms he intended to add
and then convince the others to add the girls as apprentices to their
school – not that they called it a 'school' at the moment.
After that he returned to one of his bigger projects: The Chamber of
Secrets. He built the chamber deep down under the school, building it big
enough so that all the apprentices would fit in, in case of an emergency.
He included a way out – which ended way behind the village of
Hogsmeade that was still there from Arthur's time, in the mountains. He
secured it with wards based on intent and a Parseltongue password. From
inside it would simply open when you would lay your hand on the wall.
Then he connected the servant stairs with the chamber. The servant stairs
were connected with the dorms of the other founders – even if they did
not know that. He changed the entrances to open in case of an emergency
and enchanted the servant stairs so that they would lead the apprentices
automatically in the chamber.
"What are you working on?" Rowena finally asked him after seeing him
vanishing every day for the last three weeks. The others also stared at
him with interest in their eyes. Sal sighed, but then he gave in. After all –
why shouldn't he show them his work? It was just a safety measure.
"No changing of my work," he warned them before he opened one of the
servants' entrances and showed them the way down to the Chamber of
Secrets.
"What's this?" Rowena asked astonished, staring at the chamber.
"A hide-out," Sal answered sincerely. "If the wards will ever be breached
doors in the whole castle will open and lead the apprentices here. There
is a tunnel to the mountains so that the apprentices are able to flee if we
ever have to give up on the castle."
"And you did this by yourself?!" Rowena asked astonished. Sal just
shrugged.
"I wasn't sure if you'd agree," he answered sincerely.
"Of course we would have!" Godric said, shaking his head. "None of us
even thought about something like that!"
"Well, none of you have fought in a war," Sal answered seriously. "I have.
I would think about something like that."
When he said that, Rowena looked at him oddly. Had she remembered
her suspicion?
Sal stared back at her but shrugged it off when Helga spoke her mind.
"Still … wow, Sal," Helga said.
"Yes, wow," Godric said. "Building your own Chamber of Secrets under
the school, I am impressed."
"You know of it – so it is hardly a Chamber of Secrets," Sal countered.
"Well, but it has been one," Godric said shrugging.
"Yes, but it isn't anymore."
"You should add some décor," Helga said in that moment.
"Yes … something like this!" said Rowena and suddenly a dozen of stone
snakes lined the walls.
"Rowena! Do you want to frighten the apprentices?!" Sal hissed.
"No," Rowena said. "But you have to add them – you know, rather like
your signature."
Sal just sighed and shook his head.
"I will add some dorms at the bottom of the snake bodies," he said. "Then
they might be of use somehow. And now hush! Back where you came
from!"
And with that they left again.
Sal indeed added the dorms. He also added a ritual room and some other
rooms somewhere near the place where later would stand the huge
sculpture of … him?!
Well – Sal decided that he definitely would not add this statue to the
room – the snakes were bad enough. Instead he added another, bigger
snake to hide the ritual chamber, eventual library, and potion room and
hospital wing with a connected bed chamber.
After that he was ready.
Harvest was ending and it finally was time to welcome home their
apprentices for their first year at Haugh's Wards.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
31. Chapter 30: Harry
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Thanks to Danneyland for beta-ing.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Harry
sss
Hermione Granger was worried.
Normally, at this time of the year, she would be worried about classes,
new professors, homework and learning. Normally, she would just do like
she did every year to cope with her worry: she'd look into all the things
she would have to learn and build her timetable from there so that she'd
definitely have enough time for everything.
But this year, it was different.
Of course, she still was worried about classes, the new defence professor,
homework and learning – but all that had taken a back seat to … well, to
Harry.
Something was wrong with Harry, and Hermione Granger was worried
sick over him.
When she had first met him, she hadn't seen it. It had taken her weeks to
decipher that there was something different. Different – not wrong, just
different.
It had been the small things that had added up to her worry.
Harry had suddenly forgotten that she hated brussel sprouts – he had
never forgotten since she had told him in first year.
Harry had been calm more often but his letters earlier in the summer had
been distinctly venomous.
Harry waited until Mrs. Weasley or Sirius were finished with speaking
before asking questions – Hermione had never seen him wait before
butting in a conversation with his own point of view.
And then the most distressing evidence: Harry had stopped demanding
answers. Oh, he still insisted in knowing things – but he had stopped
demanding. Instead he politely asked until he had worn his victim down
and they would tell him just to be rid of him.
Yes, there was definitely something different with Harry – and Hermione
was worried sick about it. Especially because she could not exactly place
the answer to this frightening development.
Of course Hermione had a guess why Harry had changed – two or three
guesses actually – but she could not really be sure that she was right with
any of her guesses and that made her worried.
She hoped that it was just Harry maturing into adulthood, but she feared
that it was more than that. She feared Harry had changed either because
of the Dementor attack or because of Cedric's untimely death – and
neither was a good reason for Harry to change.
If it was because of the Dementor attack, Harry could feel responsible for
it and blame himself for the danger his cousin had been in. He could also
be blaming Dumbledore and the Order for not protecting him as well as
they should have – neither was a feeling Hermione would like Harry to
harbor. Harry needed adults in his life that he felt he could trust. If this
attack had destroyed his trust in Dumbledore and the Order, Hermione
feared that Harry could lose his grip on reality and fall into the darkness.
If his changed behavior was because of Cedric, then Hermione was sure
that Harry was blaming himself. That could lead to Harry trying to
overcompensate in the next dangerous situation, bringing about his own
death. Or it could lead to Harry getting utterly exhausted because of his
lack of sleep and him pushing his education – especially in Defence.
Hermione was sure that if that happened Harry would break down way
before Hallowe'en.
Both reasons could be the cause of Harry's suddenly-mature demeanor –
and neither was a reason Hermione felt was any good for Harry.
And because of that, instead of worrying about classes, new professors,
homework and learning, Hermione was frantically watching Harry while
worrying about him.
Harry instead seemed not to notice that he was watched at all. He
continued his day like there was nothing going on.
He sat with them in the Great Hall – just like yesterday and all the years
since first year – he went with them to class – he was not better than
before. He still doodled in History of Magic, he still looked out of the
window in Transfiguration more often than not. He still took his time to
try a new spell in Charms like he always had. He still groaned about
every bit of homework they were told to do and he still hated Divination
with passion.
If it had just been like this, Hermione wouldn't have worried so much. Of
course she had worried when he had forgotten minor things like her
preferences – but it was one fact that made her worry even more: potion-
stunted Harry Potter suddenly knew how to brew.
And the question was: how?!
When she had asked him he had told her he had memorized the potions
book. So she had taken his book away and questioned him. Harry was
right. He had memorized it – but there were things he could not explain
with simply memorizing. Like the experienced way he cut his ingredients.
Like the things he mentioned to add that weren't in the potions book.
Hermione had looked some of them up, sure that Harry had just made a
mistake – just to find out that the effect of the things Harry mentioned to
add aided the potion he had been describing …
The only explanation Hermione had was that Harry had been tutored
over the summer.
"Ron?" she said after Harry had excused himself to the library to start on
his Charms essay.
"Yes?"
"Don't you think … that Harry is behaving … different, somehow?" she
asked, nervous.
Ron furrowed his brow.
"What do you mean 'different', Hermione?" he asked her.
"Well … he forgot that I don't like brussel sprouts … he speaks civilly
with Malfoy … he knows potions … he –"
"Er … I think I get it," Ron said and then shrugged. "Yes. You're right. He
is different – but that's nothing bad, is it? I mean … he's still the same
somehow, isn't he?"
"I … guess," Hermione answered haltingly.
"Look," Ron said when he saw her hesitating. "Harry's still the same in
class – except potions, that is – he still loses in chess against me and I'm
sure he still would do anything for our friendship."
"You're right." This time Hermione sighed. "But I'm still uneasy about the
changes. How do we know that these changes weren't started because of
something that happened this summer? Like the Dementors, Cedric's
death or V-Voldemort's return? How do we know that the difference in
Harry didn't start because he isn't coping well with any of that and
pushes himself to forget? I don't want to lose our friend because he can't
cope with what happened!"
"He doesn't act as if he has problems," Ron countered.
"And you really think that we would see if he has problems right away?"
"Er … I guess we wouldn't, no."
"In second year he suddenly started to learn more after he was shunned
by the whole school. Last year was the same. I don't know how often he
practiced the Accio spell by himself just to get it right, but I do know that
he didn't just practice it while I was with him. And then the Patronus
charm in third year - he pushed himself to learn it after the Dementors
affected him one time too often!"
"So you're thinking …"
"… That Harry's pushing himself now that Voldemort's back. Maybe he
feels guilty because Cedric died. Maybe it was the Dementors … I don't
know what it is, but I firmly believe that there is a reason why he
suddenly studies so much – and I'm quite sure that this time he isn't
telling us his reason … and that worries me, Ron."
"So … what should we do?"
Hermione hesitated when confronted with this question.
"Er … I don't know," she said. "Maybe … maybe we should talk to an
adult … like McGonagall … or even Dumbledore …"
Ron rolled his eyes.
"Don't be an idiot, Hermione. It's not near grave enough to run squealing
to an adult."
"So what do you think we should do?"
"Maybe … give him time? After all, if it is Cedric it will take some time
for him to get over it. I can't imagine how I would feel after I saw a
friend being killed right in front of me …"
"But … wouldn't it be better if he had someone to talk to?"
Ron shook his head.
"Let's give him some time … if it doesn't change we can still go to an
adult. But for now: Harry's our friend. We should try to get him to talk
about what happened. And hey, maybe Harry just thought it was time for
a change, you know?"
Hermione just sighed and buried her head in her hands.
"Fine," she murmured before she decided to follow Ron's advice and wait
a little bit longer.
"But if it gets out of hand we will go to Dumbledore," she decided. Ron
just shrugged and stood up to search for someone to play chess with.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile, Harry Potter was taking a stroll on the grounds of Hogwarts.
To tell the truth, Harry was not only traipsing but walking along the edge
of the wards. He followed the ward line until he could not be seen from
the castle anymore and then stopped.
There, at the edge of the wards, Harry took out his staff and un-shrunk it.
Of course, Harry was sure that he would have been able to use one of his
wands to do what he wanted to do, but for him the staff was something
else. While the wands were something akin to good and supporting tools,
the staff was like an extension of his arm – and Harry trusted it the most.
So he un-shrunk his staff and then drew some runes and hieroglyphs with
it in the soft ground along the ward-line.
Then he activated the runes.
One moment he could see nothing but the forest behind the wards, the
next the wards were distinct and visible in front of him. The dome they
built was surrounded by a colourful iridescent bubble, emblazed with
Chinese characters, hieroglyphs, runes and Parsel runes. Then the
glowing construct sunk in the wards themselves and illuminated them.
But instead of the colourful swirling and twirling of the bubble, the
wards were a pale looking grey, mixed with some washed-out sparks of
colour here and there. There were also some shoddy runes flying around
and some parts of the wards were nearly transparent or blackened.
Harry frowned.
The wards should have shone with power and sparked with colour.
Instead they looked nearly breached and sickly.
"Where are the soul wards?" Harry whispered. "Where are the Founders'
wards?! They cannot have eroded!"
And they shouldn't have.
Soul wards like those on the castle were built for eternity and the blood
wards the Founders had added were not far behind. That begged the
question: where were they?
He found the answer when he started to look through the rest of the
wards. The wards of the Founders were drained by other idiotically set
wards. Whoever had built them had no idea how to build wards. So
instead of building them on a runic or a blood base they had simply been
added to the wards that had been here before – and that had drained the
old wards that the new ones had been set on.
No ward could exist without a base. Normally the base was runes, blood
or even the death of a person – the standard base for soul wards.
A ward that was built without a base would search for its replacement
base. Normally the result would be a dead caster because he or she was
the next suitable base to find. But Hogwarts had had powerful wards
before, so instead of killing the caster the newly set wards had based
themselves on the old blood wards and practically drained their power.
"I'll have to look into it and maybe destroy this ward," Harry murmured
to himself. He just needed to know if destroying the ward would have
negative consequences – like a backlash – or if it was safe to do so…
"And then I have to activate the soul wards again," this time he sighed.
Harry wasn't sure why the soul wards had deactivated but he guessed
that it had happened when the newer wards had been added. Soul wards
were to an extent alive – especially those of Hogwarts – and they would
deactivate before being leeched on.
Harry groaned.
"This looks like a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of work …"
But first, he decided, he had to find out about all the other wards that
had been added over time – and especially about the wrong one set on
top.
"Definitely a lot of work," he grumbled and let go of the runes, the wards
vanishing from his sight. Of course he had been the only one who saw
the wards – it wouldn't have been good if anyone had seen him looking
at them after all. For all the others they had still been as invisible as they
were for him again now …
"Library," he decided after he shrunk his staff and put it away. "The book
about the wards should still be there – and if the charm has lasted, it
should still have all the wards in it that have been added over time."
He entered the castle without meeting anyone and "returned" to the
library … not that he had entered it until now. He had just told
Hermione and Ron that he would be there some time ago. There he sat
down and started on his homework as if he had never left in the first
place.
No one had missed him – there was an advantage when he told his two
'best' friends that he would go to the library to study. Hermione would
not disturb him because she was happy that he would take time to study
and Ron would not come near him because he was studying. So no one
had noticed when Harry Potter had gone missing for three hours before
returning to the castle proper.
First, Harry took the time to write down a rough draft for his homework
in potions – he didn't even look in his books to do it because he definitely
didn't need any books to do superb work in potions. When he had
finished writing his rough draft ten minutes later, he decided that it
would be enough to convince everyone that he had been working hard in
the library, and he then turned his attention to the things he really
needed to have a look at.
"Well – now to the wards," Harry said to himself. He stood up and
searched the library for the book he needed. Normally it was kept in the
restricted section of the library – he simply entered as if there were no
wards to keep anyone out – but to his dismay someone was borrowing it.
He sighed. He knew that whoever was borrowing the book would not be
able to read it, but he did not feel comfortable with the knowledge that
someone else had it.
There was a reason why it was in the restricted section after all. Of
course, there also was a reason why it had been in the library. It had to
be easily accessible for the teachers and the Headmaster of the school, in
any case, and if it was truly needed to change something about the
wards, the book would no longer appear to be written in a foreign tongue
for whoever needed it – but as long as Hogwarts did not feel like it was
needed to add defences she normally hid the book away.
That someone had found it – and not after searching for aid about the
school wards but simply by looking – was troubling because it showed
Harry how far the wrongly placed wards were affecting the school.
"Definitely not good," Harry concluded. "I have to do something about the
wards, and soon."
There was just one problem: Harry guessed that a soul-piece of Riddle
was hidden under the wards – within the school itself to be exactly.
"I'm not sure if I should even dare to change something about this
catastrophe of wards while the Horcrux still is within its parameters,"
Harry thought darkly. If the wards just needed strengthening it could
have been done – but to bring down wards while something foul like a
Horcrux was near it …
"Maybe we should start with finding the soul piece." Harry frowned. "If I
just knew what wards we're dealing with here …"
But he didn't. At least, he couldn't be completely sure until he found that
book …
This conclusion left him with only one option: "I'll have to search for it
everywhere in school," he said to himself. Meanwhile he would have to
continue with his other plans and pray that he found the book as soon as
possible …
"I'll also have to open the wards for Reg," he thought to himself. But he
needed the book about wards first to do so. He had an incredibly good
memory, but he'd still like to check some facts before he played with the
wards of Hogwarts. Who knew what wards the Headmasters had added
over time? Harry was sure he could find out without the book, but he
also knew that it would be a lot easier with it.
And there was also another matter to consider. Harry had gotten an
answer to the letter he had written to his 'old friend'.
It read:
"My dear old Friend,
I know you don't want to give up revenge. And I understand that he has hurt
you even more with his actions than he ever has me. I will not stop you. I just
ask you to be careful. There are people who would never forgive you if you put
yourself in danger.
If you need my aid, tell me. I might be dying – but I have one last act to play
in this game. Just tell me when and I will be there.
Your old Friend.
Me."
Harry read it once, and then he snorted. One last act to play! So Harry's
Oncle had decided to aid Harry in his revenge even if he thought Harry
shouldn't do it. Well, Harry could live with that. He was just glad that his
Oncle didn't try to stop him anymore. If the old man wanted to shock the
old goat before he died …
Harry could not even contradict his Oncle if he planned to do it. The old
man had all the right within the world to deal the final blow to the old
goat…
Well, Harry would not stop him.
He wrote down his answer and then wrote another letter on a different
piece of parchment. After that he had waited until Winky had popped in
and taken the letters, and then returned to what he had been doing
before.
"So back to the search for my book," he thought. "Well – there aren't a lot
of people in the castle that would be interested in it. It's in runes after all
… The best way to find it would be to lay out bait and let them come to
me." And Harry knew how to do that just fine …
Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower just half an hour later. In the last
half-hour he had written down another rough draft – this one for his
Charms essay – and then put away his books before he had left the
library.
That evening he played chess with Ron and lost spectacularly – Harry
wasn't sure if it was because he kept getting distracted by his thoughts or
if it was because he always had been abysmal in chess.
It was startling. He could lead armies to victory against a foe three times
as big but if he was given a chess set he was lost…
"Well, at least no one has to wonder why I can suddenly play chess,"
Harry thought snorting after he had been beaten the third time in a row.
"I couldn't even play chess if my life depended on it …"
At ten o'clock he finally gave up and vanished up the stairs into the boys
dorms. There he lay down to sleep for a while at least …
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as 'Lord Voldemort' by civilians or
'the Dark Lord' by his supporters, was not happy.
Something had changed.
Something very important had changed.
But he couldn't put his finger on the problem.
Earlier that summer, Lucius Malfoy had been like he had remembered
him: firmly behind Voldemort's ideals and used to getting his way with
everyone but his master. Well, at least as behind Voldemort's political
point of view as Lucius Malfoy would ever be.
Voldemort, after all, was not a fool. He knew that the man had twisted
the truth after Voldemort had lost his body to a fifteen month old child.
The man had lied, bribed and had put pressure on all he couldn't deceive
– and all that to stay out of prison and to keep his name clean of the stain
of being a Death Eater. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had always been a man
without backbone so Voldemort had not been surprised that the man had
not started to search for him after he vanished … or that the man had
renounced him.
When Voldemort had returned at the beginning of last summer, Lucius
Malfoy had also returned. The man had still been the same: he had
bribed the minister and other people, he had lied and he had pressured
those who did not see it his way.
And Voldemort had taken him back because even if the man wasn't truly
loyal to him, he was definitely loyal enough to the cause – at least until
he thought that he was on the losing side. But if it really came to that one
day, Voldemort would find a way to overcome it …
Or so he had thought …
But now something had changed.
The money Lucius had always thrown out as if there was no end to it had
stopped leaving the vault of the man. The blonde was still working
closely with the minister – but he had stopped using his name to get what
he wanted to have.
And then there was the Wizengamot …
The Wizengamot had met a day ago and instead of voting for the harder
creature laws instantly, Lucius Malfoy had asked for time to look them
over – looking over laws before passing them was nothing new for a
member of the Wizengamot … but Lucius Malfoy looking over a law he
would have passed with glee just a few weeks ago…?!
Something was definitely wrong with Lucius Malfoy …
In that moment Lucius Malfoy entered the room, in his hands a long
letter.
Lucius stopped when he saw the snake-faced man and bowed to him.
"My Lord," he said.
"Lucius," Voldemort answered, scrutinizing the man. "What are you
doing?"
"I have to send a letter, my Lord," the noble man answered.
"A letter?"
"A Wizengamot matter. I need consult an … acquaintance of mine for the
new law."
Voldemort raised a non-existent eyebrow.
"And why does the Lord Malfoy have to consult someone for a law he
would have passed without a thought just a mere two weeks ago?" he
asked the noble man.
If Voldemort had not watched Lucius closely he wouldn't have noticed
the man wincing when Voldemort called him 'Lord Malfoy'.
Voldemort inwardly frowned.
Why would Lucius wince when being called what he had been known as
for years?!
What had changed?!
"My Lord," Lord Voldemort looked up again to look at Lucius. The man
gulped but spoke on. "May I be excused?"
Voldemort again scrutinized the man.
"Of courssse," he finally said, preening inwardly when Lucius winced
again after hearing the slight note of Parseltongue in Voldemort's voice.
Yes. Something was different with Lucius. In a lot of things the man was
still the same – but in some things…
Voldemort had to watch him closely…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Mad Eye Moody was stalking the school. He had been following Potter
for the last few weeks – not constantly, but every time he had found time
to do so.
And some things had been … odd …
Like the lad talking to Sirius Black and calling him a 'stupid Gryffindor' or
his behavior towards the Malfoy heir and Snape …
Something strange was going on.
"Alastor," Mad Eye stopped mid-step when he heard the voice of Albus
Dumbledore.
"Albus," he greeted.
"Alastor, how are you, my friend?"
"I'm fine," Mad Eye answered, inwardly rolling his eyes. He was no man
for idle chit chat.
The Headmaster just smiled, and invited Mad Eye to join him in his
office.
The conversation started just after the office door was closed and they
were sure to take caution against being overheard.
"Have you been following Harry, Alastor?" Albus finally asked.
Mad Eye Moody just grunted.
"I have," he said. "But I never knew the lad before this summer. I'm
definitely not someone who's able to judge if he is different than before."
"I know, my friend," Mad Eye always suspected that he was called 'my
friend' because Albus constantly slipped and had to change his beloved
'my boy' to something less insulting …
"But I also know that you were a superb Auror. You would notice if
something is truly wrong with Harry. Possession, for example."
"I did not see any sign of possession, Albus," Mad Eye answered sincerely.
But then he stopped. He wasn't sure what to tell Albus.
The Headmaster had been right. The boy somehow was different then all
the other teens he had met until now …
"But …" Albus prodded.
"But … there is something … strange … about the boy," Mad Eye finally
answered, hesitating.
Albus frowned.
"Strange?" he repeated. "Could you elaborate, my friend?"
Yep … definitely a changed version of 'my boy' …
"I'm not exactly sure about what I saw," Alastor said sighing. "It's just that
he isn't interacting with others like I thought he would after I heard your
description of him, Albus."
"I don't think I understand …"
Mad Eye sighed again.
"You described a typical Gryffindor: rash, impulsive, reckless and rude.
The boy I met isn't like that," he answered while rubbing his forehead.
Albus frowned.
"What do you mean, he isn't like that?"
Mad Eye snorted.
"The boy you described to me is a typical teenage boy – well, a typical
Gryffindor teenage boy. The boy … no, the man I met is a responsible
adult … maybe even a Slytherin adult."
"So Voldemort is taking over."
"There are no signs of possession, Albus!" Mad Eye replied heatedly. "If
there were I wouldn't be as worried as I am. There is something different
about that boy – something that you should have seen but didn't until
now. So the question is if it always has been like that and you just never
saw this oddity in the boy, or if something happened over the summer to
change the boy to what he is now!"
"Harry wouldn't change like that. I know the boy. He has always been a
sweet, caring …"
"Albus!" Mad Eye interrupted. "The boy still cares about others! That isn't
the problem! The problem is that –"
"So if we do something now we are still able to stop Voldemort's
influence," Albus concluded.
"Albus! I told you he isn't poss–"
"I will talk to his friends. They will know how far he is gone. Maybe there
is still time to help the poor child …" Albus said sighing without even
listening to Mad Eye.
Mad Eye fumed. He knew Albus could be a stubborn old fool, but…
"He. Is. Not. Possessed. Albus!"
"I will take care of the problem. Thank you, Alastor," Albus said.
Mad Eye just stared at the old man in front of him. Then he turned and
left. Albus might believe he had found the problem, but Alastor "Mad
Eye" Moody knew he hadn't. And Mad Eye would not leave this be until
he found an answer he was satisfied with!
"An imposter, maybe …" he murmured when left Albus' office.
That was a thought worth looking into…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was the middle of the night when Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord
Voldemort, woke.
He had dreamed again.
The corridor of the Department of Mysteries.
The prophecy.
And the urge to get it.
The urge was getting stronger. Something was pushing him to go after
the prophecy. Something was filling him with dread and the fear that
someone else would remove the prophecy if he waited too long.
If Voldemort hadn't known better, he would have guessed that someone
was aiding the fear in his dreams; that someone was trying to manipulate
him.
But Voldemort was an exceptionally good Occlumens and there was no
way that someone had penetrated his shields …
Still … after Voldemort had calmed down his breathing he slipped into
his mind and searched it for intruders.
Nothing.
His mind was still his own. It was just like it had always been …
"Just a dream," he said to himself. "Just a dream."
But he would change his plans, just in case …
"Maybe I should break my loyal ones out of Azkaban a little faster than
originally planned…" he thought. "Just in case someone entered my mind
and knows of my plans…"
And he would strengthen his Occlumency shields. He had to feel safe in
his own mind, after all…
And with those thoughts he left his mind, blind to the softly glowing rune
in the shadows of his subconscious, a rune that was definitely not part of
his mind. A rune that just a true rune master maybe would have been
able to see and to understand, but most likely even a rune master would
have reached his limits with a rune like that.
A rune, bonded to a fully working, complex rune circle.
A rune that Voldemort had had in his mind since the Potters had escaped
his clutches for the first time.
Voldemort never noticed.
But that was not a surprise at all. Voldemort was much – but he never
had learned enough runes to call himself a master.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was dark outside and even the most daring students had returned to
their beds at this late hour – it was three in the morning and even the
teachers had given up patrolling the corridors.
Harry didn't care about sleeping. He had woken just a few minutes ago
from the trance he had slipped into after going to bed and had left the
dorms not a minute later. He had some things to do tonight – and he
would not hesitate to do them.
Harry did not have his invisibility cloak with him, and the Marauder's
Map was also staying in his trunk. He did not need either to do what he
was about to do.
When Harry left Gryffindor tower, he turned left until he reached a wall
just a few meters away. There a tiny snake engraving could be seen –
something the normal student or teacher would simply overlook as there
were many strange things in the castle, and a snake engraving was
definitely nothing foreign.
Harry smiled at the snake, and then hissed: "In the name of Salazar
Slytherin, open!"
Nothing changed but Harry simply reached out with his hand. His hand
slid through the wall as if it was not there at all. Harry smiled and
stepped through.
The corridor behind it was narrow and dirty. It was imbedded in the
walls and might once have been a corridor for the servants. Now it was a
secret passage to another part of the castle.
Harry followed the corridor. Sometimes he had to take turns, sometimes
other corridors crossed his path but finally, after slipping down multiple
flights of stairs he reached another wall. There he simply laid his hand on
the wall before him and pushed. The wall opened instantly, revealing a
huge chamber, lined with stone serpents.
The Chamber of Secrets.
Harry scrutinized the Chamber. The corpse of the Basilisk was still rotting
on the floor. "I'll have to do something about this," Harry thought,
deciding to cast a preservation charm on it before turning to the other
side of the hall.
There he opened another secret passage at the foot of one of the snakes
(***), and stepped through into another tunnel. He followed the tunnel
and finally ended up in a cave near Hogsmeade. The cave itself was
secured with a silver door. Harry opened the door and waited as a black
cat slunk into the cave swiftly. Then he turned and returned to the
Chamber of Secrets. The cat followed him silently.
When they finally arrived in the Chamber, Harry closed the door to the
secret passage again and turned to the cat.
"You'll have to aid me, Reg," Harry said and the black cat in front of him
turned into a human – Regulus Black, Sirius Black's little brother.
"I have been aiding you for years, Sal," he said.
"Harry," Harry corrected.
Regulus inclined his head. "Harry."
One moment, there was silence between them, but then Regulus spoke
again.
"So, what are you planning, Harry?"
"I need to look at the wards again after I find the book detailing them,
and I need you to find what we are looking for," Harry answered. Regulus
raised an eyebrow.
"Do you plan on changing the wards?" he asked.
"I do," Harry answered the positive. "But there are things to do first."
Reg frowned.
"I thought it would aid us if you worked on the wards …" he said.
Harry shrugged. "I won't risk it without knowing what they are," he
answered. "And I'm not sure if I would risk it if I knew. I looked at the
wards, and I'm not sure if I truly want a soul piece of a Dark Lord in the
school when I work with them. I fear the soul might be able to interfere if
I did."
Reg frowned again.
"So how do you plan on finding the soul piece?"
"By searching," Harry answered. "We will start in the Chamber tonight."
"Why?"
"Because Riddle is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin," Harry answered.
"And he was able to access the main chamber."
"Oh," Reg said. "How do we access the Chamber?"
"We are already in the Chamber," Harry answered laughing. "We do not
need to access it."
Reg's eyes widened comically.
"But … how?!"
Harry grinned and shrugged.
"I am a Malfoire. I always find a way," he answered grinning. "And now
let's start searching."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
32. Chapter 31: A Cat, A Toad
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Thanks to Danneyland for beta-ing.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
A Cat, A Toad And Almighty Albus
sss
They found nothing in the Chamber that night. The next few nights they
continued their search in the dungeons.
They searched the entire night.
At first Harry was able to cover his lack of sleep; he had gone without
sleep for days before. But at the beginning of the week after, his lack of
sleep started to show.
That Friday night, Harry had finally decided that they wouldn't find out
where the Horcrux was hidden by simply searching the castle. Oh, he was
reasonably sure that they would find the Horcrux eventually – but he also
was reasonably sure that it would take decades to be even close to
finding it without aid.
They needed something else to aid them in their search.
So instead of searching, Harry sat down that night and started to develop
a ward to aid them with their task.
Developing a ward was a hideous, complicated and nerve-wracking task.
His ward needed to be tuned to the wards that had been previously
placed around the castle for protection – but Harry did not know all of
the wards that were in place. So developing a ward was nearly impossible
and absolutely frustrating.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, and before Harry could stop her
she had taken his parchment to look it over.
Maybe he shouldn't have taken it out in the Gryffindor common room to
work on it, but Harry was so tired that he had not even thought about
where he was before he started to work again on his problem.
Oh, he was so tired! He needed to sleep but he couldn't – not until he finally
had a clue about the whereabouts of the Horcrux!
So instead of thinking of a possible explanation to why his parchment
was filled with odd equations and symbols he just stared dumbly at
Hermione while she looked over his work.
"Harry! What are you doing?" she asked him. Her voice trembled and she
looked at him oddly.
"Huh?" he definitely needed sleep.
"This!" she waved with his work in front of his nose. "What is this? I'm
sure that this is definitely nothing for school, so what are you doing?!"
"Er …" he stuttered while trying to find a suitable explanation.
Oh, he was so tired!
"No … not school related," he finally said, slurring slightly. "Just
something I decided to try out after reading about it in the library."
"Harry! This looks like Arithmancy to me! Why would you look at an
Arithmancy book in the library?"
"Er … it was lying around and it looked interesting," Harry replied,
waving her question away with his hand. "It's definitely more
complicated than it looks like."
"Of course it is!" Hermione said snorting. "There is a reason why
Arithmancy is a class! And whatever book you found definitely wasn't a
beginner's book! There are too many variables to even try to get a
conclusion! And what are these symbols? Did you make them up?"
Harry looked again at his parchment in her hands to the place where her
index finger pointed.
She was pointing at the Parseltongue runes he had used for his ward – or
at least the Parseltongue runes he had been able to calculate where to
put. He had still some runes in his head he was sure he needed for the
ward to work, but was unable to place them because he did not have
enough data to do so.
He definitely needed the self-updating book on the school wards!
"Harry?" Hermione said in that moment, looking at him concerned. "Are
you all right?"
"Er … yeah … just tired, you know?" Harry answered while he tried to
shake away his exhaustion.
"So … what are these?" she pointed again at the Parseltongue runes.
"Runes," he said sincerely, too tired to make something up.
Hermione snorted.
"Those aren't runes, Harry," she said and then shook her head. "You know
what? If you really want to learn runes and arithmancy, just ask me!
We're friends! If you're interested in something like that, say so and I will
teach you! Just don't try to do it on your own! Arithmancy can be
dangerous for those who don't know what they're doing. Think about it!
You could create a new curse with arithmancy and no one could help you
because no one would know how to treat that curse you created by doing
something half-assed!"
Harry just stared blankly at the lecturing girl in front of him.
Then Hermione turned to the fire.
"Let's throw away that try and start at the beginning," she suggested and
her hand extended to the flames, parchment in it.
"No!" this definitely had woken Harry up again.
He leaped out of his seat and snatched the parchment from her grip
before she could feed it to the flickering flames.
She stared at him with huge eyes, definitely not sure what to make of his
reaction.
Harry pressed the parchment to his chest. Then his actions caught up to
him and he blushed.
He, of course, knew that she had wanted to destroy more than forty eight
hours' worth of hard work – but Hermione didn't know that. For her, the
majority of it was unsolveable equations and some scribbles. She had no
idea that the thing she had in her hand was an unfinished ward – and it
would at least take another year of studying for her to recognize the
importance of his parchment – and at least another ten years until she
understood the rudimentary principles of what he was trying to do.
There was, after all, a reason why there weren't a lot of warders in the
wizarding world.
"Er … I don't want you destroy it. Even if it is rubbish – it was my first
try," he explained to Hermione with red cheeks.
She frowned.
"Harry," she finally said slowly. "Whatever you did – it could be
dangerous! Arithmancy is not just equations and calculations. It's magic!
And Professor Vector said it could end horribly if done wrong!"
"Er … if I promise not to work on it anymore, would it be alright to keep
it?" Harry asked sighing.
Hermione hesitated. Then she also sighed.
"Alright - keep this rubbish. But at least let me explain how it's normally
done!" And with that, she hurried off to her dorm to find her third year
Arithmancy text book.
Harry sighed silently.
He was sure that Hermione would lecture him for a few hours until she
was satisfied.
"It seems like I'll have to take a break after all," he mused.
If he just could use that break to sleep, not waste precious time listening
to Hermione's pointless jabbering!
At that moment, Hermione returned with her book and Harry resigned
himself to 'learn' what he already knew …
"The next time I see her doing something wrong I'll do the same to her,"
he thought grudgingly. Maybe then she'd finally understand how others
felt when she started to lecture them: like an idiot.
Not that Harry actually felt like an idiot. He simply felt as if Hermione
thought him an idiot – after all, when he truly started to be 'suddenly'
interested in Arithmancy, why did she assume that he didn't start at the
beginning! Even a dunderhead should know that you had to crawl before
you could walk!
But – that was Hermione. She was simply blind to how she treated the
other students around her the most of the time.
So when she returned, Harry set aside his work and concentrated on her
improper lesson.
He would get her for this. Even if he died trying!
And maybe, if he hadn't been so tired, he would have seen someone
copying his work and stowing the copy away. Then the unequal,
suspicious eyes returned to the lecture Harry was being given, assessing
the boy who was listening to his female friend closely.
There was definitely something strange going on with Harry Potter …
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Bill Weasley was finally having his lunch break. The day had been
strenuous. They had broken down the wards of a dozen vaults, and had
then started to ward those vaults again. This was a security measure of
Gringotts': every six or seven months the wards on the vaults were
changed. Sometimes they just added to the existing wards, sometimes the
goblins moved the contents of the vault to a temporary vault and broke
down all the wards, just to ward the vaults again with a different sort of
warding.
At least these constant changes made it extremely difficult for a thief to
get into the vaults.
But it was strenuous to break down wards – especially the strong wards
of the goblin enchanters.
Well, Bill had chosen his job, so he definitely couldn't complain.
"You've got lunch break, lad?" a voice suddenly asked and Bill turned
from his meagre meal in the Leaky Cauldron to look at the man who
spoke to him.
"Moody," he greeted. "What brings you here?"
Bill knew that the paranoid ex-Auror definitely wouldn't have started at
conversation with him if he didn't need anything or didn't want to tell
Bill anything.
"I have something you should take a look at," Moody said. "I want to
know what you think of it."
Bill frowned but gestured for Moody to show him.
The ex-Auror took out a rumpled looking parchment and laid it down on
the table.
"Tell me what you see," the paranoid man demanded. "I know that those
calculations aren't random, but I never took Arithmancy beyond fifth
year."
Bill turned the paper to look it over.
At first the scribbles on one side of the paper looked like doodling, but
when Bill assessed the calculations on the parchment he soon suspected
them to be something more.
"That's a ward," he finally said, a bit surprised by his answer. He hadn't
been sure what he was looking at until he had said it aloud.
"A ward?" Moody repeated, looking it over again.
Bill nodded and pointed to the scribbles.
"These are runes. I don't know the alphabet but I know that they have to
be runes. The calculations are their placement in the unfinished ward."
"What will the ward do if it is applied somewhere?" Moody looked at the
parchment with an odd look in his eyes.
Bill frowned and looked again at the calculations. He couldn't read the
runes so he was unable to determine what they stood for – to guess the
use of an unfinished wards with just the calculations and without runes
he could understand was difficult.
"I'm not quite sure," he finally answered. "I can't read the runes so it's
hard to guess what the ward is for."
"So … the ward could be used to harm someone?" Moody definitely
sounded troubled when he asked that.
Bill blinked and looked again at the calculations.
"No," he said earnestly. "There is no way that this ward could be
harmful."
"I thought that you couldn't determine the purpose of this ward," Moody
instigated clarification.
"I can't," Bill answered, shrugging. "I would need the knowledge of the
language used and the runes' meaning to be sure what the ward will do.
But the calculations give me an educated guess about what it might be
used for."
"How can some equations give you a guess like that?"
"Simple. There are some equations written down here that calculate the
placement of shield-runes. I don't know which shield-runes are
calculated, but I do know that shield-runes are calculated – and shield-
runes can't be used for dark purposes."
"So … no harming, maiming or killing?" Moody asked with a raised
eyebrow.
"Yes. No harming, maiming or killing," Bill answered. "If I had to guess I
would think that the ward is a detector of some kind. The ward's not
ready so it's a wild guess but the beginnings of a kind of harm, torture or
dark detector can be read out of this calculation …" Bill pointed at one of
the calculations with a lot of variables.
"Whoever wrote and calculated the ward will still need a lot of data until
he can even think about applying the ward somewhere."
Moody looked down at the parchment.
"If I told you the writer of this parchment is at Hogwarts – would that
change your interpretation of the wards?" he finally asked Bill. Bill just
shook his head.
"Wherever the ward is applied – it cannot be used for anything but either
shielding people from forms of darkness or detecting darkness. There is
nothing else you can do with these calculations – even if you added
another dozen to the ones you have here."
"So it's a simple shield or detection ward?" Moody asked. As an Auror he
had sometimes seen simple wards in both categories, but he had never
thought that it would take so much calculation to set them up.
"No," Bill answered sincerely. "The ward might be a shield or detection
ward – but it's definitely not simple. This –" Bill tapped the parchment
with his index finger to empathize his words. "… Is one of the most
complex wards I have seen until today. It's easily on a par with the goblin
wards for their clan-leader's vaults. It's very specialized, and this
specialization is what makes it so complicated."
"Specialized? In what way?"
Bill shrugged.
"I couldn't say," he answered. "I would have to be able to read the runes
to tell you."
"Is there anything else you can tell?"
Bill shrugged.
"Not much. Whoever wrote the ward knows exactly what he or she is
doing. The calculations are precise and to the point – most beginners
have a lot of runes in their runic circles or rune chains that aren't needed.
That won't change without time and practice. These rune chains –" Bill
pointed at the foreign runes. "… Are precise and to the point. Whoever
did the Arithmancy has definitely done some other wards before. And I
am not talking about simple wards but wards like Gringotts, the Ministry
or perhaps even Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?"
Bill shrugged.
"I never returned to Hogwarts after I graduated and finished my
apprenticeship in curse-breaking, so I've never seen the wards of
Hogwarts as a trained curse-breaker. Because of that I can't tell," he
answered sincerely. "But they have to be on a par with the Ministry at
least. There's a reason, after all, why Hogwarts is known as the most
secure place in the British Wizarding World."
Moody nodded and took back the parchment.
Shield wards or detection wards …
"What is the imposter playing at?" Moody wondered silently.
It was definitely not what he had thought before …
"Thank you," he said to Bill and left.
Moody would wonder the rest of the day about Harry Potter – or, rather,
the person that was pretending to be the boy.
xXXxXXxXXxXXxXXxXXxXXX
Arthur Weasley stared at the letter he'd received this morning. He had
been reading it all day, not really sure what to do with it.
"I'm home," resounded the voice of his eldest son.
Bill was working on a project in Britain and had returned to the Burrow
for the time being. And he wasn't the only one. Charlie had also returned
– he was on vacation for a month, taking the time to see his family again.
"Anybody home?"
"I'm in the kitchen," Arthur answered, still fiddling with the letter.
What should he do?
"Hey, Dad!" Bill greeted while entering the kitchen.
"Hello, Bill," Arthur answered absentmindedly.
"Dad? You okay?" Bill stopped when his father did not greet him like he
did normally.
"Huh? Yes, yes … everything's fine," Arthur answered, still staring at the
letter.
"You don't sound like everything's fine," Bill said warily.
As an answer, Arthur sighed.
"I got a letter today," he finally answered. "I'm not sure how to respond to
it …"
"Can you show me?"
If it was something from his work, there might be a restriction on it and
people who did not work in the Ministry or even on this particular case
might not be allowed to see it or even know about it.
Arthur tossed his son the letter.
"It's also addressed to you and Charlie," he said. "So of course you can
look at it."
Bill took the letter and looked at it.
sSs
To the Head of the House Weasley, his Heir and his second-born son,
Children of the House of Weasley, you have lived in honor of your ancestors.
You have lived bravely; you have lived true to your ideals. You have followed
the way of your ancestors. I declare you children of a beloved daughter of my
House. As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need. You are
granted entrance in my family.
Children of the extinguished House of Prewett, your members have proven to
have the courage to live their lives slyly and they have proven to have the
courage to stand by their allies. I declare you children of a beloved minor son
of my House. As such I will redeem your claim and return you to your rightful
place. You are subjects to my House and I will take you in as mine.
I invite you back in my family.
Answer my call, descendants of my House, and return to your rightful place.
Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight.
I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return.
The Head of the Family
sSs
"A summoning?" Bill asked, astonished.
He had heard about summonings before. Normally something like that
just occurred in major Houses. The Weasleys had no power, and as such,
were not very interesting allies.
But the letter wasn't about allies. It was about family.
So it definitely couldn't be a simple summoning. Bill knew just one
occasion that would grant the Weasley family a summoning.
"A Grand Family?!" Bill said, still staring at the letter. "Mum is the
descendant of a minor son of a Grand Family?!"
A Grand Family was a family with branch families. There was just one
occasion when something like that happened: a younger son had to
marry the female heir of another family. The younger son would give up
his name, but his alliance would still be with his family. As such, a
branch family is created and allied with the Grand Family and protected
by it. An alliance with that couldn't be broken and it would exist until the
branch family renounced their Grand Family or until the connection was
forgotten. Long ago, there had been numerous Grand Families but the
connections had been forgotten or renounced by so many, that now there
weren't many Grand Families left.
Bill knew of just a few.
Fudge's family was one of them, the other one Dumbledore's. There was
also a rumour about the Ollivander Family and their connection to the
Lovegoods, but the rumour had never been proven or renounced by
either of the families.
Nevertheless, Grand Families, while practical for the allied families, were
seldom. Bill had heard about them because he was a part of Gringotts,
and the alliance between Grand and branch family was not just political
but also financial, but Bill had never thought that his own family could
belong to a Grand Family.
And belonging to one was definitely a favor for lesser or minor Houses.
The Grand Family granted their subjects a small allowance and also aided
them politically and in private. Even the most prominent and politically
powerful Houses would not turn down and invitation like that lightly …
"What should I do, Bill?" Arthur asked his eldest.
"We should go," Bill answered instantly. "We don't know the House that
summoned us – and we won't be able to know until it is announced in the
Wizengamot – but we can't turn down an invitation like that. Just the
option of belonging to a Grand Family could aid us …"
"I don't think Albus will like that," Arthur sighed.
This time Bill pressed his lips together.
He respected the Headmaster. He really did. But … sometimes Bill
resented the old man. Of course, the Headmaster was wise and had seen
a lot, but Bill could not forget that even if the Headmaster had lived
longer than them, he was still human. Bill had heard of a two hundred
year old goblin being fired for disrespect after working on the accounts
for over a hundred years. If goblins that old were able to make mistakes
like that, then the Headmaster wasn't any better.
And this was a family matter.
Oh, Bill was sure that Albus Dumbledore would advise his father if he
asked. Albus Dumbledore would tell them not to take the chance, after all
the family was unknown and would stay unknown until it announced
itself before the Wizengamot. Until then, the Weasleys could just decide
to join or to renounce the family because of the persons that would
belong to the Grand Family.
Albus Dumbledore would never let the Head of the Weasley family take
this risk. But Bill knew that the risk still could be worth it.
"And I don't think you should tell him, Dad," Bill said finally, challenging
his father to not follow the lead of the Leader of the Light this time. "This
is a family matter. He does not need to know about this potential ally of
ours. He has no right to even know."
Bill knew he sounded a little bit anti-Dumbledore, but he hated how the
meddling old man was trying to spur his family to his liking. And this
time, he finally could voice his resentment without sounding as if he
hated the man – because he definitely didn't. He respected him. He just
couldn't stand his meddling ways!
Silence was the answer.
For a moment, Bill was nervous how his father would react, but when his
father looked up Bill was glad that he'd decided to tell him straight to his
face that Dumbledore had no right to meddle in their affairs.
"You're right," Arthur said finally after another minute of silence. "This is
a family matter. Call your brother and tell him to be ready. We'll head
out on Saturday."
Bill smiled and left the room to do as he was told.
He was really interested what family had decided to invite them in – and
even if he wasn't allowed to know the name of the family until it
announced it in front of the Wizengamot, they were still allowed to get to
know the Head of the House.
Maybe, just maybe, Bill would be able to recognize him…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The day after his improper lesson in Arithmancy, Harry was tired and
lacking concentration in class. He had stayed up late after his 'lesson' to
continue his work on the wards. That he had found out that someone had
copied his parchment sometime yesterday evening did not lighten his
mood at all.
Harry had a spell on his parchments to show if it had been copied – and
the parchment with his warding on it had definitely shown the signs.
Harry just couldn't tell who had done it.
"At least it wasn't ready," he thought to himself. "The warding scheme
will still change enough that the copy won't be of any use to whoever has
it …"
Still, it was worrisome.
So instead of sleeping he had worked further on the wards before hiding
his parchment. This time it had better not be copied again! He had
enough on his plate without adding further workload to his shoulders by
inventing a complicated safety net to his ward scheme!
But he added at least a simple one that night, before he finally fell into
bed at four fifty in the morning.
When he woke up he was still tired, but he got up like always and headed
down to breakfast after doing some morning workouts. Of course, the
original Harry never had been in the habit of doing anything like that,
but Harry could not live without it. He had long ago started practicing
his fencing before eating breakfast.
So he left the tower, practiced in an unused classroom, returned,
showered and woke Ron like always. They ate breakfast together with
Hermione, and after that headed to Transfiguration.
It was there the near-disaster happened.
He was sleep-deprived and definitely couldn't think all too clearly that
morning so instead of 'struggling' with the new spell like always he
simply did it – wordlessly.
For a second he stared featherbrained at the completed spell – a full tea
set with a checkered pattern – before his mind caught on and he
hurriedly reversed the spell back to the raven it was before.
"Harry! Did you just manage the spell immediately?" Hermione said,
looking at his raven with huge eyes.
Harry wanted to groan.
"What?" he asked instead and shook his head. "I haven't even tried the
spell yet …"
A pathetic lie – but he was definitely unable to make up another one.
Hermione stared at him, calculating.
"Are you sure that your raven wasn't a tea set a moment ago?" she asked
him.
"No, I'm sure that it was a tea set a moment ago," Harry answered her
sincerely. "I merely told you that I didn't cast the spell."
Hermione raised her eyebrow.
"But I saw you swishing your wand!" she said.
"I did," Harry answered. "I wanted to practice the movement again before
I tried. But I swear to you, I never said the spell!"
Which was true, after all …
"So how …?"
"I don't know. I'm too tired to think about an explanation," Harry
answered tiredly. "Think up one for yourself – you're the wise one in our
group after all!"
Hermione snorted, but her eyes suddenly looked concerned.
"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione finally asked him hesitatingly.
"Er … Yes, I am," Harry answered.
"You don't look like it. To tell the truth, ever since a few days ago you
look like death walked all over you," Hermione answered. "And you don't
act like you're alright. I've watched you since the beginning of the school
year. Harry – something is amiss with you!"
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry answered. "I'm just tired."
"Of course you are," Ron snorted. "You've left the tower every night since
Wednesday, and you come back just before the others wake up. Where do
you go at night? What are you doing?"
Harry looked at his friend. He had not thought that his friend was so
observant.
"I … nothing," he finally answered tiredly. He was not up to lying at the
moment.
Ron just snorted.
"We're your best friends, Harry! Please, tell us – what in Merlin's name is
bothering you?" Hermione said.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You are not."
"Please …" In that moment Professor McGonagall came by and they
stopped talking. But that didn't mean his friends let it go. Instead they
just waited until after class to pester him again.
"Harry! We're your friends, so please, tell us what's wrong!" Hermione
said.
"Nothing," Harry repeated.
"It's definitely not nothing!"
"If you think so," Harry finally answered and stood up. "I'm going to bed.
I need to get some sleep or I'll fall asleep in detention today."
And with that he left the room.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Hermione stood nervously in front of the gargoyle that guarded
Dumbledore's office. Next to her stood Ron. Both were looking at the
gargoyle.
"Do you really think we should …?" Ron asked, hesitating.
"We have to," Hermione answered, straitening her back. "There's no other
option. We don't know if something is wrong – Dumbledore is one of the
most powerful wizards alive. I'm sure he'd know if something is wrong."
"But … what if …"
"We have to, Ron – or do you really want a repeat of our second year?"
She was talking about Ginny and the possession she had suffered that
time.
Ron shook his head frantically.
"Alright, let's go," Hermione said and raised her hand to knock. Before
she could even touch the gargoyle, it opened the way for them. Again
Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, and then they stepped on the
stairs, which were gliding up to the Headmaster's office much like a
circular escalator.
There, Hermione knocked on the door.
"Come in, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley," the Headmaster said and the
troubled teenagers entered. "How may I help you today?"
"Uh …" Hermione looked at Ron. Ron looked at Hermione.
"It's … it's Harry," Hermione finally said. "He's behaving oddly."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Oddly, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, sir," she answered. "He's not behaving like he was last year."
"Explain, please, Miss Granger."
"Well … he suddenly knows things he never knew before – like potions.
He should've had no way to learn to brew as perfectly as he suddenly
does while at his aunt's, yet he suddenly knows more about potions than
even I do," Hermione explained. "He's also stopped telling us things.
Sometimes he vanishes for hours and when he returns, he never tells us
where he went …"
"Yeah," Ron said. "And he also started reading! And he's talking to the
Slytherins! The Slytherins, Professor! That's not Harry! Harry would
never talk to Slytherins like that!"
Hermione snorted.
"Maybe he's just grown up, Ron!" she told him coolly. "Maybe he finally
realized that Slytherins are also just humans!"
"Hermione! We're talking about Slytherins here! And not just any
Slytherins; we're talking about Malfoy and his goons! That's not growing
up – that's definitely something different!" Ron answered her worried.
Hermione opened her mouth to retort but then closed it again.
"Maybe you're right," she begrudgingly admitted. "Maybe it's really odd
…"
Albus Dumbledore said nothing, and waited for both of Harry's friends to
speak their minds. He himself had held some concern about his pawn
since this summer. Somehow the boy seemed to be different than at the
beginning of the summer. Of course there was the death of Cedric
Diggory that Harry had witnessed, and also the fact that Harry was
growing up, but still … Albus Dumbledore had thought he would be
encountering an angry teen – not an independent, boyish adult!
And then Mad Eye Moody had come to him …
Yes, thanks to his old friend, Albus Dumbledore was sure that Harry was
slowly being taken over by Voldemort – that even his friends had noticed
something odd was going on only supported his guess about the
possession of Harry Potter.
Of course, Albus Dumbledore had planned to talk to Harry's friends to
confirm his theory. That they had come to him without being summoned
told Albus how grave the situation had become.
"Well … I think the most troubling thing is that Harry suddenly does not
tell us everything anymore," Hermione said in that moment.
"Yes," Ron said. "Last night he left the dorm and where he went I don't
know … He returned late in the morning. Normally he would have told
us what he was doing tonight – but he didn't. He didn't even tell us that
he left the dorm last night! He just acted as if nothing happened!"
"And he is suddenly extremely formal with everyone!" Hermione said
frowning. "He called Malfoy 'Heir Malfoy' when they met on the train!
He's talking about 'Professor' Snape instead of just 'Snape' and … and …
and …"
"Yes!" Ron said. "It's as if he suddenly swallowed a book on pure-blood
upbringing or something like that." He pulled a face while saying that. "I
don't even understand how he can stand to be so formal and civil with a
Slytherin – especially Malfoy!"
Now Albus frowned.
He knew about the rivalry between Harry and the Malfoy heir. He had
not encouraged the rivalry but he also had done nothing to stop it. He
was content with the differences between the boys as it had stopped
Harry from making friends with the children of Death Eaters and
Voldemort's supporters. That they now were starting to be civil to each
other was worrisome – especially when Albus also counted the different
behavior the boy was displaying the rest of the time.
"And he never uses his text books anymore to do his homework!" said
Hermione. "Well … he uses his text book as long as we are near but I
have also seen him just writing down a whole essay on the goblin wars
without even looking up the facts! Harry hates history! He never even
tried to remember anything about it – and suddenly he writes an essay
without even looking up the facts?"
"And he suddenly learns potions like a fish to water! He didn't even look
once at the instructions!" Ron said.
"Yes!" Hermione said. "He even helped Neville! I could hear him teaching
Neville about potions and potion ingredients. Some things he said even I
didn't know – I looked them up and everything he said was correct, even
if it some of it was really obscure or largely unknown knowledge!"
Now Albus was definitely worried.
Of course, he had been thinking along the lines of possession since
Alastor Moody had told him his findings – but knowledge like that? Albus
Dumbledore wasn't sure if Voldemort would truly aid Harry in his classes,
even if he had possessed the boy!
Of course, there were also other explanations to how Harry had come to
know the knowledge he had, but even if Harry had found some time to
read some of the books in Sirius' library in Grimmauld Place – that
knowledge was nothing you could gain in such short amount of time like
some weeks or even a summer … so how?!
There was just one reason that could maybe explain the sudden
knowledge Harry displayed: Voldemort was planning something.
He was planning something and he needed Harry to know about these
things to achieve his goal, because even if Harry was nothing more than
a puppet to Voldemort at the moment – to give him knowledge like that
could be fatal for Voldemort if Harry was freed. So there definitely had to
be a reason why Harry suddenly gained that particular knowledge!
Albus shuddered.
Potions was one of the oldest branches of magic. It also was one of the
most dangerous branches. That Voldemort had given Harry knowledge in
this old and dangerous art definitely did not bode well for the future …
Albus had to stop him. Whatever he planned – this time it definitely had
to be stopped as fast as they could! Especially now, when Harry might
still be saved …
"I thank you for sharing this with me. I will look into it," he finally
promised the children and dismissed them afterwards.
The children hesitated just a moment, but finally left and Albus
Dumbledore turned to his fireplace, threw in some floo powder and
flooed Severus Snape.
"Severus – I fear I need your help …"
xXxXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile, Harry entered Madam Umbridge's office for his detention. He
was in a good mood. Earlier that day he had gotten an idea where the
missing ward-book he was searching could be. It had been by chance that
he had overheard the Ancient Runes Professor babbling about a book
written in runic language that she couldn't translate. She even had gone
as far as questioned the language used in the book. "As if it isn't written
in Brezhoneg," she had told the uninterested Minerva McGonagall. Harry,
on the other hand, had been very much interested in her conversation. If
he was right, she had the book he was looking for.
Now Harry just needed a way to get it – and getting it was definitely
easier than searching for it!
Because of that, Harry had been in a good mood – until Umbridge gave
him a blood quill to use for his detention …
And suddenly Harry was fuming.
Normally a blood quill was used for very important contracts between
wizards and other magical beings. This blood quill, instead, was being
used by the professor for torture. An object like that used for something
like torture would turn evil if used too often in that method. The once
neutral blood quill had been turned into an Evil Arts object – an object
that would show up in his results when the improper ward he planned
was activated. Using it on a student – Harry fumed with rage thinking
about other children who could have had detention with the new
professor before him.
If Harry had not already planned to take on the Ministry, this would have
been the final straw for him to do it.
"Well – start writing," Umbridge ordered impatiently, and Harry looked at
her with storm-clouded eyes.
"Yes, ma'am," he hissed, his face displaying no emotions.
Then he took the quill and set its wicked tip on the parchment.
And suddenly he smirked evilly when a thought penetrated his rage.
"Time for a little more Twisting," he thought to himself. Yes – this was
definitely something the newspapers would be interested in. He just had
to survive the detention tonight …
And he somehow had to protocol her deeds.
Harry twisted the quill in his hand. "Something simple should do," he
decided and started to write. Normally he would have planned the
improper ritual he decided to do in advance. It was dangerous to create a
ritual straight out of one's head. There were normally too many variables
to do something like that without the proper calculations – but Harry had
an advantage this time. He had created rituals like this since his
childhood. For a small thing like that he had no trouble to calculate the
placing of the runes without writing down the calculations. He had done
rituals like that too often to even have to think about it too much.
Runes carved itself in the back of his left hand. He turned the parchment,
writing in a circle. Furtak and Parsel runes mixed with Chinese characters
and a few Egyptian hieroglyphs. Normally the circle he was drawing
would have been used to heal. This time it was used to protect the blood
quill user and to aim its wrath against the teacher who dared to hurt the
users. Meanwhile he made sure that Umbridge still had not seen what he
was doing.
She was reading.
Good.
Harry finished the runic circle on his parchment – also carved in the back
of his hand. He looked it over, to make sure that he had not forgotten
something. Then he nodded and looked up again to see if Umbridge was
still reading.
She was.
He activated the circle.
Pain shot through his entire body – starting from the runic circle on his
hand. Then his natural heritage started to play in the activated magic and
disabled the darkness that clung to the blood quill. A sudden white glow
surrounded the quill and Harry shielded it with his forearm so that the
glow would not be seen by the professor.
When the glow finally vanished again, the parchment was empty again
and the runic circle on the back of Harry's hand had disappeared.
"Good," he muttered under his breath. Then he started to write again –
this time the words he should have been writing from the start.
I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies…
Every single sentence carved the words deeper in the back of his hand.
But instead of flowing blood, a soft golden light was emitted by the
carvings of his hands. He smiled softly. The carving still hurt his hand but
he hadn't written the runic circle to stop the hurt. He had written it to
stop the evil that was emitted from the quill and to document the
victims. He had written it to aid in healing and to stop it from scaring.
The hurt was nothing he would or could prevent. He had not dared to
add a protection against it because he knew that the other children in
school would be far too reckless with detention with the professor if the
quill did not hurt – and he didn't want more victims than there already
were.
"And I doubt that the Ministry will stop her or even remove her because
of a blood quill …" Harry thought bitterly. No. He had to wait until he
himself would have the power to remove her. Until then, the children
had to persevere …
"Because Dumbledore will do nothing," Harry thought angrily. "He would
not dare to do anything – even if it would be in his rights to do so. He is
more interested with his standing in the Ministry than doing his job."
Of course, Albus Dumbledore had lost his place as the Supreme
Mugwump in the International Confederation of Wizards and some of his
other very impressive titles – but he still was a political power to reckon
with. He would not dare to lose his position at Hogwarts as well just to
stop some rowdy children getting hurt.
Harry had seen him do nothing before – he knew that Albus Dumbledore
was not yet inclined to show his hand.
"And I also can't tip my hand until I'm ready," Harry thought to himself.
But even if he couldn't – he had other ways to ensure the safety of his
comrades.
And so he scribbled on and on until he finally was allowed to stop. He
stood up, packed his things and left after showing her his hand for
inspection. She was looking at it satisfied – unable to see the golden glow
Harry could see in the carvings.
He smiled inwardly and left.
Outside a little black cat was waiting for him.
"Hello, Reg," he greeted the cat smiling. "Shouldn't you be in the
dungeons or the Chamber? This part of the castle is in the firm hands of
the Headmaster after all."
Reg meowed.
"I'm still not sure if the castle has wards to tell the Headmaster if there is
an animagus in this part of the castle, you know? I still have to see the
ward book to be sure what wards we are dealing with, after all."
Reg meowed again, his eyes following the blood dropping from Harry's
hand on the ground.
"Don't worry," Harry said. "It's nothing grave. I just had to use a ritual to
stop the blood quill from taking the blood of the writer. Wanna bet how
long it takes her to collapse from blood loss?"
Reg meowed again, this time however it sounded more like a snort.
Harry grinned.
"I thought it would be the right thing to do," he said. "After all, she's the
one who wants to use the Evil Arts. I cannot stop her using it until I have
control – but I sure can stop her from using others as her victims."
The silky black cat snorted again.
"Well – let's go to bed" Harry said. "We can deal with the rest tomorrow."
Or so he thought.
Instead he was asked to go to the Headmaster the next day. Harry just
followed Minerva McGonagall to the Headmaster office without protest.
There – behind his desk like always – was sitting the Almighty Albus
Dumbledore, waiting for him.
"Harry, my boy," Almighty Albus greeted. "Sit down, child. Lemon drop?"
"No, thank you, sir," Harry answered while he sat down in front of the
desk.
"Well, how are you, my boy?" the headmaster asked and Harry could feel
the tentacles of Legilimency penetrating his mind and searching through
the memories of his last days.
Harry let him be. He knew that the Headmaster would not fnd anything
important in his head.
Then an idea formed in his head, and instead of letting the Headmaster
roam his memories as the Headmaster saw fit, Harry softly guided him to
the detention he had had yesterday.
"I am well, Headmaster," he answered instead.
"That's good, my boy," the headmaster said while looking at the memory
of Harry's detention with Umbridge. Almighty Albus' search glided over
the ritual Harry had performed at the detention as if he was unable to see
it – and he somehow really was unable to see it – and sat on the writing
with a Blood Quill.
Harry just smiled inwardly. He loved his Occlumency shields. But when
the Professor turned from the memory with the Blood Quill to the next
one, Harry frowned.
So the professor really did not intend to do anything about his Defence
instructor using an object like that – an object that definitely would fall
under the Evil Arts by its use to torture?
"Why am I here, sir?" Harry finally asked when the Almighty Albus did
not continue speaking.
"You're here because I think you should be taught Occlumency," the
professor answered kindly.
"Occlumency, sir?" Harry said, playing the innocent fifteen-year-old who
he definitely wasn't.
"The Art of protecting your mind from Legilimency. Legilimency is the
Art to… well… 'read' a mind, Harry. Voldemort is a very adept
Legilimens and you might end up in trouble should you not learn to
protect your mind from him," the Almighty Albus answered.
"Why?"
"You don't want to give him an advantage in battle – do you, Harry?"
Harry shook his head the negative.
"Then it's settled. Professor Snape will start teaching you on Monday."
"Snape?! Why Snape?! Can't you do it, sir?" Of course Harry had no real
interest in being taught Occlumency by the Almighty Albus Dumbledore
– but he also knew that the original Harry would have wanted it.
"Professor Snape is a very adept teacher, Harry," Dumbledore answered.
"I am sure you will get along with him if you just try."
"He hates me, Professor," Harry answered sincerely. He was sure that
Snape hated him even more, now that he had shown his ability in
potions. Still – Harry somehow liked to rile up the potion master for fun.
He was sure that he would have plenty of fun doing so in his
'Occlumency lessons'.
As if he needed any at all …
"I am sure you're exaggerating," the Headmaster said. "And now run
along. I am sure your friends are missing you terribly."
Harry just snorted, but stood up to leave. He was sure that the Almighty
Albus was right in one thing at least: his friends would be missing him.
He had not hung out with them as often as the original Harry normally
did. The problem wasn't that he didn't like either of them. The problem
was that he could and would not trust them.
Ron was of the jealous kind. He had shown the original Harry more than
once that he could not be trusted.
Hermione, instead, was of the adult-admiring kind. She also had gone
behind the original Harry's back. Of course she had done it because she
was friends with Harry – but Harry could not trust her to refrain from
doing it again if she thought it was necessary.
"If she has not done so already," Harry thought. "There has to be a reason
why I suddenly have to learn Occlumency …"
For a moment he contemplated if he should protest another time, but
then he left without another word. It wasn't worth it. He had nothing to
fear from these lessons and maybe he would even learn something new.
Who knew?
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody entered the Headmaster office through a side-
door after the boy had left.
"He's not possessed, Albus," he said softly. "The Occlumency lessons won't
help the lad in any way." The Headmaster just sighed.
"I know your theories, Alastor," he said. "But you have to –"
"The boy is not possessed, Albus!" Moody hissed, not caring that he
interrupted the other man. "I don't know where the true Harry Potter is,
but the boy you met today isn't Harry Potter! He's an imposter!"
"Alastor, my friend, there is no way that the boy could have been
kidnapped in the summer! He was protected the whole time!"
"The whole time except when the Dementors came to Privet Drive! He
could have switched himself with the child that day!"
"Harry showed his memories in the court room! He couldn't have faked
them!"
"Maybe he took the memories from the true boy and inserted them in his
mind until he could show them in the court!"
"I was in his head just a few minutes ago!"
"If he's a true Occlumens he could have faked everything you saw!"
"He doesn't have a flask for Polyjuice Potion and he doesn't drink
regularly enough to –"
"There are other ways, not just Poyjuice!"
"Not for most wizards!"
"Then the imposer is not like most wizards, Albus!"
"You are paranoid, my b – friend!" Albus said heatedly. Normally he
would never say something like that but he had enough. Moody had
bugged him with his conspiracy theories for the whole last week. He'd
had enough.
Moody stared at him with cold eyes.
"Fine," he finally huffed. "Fine. Be that way! But don't come apologizing
to me after you realize that I'm right!"
"Sometimes the answer to a problem is simple, my friend."
"And sometimes it's complex! I'm telling you, Albus: something is wrong
with that boy! And I will find out exactly what! You, my friend, might not
believe me but I know that I'm right, and I will find out what happened
to the real boy, even if it's the last thing I ever do!"
And with that Moody turned and left.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
Sorry for the wait.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
33. Chapter 32: 900-1000AD
Betrayal of Trust
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Today without beta. Will be beta-ed as soon as my beta has some time again.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Somewhere between 900 and 1000 AD
Betrayal of Trust
sss
The start of the new school was a little bit rougher than Salvazsahar had
anticipated. The first hurdle they had to cross was just two weeks before
the students would come. They had decided that the students should
gather at Grim Manor and that one of them would then come to bring
them to the castle.
It was a week before one of them had to leave to Grim Manor, when Sal
one day entered the Great Hall and saw that the other Founders had
gathered in front of the teachers table, talking with each other heatedly.
"Did something happen?" Sal asked them when he saw their nervous
faces.
Rowena grimaced.
"We won't have enough servants to help us maintaining the castle and the
students," Peverell said. "Even if we relocate every servant of Grim Manor
to the castle it still won't be enough."
"Yes, and there is no way that the children can help us in the kitchen like
we did it before now," Rowena added. "Their schedule has changed too
much to do it and there are too many mouths to feed to manage the
cooking even with their help…"
"And I told you we simply should add some house elves to the castle!"
Helga said, frowning at her sister-in-law. "It would be the easiest way to
gain servants without relocating the ones of Grim Manor."
"Do you know how expensive it will be to buy enough house elves for the
castle?" Peverell said, frowning at his wife. "We don't have enough money
to buy that much and we definitely don't have enough people to bind
them to them. It wouldn't do them any good if we bought them just for
them to starve because of the lack of magic they are able to access."
Sal frowned when he heard those words.
"Starve? I fear I don't understand…"
Peverell blinked and turned to Sal.
"You never had a house elf, growing up?" he asked astonished.
Sal shook his head. "Should I have had one?"
"Well, it's normal," Rowena said. "Since the romans brought them with
them to Britain, it's normal for a lord to have at least one house elf. And
why not? They are useful creatures and they need another magical being
to bind themselves to so that they are able to fully control their own
magic. If they don't have a binding they will slowly go crazy. They
literally 'starve' because of the lack of magic that flows through their
veins. If they are too long unbound, they will die, so they bind
themselves to wizards like us or other purebloods. In return they serve
the one they are bound to."
Sal listened interestedly. Until now he had never heard about house elves
in the past. Of course he remembered Dobby but until now he had never
thought about how the house elves came to be or why they were serving
wizards.
"But there is a limit of house elves you can bind to yourself," Godric
added. "A pureblood like a vampire or such would be able to bind more
to them" – To Sal's surprise he saw Godric grimace when he said the word
"pureblood". Of course until now they had just once talked about
purebloods – or Firbolgs, like Sal called them – but at that time Sal hadn't
seen Godric grimace the way he did now – "But a wizard like us is just
able to bind two, maybe three house elves to themselves – and that
definitely won't be enough to keep the whole castle clean."
"And they have to be bound to a wizard?" Sal asked softly.
"Where else should they be bound to?" Godric said sorting. "They need
magic to survive. If they don't bind themselves to a wizard they won't be
able to get access to the magic they need."
"What about binding them to the wards?" Sal asked interested. "The
wards of the castle are strong. Shouldn't they have enough magic for
house elves to be able to bind themselves?"
Peverell, Helga and Godric gawked at him. Rowena frowned.
"The castle would have to be sentient for that to be a possibility," she said
coolly. "I have never heard about a sentient castle, so there's no way that
that is something we could do."
To Sal's utter amusement, Rowena stumbled in the next moment forward
as if she had been shoved.
"What?" she exclaimed surprised and whirled around to look at the air
behind her.
"It seems as if my father has a different opinion," Sal exclaimed smirking.
He knew of course that the slight shove Myrddin's essence had given
Rowena was the most it could do, but it was nevertheless funny to see
Rowena stumbling forward seemingly without a reason.
"Your father?" she repeated with huge eyes and Sal snorted.
"You lived the whole summer in this castle and you never found out it
was sentient?" he asked amused.
"Sentient?" this time it was Helga who spoke. "How?"
Sal shrugged.
"The castle is surrounded by soul wards," he answered. "Those wards and
the very soul of my father are the reason for the castle's sentient state of
mind."
"Oh," this time Rowena's surprise was echoed by the other three.
Then Helga's eyes lit up.
"So we can bind the house elves to the castle instead of to us?" she asked
interested. Sal shrugged.
"I would recommend putting up another layer of blood wards to
strengthen the wards, but then, yes, we could," he said.
So instead of relaxing the last two weeks until the end of harvest, Sal and
the others warded the castle with blood wards and searched for house
elves. It was Helga's idea to simply offer the castle as a sanctuary for the
house elves.
It worked.
As soon as the word was spread, the first house elves appeared and
bonded to the castle. At the end of the two weeks, the castle had
seventeen elves – enough so that at least the most important tasks were
tended to. Another three weeks later the number of house elves would
have doubled.
"Sometimes", so Sal mused. "Sometimes Helga had definitely terrifying
good ideas."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was the night before one of them had to go to Grim Manor to retrieve
the students when they decided to celebrate the beginning of their
apprenticeship program in the castle.
Godric and surprisingly Peverell had decided that that event had to be
celebrated thoroughly and had fetched some Firewhisky from wherever.
Sal suspected those two had it brought with them all along – or had
bought it when they had left to order furniture or to look after their
estates.
Anyway, they had it – and they were determined to fill up their wives
and Salvazsahar.
Not that the women minded it at all.
Even Sal who normally didn't drink was alright with the improper
drinking session that night.
"Ya know, we sould… er… shwould think of a way to sort the
apprenice… appentice… ya know the things we fetch tomorrow – we
sould find a way to swort them when we're gone!" Godric slurred.
"Yeah," Rowena said. "Sumat like a talking hat or a colour chaining…
changing cloak."
"Yeah, right you are! Right you are!" Helga exclaimed giggling. Peverell
instead was staring into the flames of the bonfire they had started in the
evening, his face sever as if he had been told the reason of life just a
moment ago.
"We also have to find a way to ensure the apprentices will continue to
come after we are dead," he said before he burst into tears. "We will die
someday and then there is no one there anymore to continue our work."
Salvazsahar had to keep in his laughter when he heard Peverell. The man
definitely fell out of his normal sever character when drunk.
"Maybe we sssshould go t'bed," Sal said, also slurring a little. He wasn't as
dead drunk as the others but he had had his fair share of Firewhisky and
Parseltongue had crept into his voice.
"Yeah, bed. G'd idea," Godric slurred. "Bed's sooooft, waaaarm 'n' sooo
sooft."
"G'd bed, g'd bed," Helga snickered. Rowena just giggled but with Sal's
help they all stood, Sal extinguished the flames of the bonfire and they
returned to the castle proper.
"Y'know, we neeeeed 'name foa th'castle," Rowena exclaimed drunkenly.
"Can't callit castle all th'time afer all…"
Sal just snorted.
"Then think o' somethin'," he said, before he shoved her and Godric into
their rooms. "Bed, y'two."
After he had done the same to Helga and Peverell – as long as the others
were in their rooms he did not particularly care if they found their way
into bed – Sal returned to his own quarters. In there he simply fell onto
the bed and without changing fell asleep.
The next morning was gruesome – and not only because of his hung over.
It was six in the morning, just an hour after he finally had entered his
quarters, when someone pounded against his door, singing.
"Go 'way!"
The pounding just increased, so Sal finally stood up and went to the door.
In front of it stood Rowena next to a sleepy looking Godric, Peverell and
Helga.
"I know how we name this castle!" she piped up laughing and then
started to sing again. "Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy Warty
Haugh's Wards! Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy…"
"Fine," Sal interrupted her snarling. "We name the academia Haugh's
Wards. Could we please return to our beds now?"
"Sure!" Rowena said while smiling brightly and then entered first his
rooms and then his bed chamber. "Coming, luv?"
"Yeah," Godric said, shoved Sal to the side and followed Rowena.
Sal gawked at them.
"That's my bed! I meant you should return to yours!" he cried.
Helga just padded him on the head and drew her husband into Sal's
quarters and his bed chamber.
"Coming, Salvaszahar?" she asked.
Sal just gawked at her.
Then he snorted.
"Get them drunk and suddenly they are able to pronounce my name!" he
exclaimed disbelievingly. Then he followed the others into his
bedchamber.
When Sal woke up the next time at midday, his head was killing him –
but not only that. He found himself lying at the foot part of his bed, in
his back were poking some sharp limbs and a leg was slung over his hip,
the foot nearly poking him in the nose.
It was a hairy and broad foot, so Sal deduced that it had to be either
Godric's or Peverell's foot.
He groaned.
How by wind and fire had they all ended up in his bed?
And then last night caught up with him.
"I didn't give my go ahead to name the castle 'Haugh Wards', did I?" he
asked aloud. He definitely didn't want to believe that he could have been
so out of it to agree to a name like 'Haugh's Wards'!
"Yes, you did!" Rowena's voice was heard somewhere behind him.
Sal snorted.
"And it was your idea!" he said coolly.
"It was! And I still find the name very catching!" Rowena answered
sniggering. "And because all of you agreed, it counts! We name our –
what did you call it? Academia? – academia Haugh's Wards!"
"Yeah! Haugh's Wards, Academia of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Godric
was heard.
Sal just sighed.
"It could be worse," Peverell told him and a limb stopped poking in his
back when he lifted an arm to pad Sal on the shoulder.
Sal could not even object to this reasoning, after all he still remembered
the name his castle had in the future.
"Better Haugh's Wards then Hogwarts – not that I am delusional enough
to believe that the name won't change in time!" he murmured to himself.
After all, the castle itself was built above the Black Lake and the river
that recharged it, so that it overlooked a great part of the in the wards
included flood plains – which were called 'haugh' by the native people, so
'Haugh's Wards' was definitely fitting. Not that he thought that they
couldn't do better if they tried. But finally he decided that there was
nothing he could do about that at six in the morning and instead opted
on a little revenge for being woken again an hour after he went to bed.
"You know that someone has to go today to fetch our apprentices at Grim
Manor," he said then he smirked. "And I promise you, I won't be it." The
answers were four loud groans and moans about headaches.
Sal smirked.
Yep, revenge was sweet.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Godric finally was the one who brought the students to their new home
in Pictia. He had left two weeks ago and finally returned together with
their new and old students.
They all looked at the castle in wonder after they had crossed the lake
with boats. Sal had insisted on it. He had talked with his father and they
had decided to welcome a student and to add them to the inhabitants of
the castle, they would have to cross the lake. Like that it would be easier
for the essence of Myrddin to recognize friend and foe.
And of course the first few of the castle was even more impressive if you
stared at it from the lake…
When Godric entered the castle with the students, Sal saw that his friend
was carrying a new sword at his hip – a sword that looked oddly familiar
to Sal.
Sal blinked, but finally decided to say nothing for now. Instead he
concentrated on using Legilimency to sort the students in their new
houses. The most of the older ones he did not have to look. He knew
were they would fit in, but the younger ones he sorted with his skills. It
was tiring and he soon wished for the Sorting Hat just to escape his fate
as 'The Sorting Hat'…
After the ceremony he had a headache.
Still, he kept quiet about it. Instead he welcomed his students back, told
them the new and old rules and after that left them alone in their
common room for the first time ever to return to the teacher's conference
room – or what would be the teacher's conference room later on…
"How was your trip?" Helga asked Godric as soon as all five adults were
present in the room.
"Pleasant," Godric answered and pulled out the sword he was carrying. "I
also had time to go to the goblins to ask for a new sword. They sold me
this one."
Sal stared at the sword. It was his. Exccaliebor – just that there were
suddenly letters etched in the blade. 'Godric Gryffindor' it proclaimed
proudly.
Fury rose in Sal's stomach.
"Sold?" he asked softly.
"Yes," Godric answered proudly while he caressed the hilt of his sword.
"The goblin Garnag sold it to me for a very good price. He even engraved
it when I asked him to do it."
"Sold," Sal repeated, his voice suddenly deadly. Godric stopped caressing
his sword and stared at Salvazsahar.
"Salazar?" he asked hesitatingly.
"He sold you this sword?!" Sal said, his eyes blasting. Then he turned.
"I have to go. I have to gut a goblin tonight."
It was Peverell who stopped him by grabbing his arm.
"Salazar – what happened?!" he asked astonished and uncomprehending.
Helga and Godric looked at him with huge eyes and Rowena had hers
narrowed in thought.
"Betrayal," Sal answered. "That's what happened."
"Betrayal! How?" Godric asked confused. "I just bought a good sword –
that has nothing to do with betrayal!"
As an answer Sal returned to the table and the others who were standing
around it. Then he strode on until he reached Godric and ripped the
sword harshly out of Godric's hand. He turned it and showed the phoenix
and basilisk engraving on the hilt to Godric.
"Look at thissss," he hissed, Parseltongue playing with his normal speech.
"These are the symbols of Morganaadth – the clan-leader of LeFay, your
Head of House in the eyes of the goblin nation."
Godric blinked and then took the sword from Sal and softly caressed the
tiny figures.
"I still do not understand…"
"This is the sword of a clan-leader," Sal answered with fury in his eyes. "It
is holy in the eyes of the goblins. Only the clan-leader and his direct heirs
or ancestors are allowed to use it. You, Godric, are an heir. You have the
right to use it. That you had to pay to get it is an insult to the clan of
Morganaadth."
Godric's eyes widened when he heard that.
"But… but…" he stuttered, but Sal was not finished.
"A goblin that is able to spit on something holy like that, spits on the
goblin nation itself and all its dealings within the nation and between the
goblins and other races. I cannot let this be. This goblin insulted you, it
insulted its king and it insulted everyone that ever fell by the blade of
that sword or held this sword in his hands. I will not let it tarnish my
brother's and father's legacy!"
And with that he wrest himself free of Peverell's grasp, took the sword,
buckled it and hurried out of the room, still fuming with his fury.
Behind him he could hear the hurried steps of Rowena, running after
him.
"How?" she cried loudly. "How is Myrddin involved in all this?"
So she finally had remembered…
Sal stopped dead and turned back to her.
Behind her stood Godric, Peverell and Helga – all of them with confusion
on their faces.
"What are you talking about?" Sal asked harshly.
Rowena snorted.
"Do not lie to me, Salazar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys" she said. "I am
not an idiot. It took some time but I know whose son you are – even if I
don't know how you are still alive after all this time."
The others stared at him when they heard Rowena's exclamation. Then
they turned to Sal.
"That's… that's… Rowena is wrong, isn't she?" Godric stuttered.
Sal scowled, but he ignored Godric and answered Rowena icily. Of
course, he could have denied it and tried to wiggle out of Rowena's
accusing words, but he was riled up with fury and all he wanted to do
was to go to Londinium and kill a goblin. Sal might have never been a
true goblin but he had lived long enough with them to act like them if he
worked with them – and now his goblin-raising was taking over…
"This has nothing to do with my birth-father" he said clearly but coolly to
Rowena. "This is about the man who adopted me because I was a son of
his line from my mother's side and he wanted an heir. This is about my
brother. Atr had nothing to do with this sword – but I will not watch
when my brother's and adopted father's names are tarnished."
He turned away again, just to be stopped by Helga this time.
"Adopted father?!" she asked.
Sal didn't react.
"Salazar!" the doors in front of Sal were blown close by a strong gust of
wind. Rowena had drawn her wand and used a spell to close the doors.
The resulting bang brought Sal out of his fury induced stupor.
He stopped mid-step.
"Salazar," Helga repeated. "What did you mean with 'adopted father'?"
Sal stared at her, then he sighed and warily rubbed his forehead.
"Godric and you… you are the descendant of my younger brother
Medrawd" he finally answered.
"So when you are talking about your father – you meant Arthur
Pendragon?!" Peverell asked, half astonished, half flabbergasted.
"Yes," Sal answered curtly. "And now let it be."
"I still don't understand why you are the one who wants to gut the
goblin," Godric said. "Given… You are my ancestor's brother and as such
you also have been insulted – but shouldn't I be the one who goes to gut
the goblin? I mean: It was my family heirloom they sold to me…"
"And it was my sword they sold," Sal countered. "To the goblin I am
known as 'Morganaadth'. I am your clan-leader in the goblin nation and
as such I will go there tonight and get revenge."
"Oh."
Silence, then Godric spoke again.
"Well… then I definitely won't stop you…"
"You wouldn't have stopped me even if you wanted," Sal countered
banged open the door and left. The others watched him go, still reeling
with what they had learned tonight.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Ragnuk the First, King of the goblin, was in the middle of working on his
paperwork. He hated paperwork, but he still had to do it. And he had
done it the whole morning until now. After working hours and hours on
his paperwork he had started to wish anything, anyone to interrupt him!
Well, at least he wished for it until suddenly the iron taste of fury cursed
through his mouth, followed by the icy fire of a clan-leader that rippled
through his veins. Ragnuk shuddered.
As the king of the goblins he could feel all clan-leaders and their feelings
as soon as they came near him. Normally a clan-leader had enough
control on his emotions to not disturb the goblin king – and the taste of
old blood on Ragnuk's tongue told him that the furious clan-leader was
definitely old enough to be able to shut the goblin king out… unless he
was furious enough not to care or wanted to warn the king.
This time it was both, Ragnuk understood the next moment when his
doors were blasted open and in marched a cold eyed human looking clan-
leader.
Ragnuk never had seen this man before – but the magic of the clan-leader
felt familiar, so Ragnuk definitely had met this man before. And a man it
was, even if it definitely wasn't a human…
"Clan-leader" Ragnuk finally greeted the fuming man softly. The man said
nothing. Instead he took out a sword and threw it on the desk before
Ragnuk. The goblin king stared at the sword and softly held his hand
over the hilt without touching it. To touch the sword of a clan-leader
without his consent was an insult no goblin would even think about.
He knew the sword. Every goblin king recognized the sword of every
clan.
The clan of Morganaadth – a clan of Olde ones.
The clan had a high standing in the goblin nation. Its leader was a
powerful Healer – not someone you wanted to cross at all.
He looked up at the cold eyed human-looking man in front of his desk.
The clan-leader of Morganaadth, Morganaadth himself.
"Take it, my king" Morganaadth hissed, fury still tinging his voice.
Ragnuk raised his eyebrow but followed the demand of the clan-leader –
a clan-leader that was not really his subject but still belonged to the
goblin nation. To be called 'my king' by a free clan-leader like
Morganaadth showed him that whatever happened was something grave.
He hesitatingly touched the sword.
The sword was filled with the fury of its wielder but also of the feeling of
betrayal. Betrayal by one of them.
"What happened?" Ragnuk asked sharply.
"The child of my brother had to pay to be allowed to wield my sword"
Morganaadth hissed furiously. "He was told that the sword was made for
him. Pull it out!"
Ragnuk knew better than not give in to a demand of a furious and
betrayed clan-leader. He pulled out the sword. When he saw the blade he
hissed.
"Who?" he asked furious himself now.
"The child told me Garnag" Morganaadth replied. "I want to see him
when I withdraw my aid to him. I want to see his eyes when he
understands how he has wronged me."
Ragnuk gulped.
He knew that a healer normally did not fight – but taking on the fury of a
healer was the most stupid thing you could do. A healer did not fight. A
healer simply stopped to recognize you as one of his subjects.
"Sentinel!" Ragnuk cried and two of his guardians entered the room.
"Your majesty?" one of them said, eying Morganaadth nervously. Ragnuk
knew they could feel Morganaadth's status in the magic surrounding the
Olde one.
"I want Garnag in here, now!"
"Yes, your highness" the other one answered.
A few minutes later Garnag entered the room.
"Your highness" he greeted, bowing to Ragnuk without even looking at
the clan-leader next to the king.
"Explain" the king said, taking up the sword and showing it to Garnag.
Garnag sneered.
"The human asked me for a sword and this one appeared. I thought it
prudent to make some money with a fool like him."
Again the fury of Morganaadth tasted like iron on the king's tongue – iron
and blood.
"You dared to befoul the sword of a clan-leader with your greed?!"
Morganaadth hissed. "You dared my wrath to gain money that belongs to
my clan – a clan of the goblin nation?!"
Garnag looked up sneering – but the sneer vanished when he suddenly
was met with the familiar power of a goblin clan-leader.
His eyes widened.
"C…clan-leader?!" he stuttered, shivering under the death glare of the
man in front of him.
The answer was a cruel smile – a smile Garnag recognized as a death
sentence even in the human looking face of the other.
"I… I would never dare… dare to befoul a clan of the goblin nation!"
Garnag insisted. "You… you cannot be part of a… clan…"
The green eyes now shone with death and behind their debts hell was
burning. Garnag shivered and turned to the king with pleading eyes. The
king looked away and dread settled in Garnag's stomach. And then the
human looking clan-leader spoke again – no, he hissed, his voice marred
with the soft hisses of a snake…
"Not a clan?! Not a clan?" he whispered and Garnag shivered when the
soft hisses of Parseltongue-filled words caressed his ears. "You tried to
trick my heir, you sold my sword and now dared to insult me even more
by telling me it was all for the money that belonged to a clan – my clan –
long before you were even born! You disgust me!"
There the clan-leader stopped and Garnag suddenly was very aware of
the sword blade that caressed his cheek without hurting him. He eyed it
warily. But even with his eyes on the sword he was not prepared for the
knife that came out of nowhere and marred his face with the symbol of a
traitor. Garnag's eyes shot up and met with the eyes of Morganaadth.
Said clan-leader sneered at him. "I do not want to see you again. You,
Garnag the Greedy, are no subject of mine. You will be less than dirt
beneath my feet from now on. You will be marred with your shame so
that no one will ever dare to even look at you again. You will suffer until
you die – and die you will. Pray that it will be soon because if it isn't you
will suffer endlessly from my curse until you die" with that Morganaadth
shed his sword and knife and left the room.
Garnag sighed. He had feared the wrath of the clan-leader but now he
was content so he turned to his king again and sneered.
"This human has no idea how to be a clan-leader" he said sneering. "I
cannot fathom how he even got to be one. I know, my king, that you
would be wiser then to make a human like him a clan-leader."
But Ragnuk just shook his head sighing.
"You have no idea what he has done to you, Garnag" the king said.
"Morganaadth is one of the oldest or maybe even our oldest clan-leader.
You do not cross him – never."
"Why? Because he mares your face with the symbol of a traitor?" Garnag
sneered. "I might have lost my honour with this symbol – but there is far
worse than being marred as a traitor."
"There is – and you have been given the worst fate" the king replied and
shuddered. "I remember him saving my life when I was a child and I
remember the words my father spoke when he heard the fate of my
attackers. 'Just ask for my sword when I have wronged you. I will give it
to you freely so that you can stab me. It will definitely preferable to this
punishment' he said – and he was definitely right. I would prefer to be
killed with my own sword then to die your death."
Now dread settled in Garnag's stomach.
"My death?" he asked hesitatingly. "He didn't do anything…"
"You are wrong. He cursed you with the most dreaded curse his kind can
come up." the king retorted. "Morganaadth has revoked your right for a
healer. No goblin healer would go against the words of Morganaadth.
They all will follow a fellow healer long before thinking about kinship to
you."
Garnag paled.
"A healer?" he whispered.
"No, Garnag" Ragnuk answered. "The healer. Morganaadth was the healer
in charge of the Battle of the Great North Fields. He's one of our best – to
act against him and his heir was a serious mistake in your life."
Garnag paled even more and his fingers run along the bloody mark on his
face. The king send him a grimaced smile.
"Now you understand, don't you? He killed you as soon as he had marred
your face" because no-one would go against a healer's wrath – and even if
Garnag would be able to heal the injury on his own, from now on he
would just be able to pray because whatever happened – no healer, no
potion master and no-one with even the tiniest bit of healing knowledge
would ever look at him again…
Garnag shuddered when he understood his fate.
"My king…" he started.
"No Garnag" the king said. "I will not change your duties to aid you after
what you have done. I am the king. I do not go against the judgement of
my clan-leaders."
With that Ragnuk dismissed Garnag and returned to his paperwork. He
definitely had enough action for one day…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When Sal returned to the castle, the others were waiting for him. Sal just
shed is travelling clothes and returned his sword to Godric.
"Here. Take it," he said.
Godric blinked and stared at the sword.
"It is yours, Salazar…" he finally said. Sal just snorted.
"I left it at Gringoods for the heirs of my brother if they needed it. I do
not mind if you carry it."
"Er… all right…" Godric hesitatingly took the sword. "Thank you…"
Sal just nodded and left the hall again. He had been gone long enough;
he had to look out for his Slytherins… even if he might be a week late to
do so…
The first class in the dungeon room he had chosen as a potion classroom
was odd again. Especially because it was in the middle of the first class
that Sal suddenly realized he had chosen his old potion classroom, the
one Professor Snape had lectured in.
The rest of the class he pondered if it had been by chance that it was the
same one or if it had been his own experience that let him chose this
room as the classroom in the first place.
He snorted inwardly, when he thought about it.
"I bet Snape used that classroom because it was always used," he
pondered under his breath. "Funnily I'm sure I wouldn't have used it if
Snape hadn't!" The snort that wanted to escape was just in time
suppressed.
It was later that day when he heard two newly named Gyrffindor talking
– not that you could see that they were Gryffindor. There was nothing
that proclaimed their houses – yet at least.
He wouldn't even have bothered listening, if he hadn't heard the words
"Father's decided to forbid purebloods to enter our realm."
Purebloods?
Firbolg.
But why would a wizard forbid a Firbolg to enter his realm?
Sal could not remember any time in the past where wizards were biased
against Firbolg – well, except for the goblins. Somehow these always
seemed to rub the wizards the wrong way, whatever why.
"Why did he do that?" the other one said, confused.
"Because they are dangerous," the other one replied. "Think about it! If
they aren't allowed to enter your father wouldn't have been bitten by the
werewolf!"
For a moment Sal thought about intercepting in their discussion, but then
he let it be. It would change nothing if he talked to the children. He had
to talk to the lords. Still, he would look out for discussions like that in the
future…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Life went on.
Within the next month the children adapted to their new home and the
odd quirks it had gotten thanks to Rowena, Helga and Godric.
Finally it was Samhain – or what later would be Hallowe'en.
If they still would have lived in Grim Manor, Sal would have left the
manor three days prior to find a secluded place and prepare for the
coming feast.
But this time it was different. This time, Sal had students he alone was
responsible for so he had to stay near.
"You're not leaving?" Rowena asked him a day before Samhain night.
"I can't," Sal answered sincerely. "I cannot leave the children without an
adult around…"
"You have done it before after harvest" Rowena pointed out with a raised
eyebrow.
"And you all chastised me for it," Sal answered.
"So… you'll feast with us?" Rowena asked but Sal shook his head.
Sal sighed. Of course he had heard of the feasts they had on Samhain. It
was tradition to stay inside for the night and feast, but Sal had not grown
up in the same time like the others…
"I do not celebrate Samhain like you do" he said softly. "I won't celebrate
it with you."
Rowena looked at him surprised.
"You do not celebrate like us? So… how do you…?"
"It's the day of the dead, Rena," Sal answered sincerely. "Don't ask me to
feast on a day like that."
Rowena frowned but let him go.
So the next day, while the others were feasting in the Great Hall Sal
entered the Chamber of Secrets and in it, his ritual chamber.
He had planned for this day since midsummer.
The first thing he did was to draw runes on the floor of the chamber.
Then he added some different potions on crucial points and some earth
on others. At the end he put down some knives in the middle of the circle
and stepped out of the ritual room to do a ritual washing and then return.
When he was done with that, he sat down in the middle of the runic
circle, naked like the day he was born, and started to picture the runes he
wanted to add to his blood-magic in his mind.
He closed his eyes and the first wickedly sharp knife in front of him was
lifted in the air with his magic. One moment it hesitated in front of him
while he braced himself but then it cut for the first time that night.
While wielding the knives with his magic, Sal lost totally track of time.
He lost sense of his own body and mind.
The only thing that existed were the runes, the skin and the knives that
added the tiny runes to the skin.
Blood-magic.
One of the most forbidden magicks for nearly a thousand years – since
the day the romans had killed Arthur and the most of the druids on the
isles.
Sal did not care that it was outlawed.
Ever since the day he had finalized his awakening, Sal had used Samhain,
Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh to add to his blood-magic.
Blood-magic like he practiced was used to strengthen body, mind, soul
and magic. There was no way to increase your magic by practicing blood-
magic, but with time you had better access to your magic and your
endurance to use magic increased. The same was said for body, mind and
soul: you could not overcome your natural limits but with blood-magic
you were able to reach them.
Using blood-magic for the body normally increased your life – an aspect
Sal was not really interested in because he would live another thousand
years if he used blood-magic or not.
Using blood-magic for the soul wakened your ancestry and increased
your connection to the abilities you had inherited – be they magical,
creature or mundane.
Using blood-magic for the mind increased your memory – something Sal
really didn't need but did anyway because it was a part of using blood-
magic – and aided you against foreign magic and intrusion of the mind.
Simply said: It was another aid for those who thought Occlumency was
not safe enough and Legilimency not subtle enough. Sal always had
thought both…
Using blood-magic for the magic instead was tricky. Every ritual to aid
the flow of the magic through the body had to be planned carefully. Not,
that the other blood-magics weren't dangerous but doing blood-magic for
your magic was not only dangerous but the power-rush you felt
afterwards – not that you had more magic afterwards, it was just flowing
better – simply was addicting. Sal had heard of thousands of druids who
had given in to the feeling and had died an extremely painful death just a
few days later. If you gave in, your magic would react to it and it would
not stop to rush through your body anymore. Magic like that would burn
you inside out in the end – a slow and extremely painful death.
And it was a blood-ritual like that Sal was doing tonight. He always used
Samhain for blood-magic for his magic. The connection to the dead on
that night aided him in grounding himself and not losing himself in the
feeling of his magic.
Blood-rituals were done at least every second year. They had to be done
regularly, otherwise Sal would slowly use the connection to his blood-
magic and the results could be disastrous. Every experience, every loss
and everything else important had to be added in another runic chain to
his body. Sometimes he just had to add one or two runes to an existing
circle, other times he had to draw a fully-fledged new one. It was his
magic that told him what to do and he complied.
Sal was thoroughly. Every year on Samhain he would add runes to do
with his magic, on Imbolc runes to do with his soul, on Beltane runes to
do with his mind and on Lughnasadh runes to do with his body – simply
said, his blood-magic was like a complicated diary of his life.
The last knife softly landed back on the floor. Sal inhaled deeply, then he
opened his eyes and inspected his wounds. Newly engraved runes were
covering his entire left shoulder his right hip and his left inner thigh,
mingling with the other runic circles that were glowing slightly beneath
his skin. The runes were bloody and red blood was slowly oozing out of
the cuts and running down his back.
They seemed to follow the runes Sal had seen in his mind to the T. Sal
sighed, then he softly destroyed the runic circle in front of him.
Pain shot through his left shoulder, thigh and his right hip, followed by
the addicting feeling of power. He was drowning in power! He was
powerful! He could do everything he wanted to even if others would
object because he was more powerful than they were!
Salvazsahar gasped and tried to suppress the feelings, knowing exactly
what would happened if he wouldn't be able to…
For at least ten minutes he rang with his magic, then the feeling slowly
vanished until only Sal was left behind.
He was tired. His body ached even after the runes had sunk under his
skin and bonded with the other runes. He was covered in blood and was
shaking with exhaustion.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
On the way back to his rooms in the dungeons, Sal was going slowly. His
body ached terribly – not that he hadn't expected it. It was a normal
occurrence after using blood-magic on his magic. Fighting back the
feeling of power always was extremely strenuous…
"By Myrddin! Salazar! What happened?!" Sal flinched and turned around
to face whoever had found him on the way back to his rooms.
It was Godric.
"So the feast ended, hu?" Sal said softly, knowing that Godric always was
the last to leave a feast.
"Er… no…" Godric said, sounding oddly sober for coming from a feast.
Normally Godric was the first to get drunk.
Sal raised an eyebrow.
"You're strange, today, Godric," he concluded. "You're out here and the
feast is still on – and you are sober…"
Godric snorted.
"No, I'm definitely not sober," he said. "And I'm out here because…
well…"
He hesitatingly showed off his right hand which had until now been
hidden behind his back. In it was a hat; a hat which looked as if it had a
face – THE hat.
Sal nearly whooped with joy when he recognized the Sorting Hat in
Godric's hands.
Of course he wouldn't show his joy – after all he hadn't told the others
how headache inducting the sorting of the students had been…
"So… you're out here because of a hat," he said instead sarcastically. "A
simple, odd looking hat."
"Er… something like that" Godric said, still eying Sal nervously as if he
thought Sal would faint every moment. Salvazsahar could not even fault
him. He definitely felt tired enough to lose conscious right here, right
now.
"Something like that?" Sal repeated while he tried to ignore his shaking
legs.
"Er… well… you see… I…" Godric stuttered then he straightened up. "I
somehow enchanted it… I don't know how… but… well, when it started
to talk and didn't stop anymore; Rowena was furious and drenched me in
ice water to sober me up before throwing me out of the hall until I find a
way to end the enchantment on my head…"
"Er, Godric – I know you're drunk but even you should be able to hear
that the hat doesn't talk," Sal said, eying the silent hat confused. Of
course he knew the hat would learn to talk eventually, but right now it
definitely didn't.
"Yes, well. Stunning-spell, you know," Godric said embarrassed. "I told
you it wouldn't shut up before."
"Ah… well, alright. Have fun," Sal said and turned around again to
continue his way down the dungeons.
"Wait, Salazar!" Godric said, and one of his hands came down on Sal's
shoulder. Sal flinched again, this time violently. It was just his luck that
Godric had to choose his left shoulder!
"Shite! Salazar?!" Godric let go of the hat and before Sal could stop his
friend, his tunic was ripped open and his left shoulder exposed.
It still was drenched in blood and the skin was of an angry red. The
wounds itself had closed but blue and green bruises were littering the
angry red skin where once had been open wounds and Sal had not wiped
away the blood from the cuts. His shoulder looked like it had taken a
front seat of a battle mage's target practice. Sal winced just by looking at
it.
Godric let out a horrified gasp.
"Salazar! What by Myrddin and Morgana were you doing tonight?!"
Sal looked at Godric warily. He had never told the others of his blood-
magic because he knew what the sorcerers of these times were thinking
about it.
"Salazar?"
"I… I don't think you should know, Godric" Sal said while his mind
played over and over Hermione's voice, talking about Salazar Slytherin
being cast out of Hogwarts…
Godric scrutinized Sal's shoulder; then he frowned.
"I think I should know," he said. "Whatever happened: your shoulder
looks horrible."
As if to emphasize his words, Godric prodded Sal's shoulder. Sal hissed in
pain.
"Godric!"
"Don't Godric me, Sal," Godric said. "I have to know how hurt your
shoulder is."
"It's not too badly hurt," Sal said and tried to escape Godric's fingers.
"Believe me, I know."
"Salazar! Don't you dare to talk around the bush!"
Salvazsahar hesitated another moment but when he looked at Godric he
understood that his friend wouldn't give up until Sal told him the truth.
He sighed.
"It was a ritual" he said sincerely.
Godric frowned.
"A ritual?" he repeated. His voice wasn't damning Sal so Sal scraped
together his courage and defined it even more.
"Blood-magic," he said and Godric sucked in the air, staring at Sal with
unsure eyes.
"Blood-magic?" he asked and this time Sal heard the accusation in
Godric's voice.
For a moment, Sal had the inexplicable urge to apologize to his friend,
but then he straightened his shoulders and looked his friend directly in
the eye.
"Yes, blood-magic, Godric. The same blood-magic I have been raised
with."
Godric gawked at him.
"Raised?! You're telling me that your father – your father, Myrddin Emrys
– raised you to use blood-magic?"
Sal sighed.
"Godric," he finally said, while he searched for the wall to lean against it
when his legs started to feel like pudding. "Do you know when I was
born?"
Godric blinked then he slowly shook his head.
"You never told…"
"I was born over a thousand years ago, Godric" Sal said truthfully. "When
I was raised, there were no wands. Rituals, runes, potions and blood-
magic – those were the magic I was raised with. I might have started to
use a wand like you do – but I am still a druid. I won't quit using the
magic I was raised with just because you started to call them dark."
Godric bit his lips and Sal sighed.
"Please, Godric. Just tell me if you can't accept it – I would prefer to
know before you try to kill me for being dark," Sal knew he would leave
if Godric could not accept him like he was. He did not want to destroy
the school by fighting with the Founder of Gryffindor House.
"Salazar," Godric finally said hesitatingly. "Do… do you teach blood-
magic to our apprentices?"
"No," Sal shook his head. "I would have told you if I did. I might ask the
others in a few years' time to add some blood-magic rituals for the
protection of the students against the dark arts but I did not teach any of
them any kind of blood-magic until now."
Godric scrutinized him again; then he nodded.
"Let's get you back to your rooms," he said. Sal stared at him.
"That's it?! I say 'no' and your sole answer is 'Let's get you back to your
rooms'?"
Godric shrugged.
"What else should I say?" he said. "I think I know you, Salazar. You never
lied to us before so if you tell me you don't teach blood-magic to our
apprentices I believe you. That doesn't mean I simply will accept that you
practice it, but that discussion can be postpone at least until we reach
your chambers."
Salvazsahar eyed his friend warily, but then he nodded.
"Alright," he said and slowly let go of the wall. His legs definitely were
shaking now and he wasn't sure if he would be able to reach his rooms
before he collapsed.
"Let me help you," Godric said and made a motion as if he wanted to start
supporting Sal.
"Don't forget your speaking hat," Sal commented dryly. Godric just
chuckled, picked up his head and again reached for Sal. This time Sal let
him.
With Godric's support Sal was in his rooms just a few minutes later. His
legs and hands were still shaky but when Godric sat him down on a chair
and tried to pull of Sal's ruined shirt, Sal stopped him.
"I'll do that myself," he said. "Thanks."
But instead of leaving, Godric just stepped back a step or two.
"Do you intent to stay here to watch me strip?" Sal sneered.
The answer was a delicately raised eyebrow.
"Do you intent to sleep on the ground if you fall and are unable to get up
again, tonight?" the Gryffindor Founder countered.
Sal just snorted.
"It's not the first time that I used blood-magic," he said. "I'm definitely
able to look after me without you hovering in the background."
"So you are," Godric said uncaring, still planted on the same spot. For a
moment Sal scrutinized him angrily but then he just sighed and striped
with caution first out of his ruined shirt, after that out of his trousers.
He felt, more than saw Godric's eyes travelling over his body, taking in
every scar and every blood-covered bruise he could see from his position.
It was a clinical glance, there to assess the damage done to Sal but Sal
could see a short flickering of horror crossing Godric's features when he
saw the scars – especially the one scar Sal had gotten the day he died for
Camelot.
Then his friend turned his eyes away and instead busied himself by
magically calling a bowl and filling it with water. He heated the water
and conjured up some cloths.
"Let me at least help you to clean away the blood," he said.
Sal eyed the water nervously.
"It's just water, isn't it?" he asked and Godric nodded. For a moment he
hesitated, but then he inclined his head to give Godric the go-ahead.
The other founder smiled then he sat down the bowl on a table next to
Sal's chair, gave a conjured cloth to Salvazsahar and circled Sal to have a
better look at Sal's backside. When Godric started to clean away the
blood that had from the shoulder flown down Sal's back, he started to
talk again.
"The scar on your chest," Godric said hesitatingly but still too curious not
to ask his friend. "Shouldn't you be dead? I mean, it looks fatal, you
know?"
Salvazsahar just snorted.
"Is there a reason you ask or is it simply curiosity?"
"Er… well… I…"
Sal laughed softly when he heard his friend stutter embarrassedly.
"Curiosity it is," he remarked still silently laughing when his friend failed
to answer.
"Well, it looks awful!" Godric tried to defend himself. "You can't expect
me not to ask!"
Sal turned his head and raised an eyebrow.
"And I thought you would try to assess if I am a danger to the apprentices
and not if there are some war stories I'd be able to tell you!"
"War stories?" Godric ask interested. "You were in a war?"
Sal shrugged; just to hiss when his shoulder protested the movement.
"Several," he answered finally. "I'm a healer, Godric. Believe me, as a
healer you'll end up on the battlefield if there is a war."
The answer was a thoughtful look.
"I forgot that you are a fully trained healer," the Gryffindor Founder said.
This time Sal turned and looked at his friend in disbelieve.
"You're telling me that you forgot that I'm a healer after I practically
called you back from the dead?" he asked astonished. "How by wind and
fire did you manage to forget that you nearly died when we met?"
"Well, I didn't die, did I?" Godric answered shrugging. "And it was years
ago!" Then he stopped and looked Sal over again. "Not that I could tell
that it was years ago by looking at you."
Sal blinked uncomprehending.
"What…? Why?" he asked.
This time it was Godric who looked at him with disbelief.
"Maybe because you haven't aged a day since we met?" he said
sarcastically. Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"Pot, Kettle, Godric."
"Well, I am a LeFay," Godric said as if this was the only explanation
needed.
"And?" Sal said.
"And we LeFay's age more slowly than other wizards," Godric concluded
and rolled with his eyes as if it was obvious to everyone but Sal.
"And what about Rowena and Peverell?" Sal asked.
"Something to do with their parents," Godric said. "I never truly asked. I
just know that their parents were odd and that they left Rowena and
Peverell to fight by themselves when they were just twenty years of age."
"Ah," Sal had suspected that the parents of those two had been Firbolg
but until now he had had no evidence. That the parents left them when
they turned twenty however was definitely supporting Sal's suspicion.
Thirty years were the longest a Firbolg was able to change to human
form – and that form for so long was a one-time deal, so it was no
surprise that Rowena and Peverell's parents departed after those two
were twenty. Their parents would have to go if they had been human for
ten years when they met.
"But you, Sal, shouldn't you have aged since we met?" Godric asked him
in that moment and brought him back from his thoughts with that
question.
Sal blinked disoriented then he snorted.
"Have you forgotten who I am, Godric?" he asked with disbelieve in his
voice.
"Hu?" Godric looked at him confused.
"Godric," Sal said patiently. "I am Myrddin Emrys' son. I am Arthur
Pendragon's adopted son and adopted brother to Medrawd LeFay, your
ancestor. Did it never occur to you that that makes me a lot older than
you are?"
"Oh," Godric said, staring down at Sal. "But, how are you able to live so
long? I mean, shouldn't you be dead now?"
Sal just snorted and pointed at his chest and the deadly looking scar on
it.
"I have a little problem with dying, Godric," Sal said. "Add to that that my
parents were Firbolgs and you have the explanation why I am still alive."
Godric looked at him thoughtfully.
"Oh, alright," he finally said. Then he hesitated another moment before
he again gave in to his curiosity. "Did your father really teach you blood-
magic? I mean, blood-magic is part of the Dark Arts and your father
Myrddin is known as a very light wizard…"
Sal just snorted.
"The meaning of light and dark has changed over time, Godric," he
explained. "The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic.
Rituals and potions were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-
magic wasn't evil, it just was a way to gain control over your gift."
"But it's seen as evil now – so why didn't you stop?"
"Because I can't," Sal answered sincerely. Godric gawked at him.
"What do you mean 'you can't'?"
Sal sighed.
"Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" he stopped, not content with his
sentence. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric," he started again. "The
first rituals a druid does are those to shield their body from the following
rituals. After that comes the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the
blood-wakening, you could stop after shielding yourself from other
rituals. But after the blood-wakening you have to keep doing blood-
magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on your magic and finally
on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you stopped."
"Oh," Godric said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would
go crazy if you didn't, right?"
"Yes," Sal said then he shrugged. "But there is always a setback in every
kind of magic you practice."
"I don't know a setback in my kind of magic," Godric snorted.
Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"Let me break your wand and we'll talk again," he countered.
"If you would do that I wouldn't be able to use magic… oh!"
"Yes, oh," Sal just shook his head at his friend. "Like I told you, every
magic has a setback. You don't have enough control without your wand, I
have to do blood magic every other year to keep a grip on my magic."
"So you can't help it," Godric concluded. Sal shrugged. Of course he could
do blood magic less often, but in the end, Godric was right. He wouldn't
be able to end it.
"And you won't teach it to our apprentices?"
Sal sighed.
"I was thinking about teaching them the protections," he said hesitatingly.
Godric frowned.
"Why?"
"Because you told me about the texts that still exist. I don't want them to
go insane just because they decided to play with the instructions in the
texts. And there will be some that will do it even if they are warned,
don't delude yourself in thinking they won't."
Godric frowned at that, but then he nodded.
"You're right," he said. "But if you truly do it, please speak to the others
beforehand."
Sal just nodded. He was surprised that Godric didn't object his plans, but
he also was glad the other didn't. Like that he might not to go behind the
others back to shield his students…
"So, I'm done," Godric said in that moment and vanished the bloody cloth
he had used to wipe the blood off Sal's back.
"Thank you."
Godric just nodded and turned away while Sal put on his clothes again.
When Godric turned back to him he had the talking and silenced hat in
his hands.
"Er… another question, Salazar," he said hesitatingly. "Would… would
you mind to help me with that thing?"
Sal just laughed.
"Well, I definitely have an idea what to do with it," he answered. "Give it
to me."
When he later that day, it was after midnight after all, showed off his
idea to the other Founders and told them to imbed some of their
personality traits in the enchanted sarcastic hat, they looked at him
oddly. At least they did until he told them he planned to use it to sort.
"Good riddance" was the only thing Peverell said when he heard about
Sal's idea – and was promptly promoted to house the Hat for the rest of
the year. Like that the Sorting Hat started to inhabit Peverell's office.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
Sorry for the wait.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
34. Chapter 33: 900-1000 AD
Prejudice
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Still not beta-ed. My beta has exams, I'll change it as soon as I get the beta-ed
version.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Somewhere between 900 and 1000 AD
Prejudices
sss
The real problems started three years later when Sal finally decided to
push through his plans for the girls.
The Gathering of the Lords was loud as ever. But this time instead of vital
matters they were discussing rumours.
"I heard that there's an immortal pureblood, running through the country
and hunting sorcerers and sorceresses," Lord Gaunt said. "We should
discuss what we will do to stop him from entering the Isles. I don't care if
he wreaks havoc somewhere on the main land but not here under our
reign!"
"Are you truly sure it's an immortal pureblood?" Peverell asked with a
raised eyebrow.
Lord Gaunt just sneered.
"I heard that he was beheaded. Three days later he returned and killed
his 'murderers'," Lord Gaunt replied hauntingly.
Peverell snorted.
"There is no pureblood that could survive something like that!" he
countered.
"Obviously there is!" Lord Gaunt sneered. "And obviously we need to
somehow keep our people safe! If there is truly a pureblood that can
survive that then we must find a way to keep us safe from it!"
"There is no pureblood in the world that could do something like that –
not without the aid of Dark Magic," Peverell objected.
"As if there is a way to get immortal with Dark Magic!" another Lord
called in. In the next moments others voiced that they thought him right.
"There is," Sal's soft voice finally interrupted the others. Everyone fell
silent when he spoke.
"You sound sure of that," Lord Selwyn said with a raised eyebrow. Sal just
shrugged.
"I heard about the possibility before," he said. "It's a vile way to gain
immortality, but it's a way nonetheless."
Lord Gaunt just sneered.
"I think you are a little bit too young to fully understand what you are
talking about. Believe me when I tell you that there is no way to gain
immortality."
Sal opened his mouth to object but Lord McGonagall was faster.
"He's right, lad," he said. "There definitely is no way to gain something
like immortality by Dark Magic."
"Yes, there are just purebloods and their unnatural abilities," another one
said. "I bet there is a pureblood somewhere whose ability is to be
immortal – and said pureblood is now killing people on the main land."
"I told you that there is no pureblood that can survive…"
"Oh, stop it, Peverell! We all know you think yourself an expert on
purebloods but there are things that even you don't know!"
"For those I have my sister," Peverell snapped. This time some chuckles
could be heard from various directions.
"Well, I at least did not hesitate and banned the purebloods from my
lands," another lord called in. "Even if the beast isn't immortal – that it's
still alive tells you that we should keep everything unnatural away from
us. And purebloods are unnatural."
Sal sneered but a lot of other lords nodded reluctantly.
Lord Selwyn sighed.
For a moment there was a lull in the conversation then the lord from
before decided to go formal with his proclamation.
"Well, I propose we should vote if we ban purebloods from all our lands
or if it's the individual lord's decision," the lord who had banned the
purebloods from his land said. A second lord seconded.
Lord Gaunt and Lord Selwyn frowned, but Lord Selwyn nevertheless
called out a vote.
Sal was shocked when he saw lords voting for the ban. It were not
enough for a law, but too many nonetheless, or so Sal thought.
"The proposition was turned down," Lord Selwyn said. "We should stop
discussing rumours and voting on them. Instead we should finally return
to more important matters…"
From then on the meeting turned to the usual themes, like trading, the
state of the crops, the division of the lands, one or two marriage
proposals that were important for all lords and finally Haugh's Wards.
It was then, listening to Lord Gaunt's praise for their academia, when Sal
finally struck.
"I thank you for your kind words, Lord Gaunt," he said smoothly after the
lord had finished his praise for Haugh's Wards and its apprentices. "We
all appreciate them very much. But not all things are running as smoothly
as they should at our academia and I am sorry that I have to darken this
meeting by proposing something that is very important to me but also
very hard to accomplish. But the truth is that my plea would help our
academia immensely if you accept my motion."
"Don't worry, Lord Slytherin," Lord McGonagall said. "Propose your idea
to us and we will see if we are able to grand you your wish."
Sal nodded and stood. It had been two years ago when they first started
to call him 'Lord Slytherin' in the Gathering of The Lords. It had been a
joke at first, but soon Godric and Salvazsahar had lost their original
names in court and all lords called them by the names they had taken at
Haugh's Wards.
"You said it yourself, the lads we teach know more than a lad taught by
solely one master," he started. "But that new knowledge isn't just a
blessing for the lads, it's also a curse."
"A curse?" the other lords looked at each other, frowning.
"Yes, a curse. Until now the lads taught by one master, respected their
wives after marriage because they knew that their wife had been taught
magic like they had been – just from their fathers and not from masters.
But now I started to hear words at Hogwarts that the lasses were worth
nothing but too birth they heir. This new development concerns me
because we wizards always respected our women highly."
He hadn't outright lied when he spoke to the gathering, but he definitely
had stretched reality a little bit – not talking about the slight
manipulation he had done by sending out his Slytherins to talk exactly
like that near the other four founders.
Thanks to fire and ice for the missing house-colours that would adorn the
apprentice robes in future!
"Lord Gryffindor? Lord Grim?" Lord McGonagall said with a concerned
voice. It was clear that he wanted their opinion on that matter.
"I fear that Salazar is not exaggerating", Peverell said sighing. "Godric,
Rowena, Helga and I also heard the rumours…"
Yes, definitely thanks to wind and fire for the missing difference on the
students' robes!
The other lords frowned.
"Tell me, Lord Slytherin, do you have an idea what to do against that
problem?" Lord McGonagall said.
"I thought about it long and hard," Sal answered while inclining his head.
"The only option I see is to grant the lasses the same education the lads
have. I would propose to let them go to Haugh's Wards."
The answer was a commotion and Sal had to raise his hand and wait a
few minutes before he could continue.
"Of course I know the problems that come with it. It wouldn't be proper
to let the lasses live with the lads. The idea I have would be that the
lasses have their own dorm rooms in the Houses. The dorm rooms are
shielded so that a lad is unable to enter. When the lasses go to class, they
will go together and a house elf will accompany them. They will sit extra
in the Great Hall and they will be allowed to take books from the library
to read them in their dorm rooms. The castle will be warded so that a lad
will be unable to come near unmarried lasses and lasses they aren't
married with in an improper way. I wrote wards that will be able to
distinguish what is proper and what isn't. "
It had been hard to create these wards and it had taken him the most of
the last three years, but it was worth it, he was sure about that.
"Every professor who will teach at Haugh's Wards will have to take an
oath that they won't behave in an improper way towards their charges.
Every lass will be told the name of a house elf who will guard her if she
wants to go somewhere by herself or who will aid her if she is in a
dangerous situation. Like that it still should be proper for the lasses and
at the same time the rumours that are at the academia in the moment
will put to rest indefinitely."
The lords looked at each other with unsure eyes. They still hesitated.
"Don't forget that it is a lass who will later on teach her children her
knowledge first. Long before the lads go to Haugh's Wards it is their
mother who tells them about magic. Because of that a lass who knows
more about magic will easier get a marriage contract than a lass who
knows next to nothing. If they would have the same education like the
lads again, their worth would just get higher than it is now and then it
would be when the lads leave Haugh's Wards with the thoughts they have
now about the lasses."
This time the faces of the lords were grim.
He got them. Sal smiled – at least he did until the first question was
asked.
The next twenty minutes were pure horror. Sal was questioned
mercilessly and finally the lords decided to think about it by themselves
for another two days before they decided.
Two days later the lords gave in. The lasses would go to Haugh's Wards
after harvest and Sal had finally gotten what he had wanted for years…
The day later Lord McGonagall proposed to make it mandatory to attend
Haugh's Wards. He explained his reasoning that if the lasses also
attended, he wanted to shield them as much as possible and to add
Haugh's Wards and its rules to the law would just aid them in the long
way. The other lords nodded. It wouldn't do well if a lass was kidnapped
because two clans were warring and one of the clans decided that it
would be easier to kidnap the daughter of the other clan-leader instead of
to try another way for peace.
But with that the problems only started.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
With the entrance of the girls, Sal finally lifted the charm from the
missing dormitories – something that brought him some raised eyebrows
from the other four founders. Sal just shrugged and grinned when they
looked at him until Rowena finally huffed and declared: "I should have
known it!" And with that they moved on to other tasks.
The summer the girls gained entrance was also the summer they finally
had to invite some more teachers to aid them. With the incoming girls it
were simply too many students to teach them with only five of them.
"So," Godric said when they had their customary meeting at the Great
Hall shortly before harvest. "We have three new teachers this year: a
teacher for Astrology, a teacher for Etiquette and Writing and a teacher
for Creature Lore." Godric was beaming when he mentioned the matron
who would take over Etiquette and Writing. Since they had decided
earlier that summer that they needed more teachers he had started to
look for someone who could relive him from his duties in that part. He
had been ecstatic when an old widow had decided that she would like to
teach that part to the children. Godric simply hated to teach Etiquette
and Writing.
"And sometime after Beltane our new potion master will arrive," Peverell
added. Sal just grimaced. He didn't know the man who would take over
potions from him and he definitely wasn't very happy in that regard. The
other teachers he had been able to get to know beforehand but the
recommended potion master had been touring the country so that at the
end Sal hadn't met him. The only one who had was Godric – and Sal
definitely didn't trust Godric in that regard. Godric after all wasn't even
able to distinguish the top of a cauldron from its bottom.
"There's also a request from the lords to visit the school regularly,"
Peverell added in that moment.
"No," Sal said instantly. The others stared at him.
"We're talking about their children, Salazar," Helga said. "I am sure that a
lot of them would be more at ease if they knew exactly how they children
are living."
"They didn't request this since we founded Haugh's Wards so why now?"
Sal countered.
"Maybe it's because their daughters are also starting to learn here?"
Rowena suggested softly.
Sal frowned but then he sighed.
"Then let them come for a day and we show them," he said.
This time it was Peverell who frowned.
"Salazar," he said sighing. "There were multiple requests that they want
to have access to the academia day and night. We others thought it a
good idea."
"Yes," Godric said. "Especially the Mundane parents will be relieved if
they can come and see their children whenever they…"
"No! No Mundane will set their feet on this land!" Sal knew he sounded
racist in that moment, but in front of his inner eye he saw the icy steel
blade coming through his chest and he heard the battle cries and the
sound of the dying from the day he died for Camelot. "I won't allow
anyone absolute access to this land."
"Salazar!" Godric stared at him, his eyes blasting. "We are talking about
the parents of our apprentices!"
"I. Don't. Care!" Sal countered hissing. "They don't belong here. They
won't come here. That's my final word!"
Godric and the others gawked at him.
"This is our academia!" Godric finally said coolly. "You have no right to
decide this by yourself. The others are all for it and we will follow
whatever the majority decided!"
Sal bared his teeth at him.
"This is my ancestral home, Godric! And whatever chimaera you are
following, I won't sacrifice my family's sacrifice just to comply with your
wishes!"
And with that he stormed out of the Great Hall, not able any more to
look the others in the eye.
He had told them time after time that the wards of the castle were based on
soul magic – had they never even once thought about what that truly meant?
He couldn't believe that Godric and the others were willing to destroy the
wards of the castle – wards that kept them safe – just to follow the wishes
of the Gathering of the Lords!
The days and weeks after their disagreement, Godric ignored him –
something the whole academia found out as soon as the children
returned.
Rowena and Helga had a different approach. Instead of treating him with
silent and the cold shoulder, they tried again and again to change his
stance on emitting the parents to Haugh's Wards.
Finally Rowena snapped.
"You are utterly childish in this regard, Salazar!" she cried frustrated.
"Why don't you even try to listen to us? Even you can see that it would
just aid us in the cooperation of the Gathering if they had the ability to
visit the academia whenever they wanted!"
"I don't care about the Gathering!" Sal replied calmly. "I told you weeks
ago why I will never give in to your pleas. I won't change just because
you hope I do."
"We built this place to teach apprentices! You can't suddenly start with
refusing some of them entrance just because their parents want to see the
academia beforehand!"
"And I told you that the parents can come if they must! Let them come
for a day – a day, not whenever they feel like it!"
"But…"
"I don't think that a master would have tolerated the parents coming to
his home whenever they wanted just to check on their child!"
"NO! But this is different!"
"It isn't," Sal hissed. "And I won't give in. If you want the parents coming
whenever they want then search for another building. They won't come
here, and that's my final word on that matter!"
After that Rowena stopped speaking to him as well.
Helga instead looked at him with bafflement.
"You never outright refused anything we planned to do," she said. "Why
now?"
"Because until now your decisions were reasonable," Sal said. "Now you
are just blinded by the words of the Lords."
Helga just frowned at him when he said that.
"I don't think we're blinded," she said. "I mean, what's so bad about
letting the parents see their children? They wouldn't do any harm…"
Sal just snorted.
"You have no idea how the wards you live under work, so how do you
know their visit truly does no harm? And I told you, one time, alright, let
them come. But after that there is no need for them to be here."
Helga just sighed.
"You are acting like a child, Salazar," she said. "I know you are possessive
of this castle – but being possessive and acting like you do, are two
different kinds of shoes."
Sal just sneered at her. After that Helga also stopped speaking to him.
Salvazsahar still didn't move an inch from his point of view. He knew he
couldn't give in, even when Godric started to hiss at him 'bigot' and
'Mundane-hater' after Sal still didn't give in, even two month into the new
school year.
It hurt to be treated like that – not just by Godric but also by the women
but Sal couldn't give in. If he did, he would have to destroy the soul
wards so that the parents were able to get in – and that was one thing he
would never be able to do.
Still, it would be the only way to comply with the other founders' wishes.
Surly there would be some parents that could gain access without him
destroying the wards – parents that needed a sanctuary and that had pure
intentions – but the rest of them would be unable to enter without Sal
letting them in. And he couldn't stand guard at the entrance forever just
so that they could enter…
"There's a reason why you won't give in to their wishes, isn't there?"
Peverell said one evening. Sal had been outside, sitting on a rock at the
lake. He startled when he suddenly heard Peverell's voice next to him.
Peverell had said nothing to the argument he had been having with the
other founders. The other man had not stood by his side but he also
hadn't taken the side of his wife and the others. Instead he had chosen to
treat Sal like he had always been threatening him.
Sal shrugged.
"When was there a time I would do something without a suitable reason?"
he asked softly, staring unseeingly at the lake. Tomorrow was Beltane
and the day after the new potion master would come to Haugh's Wards.
"I don't remember a time you hadn't had a good reason," Peverell said
softly. "Why don't you give in to them?"
It was a question, not an accusation, but still Sal hesitated. Then he
sighed and looked up at the sky and the wards that were shielding them,
unseen to the naked eye.
"The soul wards – do you know how they are created?" he asked softly,
deciding to explain his reason one last time.
Peverell shrugged.
"Not really. I know you have to die for them so that they can come into
existence. I don't know how exactly they are created and how exactly
they work but I doubt that even you know how they were created and
how they work, exactly."
Sal sighed again. Then he rubbed his face tiredly.
"I know how they were created," he said. "I know exactly how they were
created."
Peverell looked at him astonished.
"How? I mean, shouldn't it have been your father who created the wards
on Haugh's Wards?"
Sal just shrugged.
"The blood wards on the castle, sure," he said.
Peverell looked at him oddly.
"There are no blood wards on the castle but ours, Salazar," he said. "I
might not know a lot about warding – but I am definitely sure about that
one."
Sal just rubbed his face again.
"Soul wards," he finally explained. "Are based on normal blood wards.
The blood wards develop to soul wards if… if…" He stopped and rubbed
his chest. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the battle
cries of the past and the sound of people dying. He could feel the cold
steel piercing his chest and could hear his heart stop.
"Salazar?"
He startled and the memory let him go again. Peverell looked at him
concerned.
"Salazar – what happened just now?"
"Nothing," Sal's voice was hoarse. "Forgive me."
Peverell just frowned.
"What did you want to say before you… stopped speaking?"
And with that question the phantom pain and the noise in his ears were
back.
He fought against his past that tried to swallow him whole again and
cursed his eidetic memory.
"Salvazsahar?"
Sal's head snapped up when he heard his correctly pronounced name on
Peverell's lips.
"Are you alright?" Peverell's hands softly touched Sal's own which was
unconsciously rubbing his chest above his heart. Then Peverell's hand
grabbed Sal's and slowly pulled it away from Sal's chest. "Are you hurt,
Salvazsahar?"
The name was spoken slowly, carefully. It was surprisingly painful to
hear his correct name from the lips of another – not drunk – person
again.
"I… I am well, forgive me, Peverell."
The other man did clearly not believe him. Instead he tucked at Sal's
tunic and finally raised it to look beneath it. Sal's mind needed a moment
to catch up with what Peverell was doing and when he understood the
other man's action, he was too late to stop him.
Peverell's huge, concerned eyes met his.
"When did that happen?" he ask softly, still watching Sal closely, his eyes
straying every other second to the horrible scar on Sal's chest – the scar
Sal had been rubbing all the time.
Sal met his gaze head on.
"The question is not 'when', Peverell, it is 'where' and 'why'," he corrected
the now grim looking man.
"Then tell me, where it happened. Tell me, why it happened," Peverell
repeated his question carefully, his gaze sincere and sad.
Sal hesitated another moment, the noises of the battlefield again filling
his mind.
"It happened just a few miles from here," he said softly. "It happened
because I had to shield the castle and the people in it."
Peverell's eyes searched his face.
"The soul wards," Sal wasn't sure if it was a question or a comment, but
he answered anyway.
"They were created when my fathers and I died, trying to protect the
castle," Sal said softly.
The answer was a sharp intake of breath and a warm hand touched the
ugly scar on his chest questioningly.
"I was pierced by a sword from behind," Sal supplied while he watched
the empty sky. "It went right through my heart. Every other man would
have died – and for a moment or two I indeed did die. I just couldn't stay
dead."
"Immortality," Peverell said slowly. "Immortality like the one the
Gathering was talking about."
Sal chuckled weakly.
"It wasn't intended. I was… born… that way."
Peverell said nothing for a moment then he sighed again.
"So the soul wards," he said probingly.
"They started to exist because my family and I died that day," Sal said. "If
I would do like the others want me to, I would have to destroy them. I
would have to destroy the last legacy of my whole family for the hunger
for power of a few arrogant lords."
The answer was a sharp intake of breath and Sal finally found the
strength to look at Peverell again. Understanding and horror filled the
eyes of the other man. His warm hand on Sal's chest moved until it was
able to squeeze Sal's shoulder.
"I'll talk to them," Peverell said, clearly meaning the other founders.
"Even they can't stay angry at you if they know that you would have to
destroy the wards to abide their wishes."
Sal just snorted.
"I told them that truth weeks ago, Peverell," he said bitterly. "They don't
care."
Peverell just pressed his lips together.
"They care," he objected softly. "They just don't truly understand what
those wards mean. I'll tell them that your family sacrificed their lives for
them. If they still don't listen I'll tell them that you died to shield this
castle from everything and that I can't ignore such a sacrifice for
something fickle like the desire of men."
With that he stood up and walked away, back to the castle.
"And if they won't listen?" Sal called after him.
"Then I tell the Gathering of the Lords 'no' myself," Peverell said without
turning. "Some things are too precious to destroy just to fulfil
unreasonable wishes."
They listened and slowly everything returned back to normal. The years
passed and the trial run with the girls was seen as a success, so Sal put
forth his next wish after he was sure that there would be no protest from
anyone.
He wanted them to write down in their law that Haugh's Wards would be
separated from any legal institution that was or was yet to come. The
laws of Haugh's Wards were to be unchangeable.
Some days later he and the other Founders really made the contract with
the Council of Lords to secure the freedom of Haugh's Wards and its
students in every conflict that would come to be. It was a security
measure everyone else thought too much but Sal insisted and 'Lord
Slytherin' as he was called now had long ago gained a reputation of
getting what he wanted – the last nail to this reputation had been the
year before when he had added the girls to Haugh's Wards.
"And you say you don't have ambition" Peverell said after the contract
was sealed. "Arguing with the Council until Haugh's Wards is practically
an own country and then securing it until not even a rat could come in
unnoticed!"
"Well – I have to keep them all out." Sal answered. "No Lord, no
Mundane, no Pureblood, no sorcerer or sorceress who does not go to
school here should be able to enter without being noticed."
"As if we would ever allow any purebloods to enter Haugh's Wards,"
Godric said snorting.
Sal grinded his teeth.
"Why shouldn't we?" he asked his friend softly instead.
He knew Godric! Godric was a kind man, a little bit gullible and sometimes
too ready to accept a story as truth, but still a kind man…
"Because of the stories! Haven't you heard what kind of horrible monsters
they are?"
Those words were like a punch in Sal's gut.
Monsters.
His gentle, good hearted Atr.
His every freezing but loving Grandma.
His soft spoken Grandpa.
His wonderful son.
Monsters.
"How do you know that they are monsters?" he asked his voice still
gentle.
Over the last years the aversion towards purebloods had strengthened,
especially since there were year after year reports of cruel murders by a
pureblood on the continent. Sal had tried to keep an eye on it but even
with his reprimands a lot of children had started to speak about
purebloods as if they were monsters – if they didn't call them monsters
outright.
"Because the stories said so, Salazar," Godric replied. "And I won't
endanger the children by allowing purebloods at Haugh's Wards. There
will never be purebloods there ever!"
"You have no say in that, Godric," Sal returned coolly and swept away.
He knew he should have confronted his friend. He knew he should have
talked to the man but instead he was unable to even look at the man in
question. It wasn't even the first time he had heard Godric saying
something like that and until now he had reprimanded his friend sharply.
But today had been different.
Monsters.
He didn't know why and when Godric also had started to adopt the
current stance against Firbolgs or purebloods like they were called now.
He just knew that his friend had. Sal often wondered if it was simply a
problem of Godric not truly knowing about Firbolgs.
Maybe if he knew…
Sal shook his head and instead opted to do what he always did in the last
months when he was agitated by the bigotry around him and unable to
fight against it any longer: he vanished in the seventh floor where he and
Peverell were experimenting with magic.
They had started their experiments after that day on the lake and had
since then hidden a room away so that no one other would stumble over
their experiments. Well, at least it had been a room at the beginning; Sal
wasn't quite sure what to call the construct now, after it had been
thoroughly imbedded with rune chains and circles as well as some blood
magic and experimental potions.
And it definitely hadn't just been Sal who had done the work. Peverell
was the leader behind the project, Sal just the one who visualise what
Peverell dreamt up.
A little bit more, so Peverell, and then they would activate it. Sal just
hoped they wouldn't blow up the castle while doing so…
Unbeknown to them sometime in the future the Room would become a
legend. The Come and Go Room, they would call it. The Room of
Requirement.
Until then it just would be one thing to Sal: a room where he could vent
his frustration with Godric and his suddenly bigoted apprentices.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was three weeks later and Salvazsahar was teaching potions – the
potion teacher Godric had hired was nothing but sloppy and unhelpful. If
Sal would have had any say the man would have left Haugh's Wards
years ago but the others insisted that he was a splendid teacher and
objected every time Sal brought it up – when it happened.
The wards Sal knew so well, started to hum with life. A refugee had
found their way to Haugh's Wards.
Sal stood up from where he sat and then looked over his class to see how
far along they were with their potion. The most of them were done.
Good.
"Five more minutes," he said. And then waited until even the last student
had left the classroom before he closed it down and headed to the small
hut he had built outside for those who came as refugees.
The sight he met was nothing he had expected. It was a herd of centaurs,
not just men and women but children as well, standing warily in front of
the hut, waiting. It was one of the newer protections of the castle that led
the refugees to the hut and gave them the impression to wait there until
they were welcomed.
And as always it had to be Sal who welcomed them, after all he was the
lord of the land, even if his ancestral home had turned in an academia
over time.
Sal stopped within a slight distance and then bowed.
"I bid you a good day, strangers," he greeted them softly. "I am
Salvazsahar Emrys, the lord of the land. Welcome to my home."
The centaurs definitely didn't seem to know what to make of him. Finally
one grim and old looking centaur stepped forward, his keen eyes never
leaving Sal's lithe form.
"I am Morowen, Salvazsahar Emrys," he said. "Tell me, lord of the land,
will you also chase us away from this land?"
Sal frowned.
"Chase you away?" he asked uncomprehending. "My home is a sanctuary
for everyone who needs it – so tell me, why should I send you away?"
The centaurs traded nervous glances but Morowen just looked at him
coolly.
"Because that is what sorcerers do these days to my kind," he said
sneering. "They chase us from our homes and wherever we go, there is no
way to escape them."
Godric won't be happy.
"If that is what they are doing, you are welcome to live on my lands," Sal
said. He knew that Rowena, Peverell and Helga wouldn't object and he
definitely had no interest in even asking Godric. "Just be aware that we
have a lot of children here, so please don't be hostile towards them even
if they might act hostile towards you at first."
Morowen stared at him.
"You know we count to the purebloods, don't you?" he finally asked Sal,
disbelieve colouring his voice. It seemed as if his herd had met too many
hostile sorcerers to not be wary around him.
Sal just shrugged.
"I am a pureblood myself," he said. "Well, mixed-born pureblood, but
pureblood nonetheless."
The leader of the herd – Sal was sure that Morowen was exactly that –
bowed his head after hearing that and then turned to look at the rest of
his herd. Whatever silent communication took place, Sal did not know,
but when Morowen turned back to him he could see the decision in the
centaur's eyes.
"We would like to stay if we can," he said. "Would it be alright if we took
the woods to live in?"
Sal's gaze turned to the woods at his right.
"We might have to enter for potion ingredients and hunting," he warned.
The centaur just nodded.
"We are used to share the woods with sorcerers. If you allow us to stay
we even might help you with your hunts now and then."
For a moment Sal pondered those words but then he inclined his head.
"So mot it be," he said. "And be assure that I will talk to the children we
teach so that they won't enter the woods without one of us adults nearby.
We won't disturb you unnecessarily."
This time the centaur inclined his head, relieve clearly written in his face.
"I thank you again, lord of the land. My kinsmen and I are in your dept."
Sal didn't protest these words, it would have been an insult to the centaur
if he had – at least it was in all the customs he knew and he guessed that
it was the same with the centaurs' custom as well.
So instead of objecting he went with them until they reached the woods
and then turned and headed back to the castle.
Godric was waiting for him in the entrance hall. It was obvious that he
had overheard Sal's talk with the centaurs.
"What is the meaning of that?" Godric growled, not even trying to be
quiet.
"They needed a place to stay, so they stayed," Sal answered coolly. He
knew from the look on Godric's face that he would have to fight tooth
and nails to bring Godric to even listen to him – but Sal knew that he
couldn't back down. Somewhere he had to draw the line and frankly, he
was exhausted after being belittered none stop since at least two years.
"They needed a place to stay? They needed a place to stay! That's your
excuse?! Have you even thought about the children we are protecting in
these walls?" Godric hissed.
"Of course I have. They are no threat to the children," Sal answered
sighing.
"That's what you think, Salazar! But look at them! They are unnatural –
you can see it by just looking at them! They are purebloods – they
definitely have no right to be at Haugh's Wards!"
"Haugh's Wards is a sanctuary, Godric. For. Everyone." Sal hissed back,
Parseltongue creeping into his voice. "They have every right to be there if
they need protection!"
"Oh – and the next thing you say is that we should take in their children
as apprentices!" Godric mocked icily. "I can see it right now: beast
trotting all over the stairs of Haugh's Wards!"
"They are no beasts!" Sal replied harshly. "What's happening to you,
Godric?! You weren't like that when I first met you!"
"Maybe I grew up!"
"Yes, in a bigot!"
"I am not a bigot!"
"You definitely are now, Godric! We are talking about children and you
call them 'beasts'!"
"So I should use monsters instead?" Godric hissed furiously.
"They. Are. Children, Godric! Children!"
"They have hooves!"
"Because they are centaur children!" Sal countered. "If they were
vampires they definitely wouldn't have hooves – and I would have
welcomed them nonetheless!"
"Vampires?! You're telling me that if a vampire would come and ask for
his brood to attend Haugh's Wards you simply would say 'yes'?!"
"Yes!"
"Then tell me what in Morgana's name are you thinking, Salazar?!
Purebloods in Haugh's Wards?!" Godric cried. "I will not have any
pureblood child at Haugh's Wards!"
"They are children, Godric!" Sal countered heatedly again. "Children like
every other mixed blood! The only difference is their parentage! I will
not exclude them just because they have two pure-blooded parents and
not just one!"
"We will not have any children with a pureblood parent in my school!"
Godric yelled. "I do not need a child who bites others or does who-knows-
what with them! Purebloods are dangerous! They aren't human! You can't
teach them to be humans! They are monsters!"
"Monsterssss?!" Sal repeated hissing. He knew they strayed from the
original discussion but maybe it was long overdue to be frank with
Godric. "Monsterssss?! How dare you!"
"How dare you!" Godric yelled. "Do you have any idea what Peverell and I
would lose if it came out that we took in pure-blooded children? We
would be socially ruined!"
"Fine! Then throw them all out! If you do not want the pure-blooded
children here then I don't want the mixed blooded in Haugh's Wards!
Their blood is dirty after all!" Not that he really meant that statement,
but he couldn't stop himself. The resentment had festered over the last
few years and he couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to.
"You!" Godric shouted and drew his sword. "How dare you to insult our
apprentices!"
"I. Do. Not. Care!" Sal hissed. "They insult me all the time! Why should I
care if I insult them this time! They are exactly like you! I bore your
insulting words long enough! I do not care anymore! I give up in trying to
change your ways! So just shut up!"
"What are you talking about?!" Godric yelled. "I definitely don't insult
you! Why should I?!"
"You don't insult me?! You don't insult me?!" Sal hissed. "You call me a
monster all the time – and you tell me you don't insult me?! You call my
son a monster! My father! My grandparents! And now you tell me you
don't insult me?! Try again – this monster is not human enough to
understand the words of a lowly biased wanna-be mixed blood!"
"Biased wanna-be mixed blood?!" Godric repeated. "Are you insulting me
now?!"
"And if I am – who cares?!" Sal countered. "I definitely don't mind telling
you the truth to your face if I have to!"
"The truth?! The truth?! What truth?!"
"The truth you don't want to see!" Sal hissed. "Just take a look at our
apprentices! They might be good – but they would be better if they could
learn from pureblood children some different ways to use their…"
"I. Will. Not. Have. A. Pureblood. In. My. House!" Godric yelled.
"Fine! Then they will be in mine! I don't care! If I have to then I will
reject the mixed blooded ones and just take purebloods!"
"You sound as if you think your apprentices weren't worth your time just
because they are mixed blood!"
"I just said that they could benefit from a pureblood along the way!" Sal
countered. "Purebloods know things that a mixed blood never…"
Godric's sword pressed against Sal's throat. A single red tear rolled down
to Sal's collarbone.
"I never thought you would be such a biased little piece of…!"
"Godric!"
Godric stopped midsentence and looked up. At the top of the stairs stood
Helga, looking at them with huge, frightened eyes.
"Helga! Godric… what's going on?!" Peverell stopped behind his wife,
staring at the scene in front of him. "Godric… why do you have your
sword at Salazar's throat?"
"Because I have put up long enough with his biased ways of thinking!"
Godric said enraged.
"My biased ways of thinking?! My?!" Sal hissed. "Until now I never
mentioned any kind of bias! How dare you to accuse me if you are the
one who looks at a child and sees a monster?! When you are the one who
looks at my son and sees a monster?!"
"Your son? Your son?! I never met your son!"
The blade edged deeper in Sal's throat but he didn't move an inch. He did
not even show them the pain he felt – physically and emotionally.
"No," he said in a low voice. "You never met him. But you call him a
monster anyway!"
"Why should I call your son a monster?" this time Godric definitely
looked confused, his rage dimmed by the new emotion.
"I don't know! I never thought you to be the biased kind either! So, tell
me, Godric… why do suddenly you call me a monster?!"
Peverell and Helga gasped.
"You did…?! Godric, why?!" Helga said, staring at her confused looking
brother.
"Hu? But… I didn't! Why should I call you a monster?!" he said, lowering
his sword a little so that it was resting on Sal's shoulder.
Sal just stared at the man in front of him, still feeling furious and
absolutely hurt.
"I don't know. All I know is that you did! You called me a monster to my
face. You called my father, my grandparents and my son a monster to my
face! And you ask me why I would be furious with you?!"
"I would never…! This whole discussion was about purebloods and pure-
blooded children in Haugh's Wards! That discussion wasn't about you or
your family!"
"Well, news-flash, Godric! I am a pureblood! My father was a pureblood!
My grandparents were! My son is! I might be a mixed born pureblood but
a pureblood nonetheless! I never thought you would think of me as a
creature unable to behave human!" and with that Sal turned and stormed
out of the castle. He needed space. He definitely needed space and a time
away from Godric.
He had endured enough for today.
"I cannot believe you told him he is not human enough to be considered
such!" Helga said, staring at her brother with accusing eyes. "Pray that he
will forgive you – because if he doesn't I will throw you out of Haugh's
Wards without a second thought!" She turned and left from where she
came from.
"But…" Godric said. "But… I thought… I never thought that a pureblood
could be so normal… I mean the stories… I… I…"
"You are a fool, Godric," Peverell said sighing. "How can you be imbecilic
enough to believe in fairy tales…?"
"But… but…" Godric stared at Peverell helplessly.
"Don't you dare to try and find comfort in me or Rowena! After all – I am
a pureblood as well. And from the sound of it I am nothing more than a
wild beast in your eyes…!"
And with that he left, leaving Godric standing in the entrance hall,
looking lost, helpless and weighted down by his own guilt.
That was the day Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today. Sorry it took so long.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
35. Chapter 34: A Riddle
Recovered
Sorry for the wait. I had exams and was on holidays afterward. And
sorry if it's the wrong Harry for you. I know a lot of you had some
critique with the end of the last chapter. All I will say to your questions
for now is that I wrote "Salazar Slytherin" and not "Salvazsahar Emrys"
for a reason.
Ebenbild
xXx
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
This chapter is at the moment un-beta-ed.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
A Riddle Recovered
sss
When Harry finally returned to the common room it was long dark
outside and curfew had been so long ago that even the most daring
students had found themselves in the safety of the tower long before
Harry had even gone near it.
Harry was fuming. In the Headmaster's office he might have given up on
arguing with the man but as soon as he had entered the Room of
Requirement and with that had left Dumbledore's territory, Harry's fury
had returned tenfold. It wasn't the prospect of having to learn
Occlumency again that left him burning with rage but the knowledge that
someone had tattled on the Headmaster.
And someone had. It wasn't a guess, Harry knew.
If someone hadn't the Headmaster might have been suspicious – would
have been suspicious – but he wouldn't have had enough evidence to be
sure about that.
And now Harry had Occlumency lessons with Snape of all people!
As if Harry hadn't enough on his plate already!
So Harry had gone to the Room of Requirement and had worked out until
he was soaked in sweat and tired enough to drop dead – just to return to
the common room and seeing Hermione and Ron waiting for him on one
of the sofas.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw him enter. "Where have you
been?"
Harry's first, instinctive reaction was to sneer at her and tell her she had
no right to know. But then he stopped. Of course, Hermione had no right
to know. She might be a friend but not his mother, on the other hand she
was his friend and as a friend she at least had the right to ask.
"Running," Harry answered after contemplating his answer. "I needed to
clear my head."
Hermione blinked at his answer, surprise visible in her eyes but it was
Ron who told them the obvious. "Harry," he said. "You never ran before
when you needed to clear your head."
Harry just sighed and decided that he wouldn't go anywhere until his
friends were satisfied with his answer so he plunked down on the sofa
next to theirs.
"I didn't have my broom with me and I needed to get out," he said tiredly.
"Harry," this time Hermione's voice sounded hesitant. "What happened?"
She stopped for a moment, then continued with a stronger, surer
sounding voice. "I know you had detention with Umbridge tonight but
what happened afterwards? I mean – she didn't keep you until now, did
she?"
Harry was just in time to repress his sneer.
"No," he said, his own voice icy. "The Headmaster called afterwards for a
little… chat." His eyes first fixed on Hermione, then on Ron. Hermione
and Ron shared a glance and suddenly Harry knew. The fury he had
worked of just minutes ago, returned in all its glory. It had been those
two in front of him who went to the Headmaster!
"Do you want to tell me something, maybe?" he asked coolly.
"I don't know what-"
"Don't play innocent with me," Harry hissed and the fury he had felt
before returned to the open for a moment before he was able to suppress
it again. "Someone," he looked from Hermione to Ron and back while he
held his temper in check. "Went to Dumbledore and told him that…
maybe that I was acting strange or that I changed my behavior with
Malfoy or Snape or that I was doing better in a class I hated, who knows!
Whatever Dumbledore was told, it gave him the idea that I needed Snape
to teach me Occlumency! Now tell me, was it you two who tattled on
me?"
The ice of his fury was bleeding in his voice at the end of his tale.
Ron gawked at him.
Hermione looked guilty.
"Harry," she finally said hesitatingly.
"No!" he interrupted her coolly. "No, Hermione! I don't care what you
told him, I just care that you did!"
"But, Harry! You are acting strange! You-"
"Then why didn't you come to me?" Harry asked her when the fury he felt
left him. Of course, those two in front of him were still children, and
children made mistakes, but that didn't excuse their actions. "Why did
you run to Dumbledore instead of asking me?"
"Because you wouldn't have told us!" Ron interrupted him. Ron's face was
turning red and he was clearly losing his temper. "You never tell us the
important things! You just clam up and say nothing! Like last year in the
Tournament! Like in second year the Parseltongue! Like-"
"I. Do. Not. Clam. Up!" Harry hissed, the slight hisses of the snake
language started to caress his words, adding the musical sound of his
native tongue to the spoken English. "I was Muggle-raised, Ron! I did not
know about Parseltongue being special! And I definitely did not clam up
at the Tournament! You, Ron, were the one who refused to speak to me
because you thought I had entered myself in this stupid Tournament!
Neither of you ever asked me directly about anything! You just want me
to come to you and tell you everything and if I don't you run to the next
teacher you can find!"
"That's not true!" Hermione said with huge eyes. "You always refuse to
listen! Like the time Sirius send you the Firebolt!"
"And did you ever try to explain to me why you thought the Firebolt was
dangerous, Hermione?" Harry asked her softly. "Did you ever share your
reason with me before you ran to Professor McGonagall?"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort but instead made the imitation of a
gold fish.
"Well, Hermione?" Harry had leaned forward and looked at her with old,
cool and tired eyes.
She blinked and then blurted out. "But the Firebolt could have been
dangerous!"
"Yes," Harry said. "But you could have told me your reasons before you
went and ran to a teacher. You could have talked to me – just like you
could have talked to me before you ran to Dumbledore this time around!"
"But… but you were acting strange! With Malfoy! With Snape! And you
didn't talk to us like you usually did!" Ron said furiously.
"That might be right," Harry said. "But you simply could have told me
that you were worried about me and ask me what is wrong!"
"I asked you what is bothering you and you told me you were fine!"
Hermione retorted.
"Yes, you asked me what is bothering me! Have you ever thought that that
was the wrong question to ask? Have you ever thought that you should
have simply asked me why I was different than you knew me? I cannot
read your mind! How by wind and fire should I know what you are
worried about?"
Hermione's mouth snapped shut.
She stared at him with huge, unbelieving eyes.
"But… but…" Ron stuttered.
"No, Ron!" Harry said coolly. "Just once, Ron, think about how you would
feel if you had a nightmare one night and instead of leaving it be I'd run
to your mum and wake her up just to tell on you. Tell me, would you like
that?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, congratulation! You just did the same to me! You might not have
run to my mum but to a teacher, but the principle in the end is the same.
You. Tattled. On. Me! So excuse me if I won't talk to you for the next
days! I need to calm down."
And with that Harry stood and left the room, leaving two guilt ridden
teenagers behind.
Of course, Harry knew that the other two were still teens and because of
that made more mistakes than they would have made otherwise. But that
was no excuse. Harry wouldn't go easy on them because they still hadn't
learned that the world was a cruel place. Some things you had to learn
when you were young – and one of those was that you shouldn't go
behind another ones back, especially if this person was your friend. It
was alright to worry, but the first approach had always to be the person
you worried about and not an authority figure.
Maybe they would learn in time.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was Saturday morning and Augusta Longbottom was sitting in the
Leaky Cauldron, waiting for the one man she had always admired.
"Good morning, Augusta," Augusta Longbottom turned fluently – in
absolute contrast to her age – and had drawn her wand faster than most
people were able to react.
Regrettably the other party wasn't 'most people' and so she had lost her
wand as soon as she drew it.
She stared at the man with in surprise, but still ready to defend herself,
even without her wand. The man instead just smiled at her and rounded
the table to sit down in the chair on the opposite of her table. Her wand
was set down on the table and rolled back to her.
"Who…?" she started to say, but then she stopped mid-sentence. She
knew who. Those deathly green eyes were one of a kind.
"Professor," she greeted, still baffled how the young boy in front of her
could be the same man who had taught her Ancient Runes when she was
still a student at Hogwarts. But he had known her and had answered her
letter with knowledge that no one but the professor ever had. Knowledge
that he wouldn't have shared, not even with his own sons or grandsons.
"Augusta Selwyn," the young man answered smiling, recognition in his
eyes. "Longbottom it was now?"
She nodded, still flabbergasted.
"How… how do you look so young?" she finally asked him with huge
eyes. The answer was a well-known, kind smile, a smile she still
remembered even after more than a hundred years.
The professor hesitated for a short moment before he sighed.
"The answer is not as simple as I'd like it to be," he said. "Let's just say it's
a family secret."
Augusta blinked.
"A family secret," she repeated and the man in front of her smiled.
"Let's look for a more secure place and I might tell you a bit more," was
the reply.
So Augusta Longbottom did what a Gryffindor would do. She stood up,
took her wand and followed the man.
They left the Leaky Cauldron and when the man held out her arm for her,
she slipped her hand in his. In the next moment she could feel the typical
pressure of being apparated and when she could see again, they stood in
a window-less, dark room. On the wall was a crest: a silver snake,
wrapped around a white lily on a light-green grounding.
She turned to the professor and raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at
the crest on the wall. The answer was a laugh.
"The family's crest," he said. "I am afraid I won't be able to tell you what
family it stands for."
"You can't tell me…?"
"It's the crest of a Grand family," he replied. "I will return to the
Wizengamot."
The answer was a shudder.
"You want to return to politics?"
The smile was anything but reassuring Augusta contemplated when the
man in front of her looked at her.
"Maybe," he said and she knew he meant 'yes'.
And for Augusta there was just one road to take now.
"What do I have to do to be part of your scheme, whatever you're
scheming, Professor Malfoire?"
The professor looked at her.
"Why do you ask, Augusta?" he said.
She smiled and shrugged.
"I remember your reputation when I was a child," she said. "You were
ruthless. You were feared and admired. I always wanted to be like you.
Do you truly think I would give up an opportunity to work with my
childhood idol?"
The answer was a surprised laugh.
"Don't laugh at me, Professor," Augusta said. "I meant it."
"I know you did," the boy said smiling. "I just wasn't expecting it."
"I wasn't the only one who admired you," Augusta defended herself.
"Charlus Potter was at least as taken with you as I was. You were his
absolute hero, the one man who couldn't do anything wrong. Believe me
if Albus Dumbledore and you would have been born at the same time,
Albus would have never become as great as he did. He would have never
gained the influence he has now if you still had been there when his star
started to raise."
The professor just smiled.
"I'm no hero, Augusta," he said still smiling. "I would have never fought
against Grindelwald like he did."
Augusta just snorted.
"Then tell me that you didn't all you could to fight him at the time he was
a danger."
The professor opened his mouth, but Augusta didn't even let him reply
before she tattled on.
"I don't know where you were. I don't know what you did, but I know
that you did everything you could to shield the innocent."
"That doesn't count," he said, Augusta just snorted.
"Just keep telling you that."
Silence.
Then she sighed and shook her head.
"Will you explain to me how you can look like a child even if you are
older than I?"
The professor shrugged.
"I'm a Firbolg-born," he said. "The son of an Olde one. I don't age like…
normal wizards do."
"A Firbolg-born?" the word was foreign to Augusta.
"The grandson of a basilisk," he said and looked at her with deathly green
eyes. "I'm not human."
Augusta blinked in surprise – well, a part of her was surprised; another
part of her had long since understood that he couldn't be a normal wizard
like everyone else. He just had always been too different for that.
"And yet you belong to a Grand Family."
The professor shrugged.
"I was its founder," he said and smiled at her. She gawked at him and
then decided she wouldn't be surprised by anything he told her
anymore…
"What are you planning?"
The professor crooked his head.
"Interested in destroying the world like you know it now?" he asked her.
"Interested in destroying the powerbase of the greatest and the most
feared wizard in our time? Interested in rearranging our world to
something no one would ever have dreamed of?"
"You aren't planning those things. That isn't like you, Professor," Augusta
replied. The answer was a smirk that would have had her running if it
would have truly been aimed at her.
"I never said I wanted to do exactly that," the professor said.
"So what are you doing?"
The answer was a shrug.
"Someone messed with me," he replied and Augusta shuddered. "Will you
be my ally?"
Revenge.
He was out for revenge.
There was just one thing Augusta could do to answer that question.
"What do you need?" she said.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Alastor Moody was in a bad mood.
His target was gone. Gone. As in not there. As in vanished from
Hogwarts.
If he could just prove that that was actually the case. If he could prove
that the lad had left Hogwarts on his own and had apparated somewhere,
Moody would have had all the evidence he needed. To his utter regret he
had come too late to Hogwarts to see his… victim leave.
So instead of following his target he was kicking stones through the
grass, swearing.
If he just could prove that the lad really had left Hogwarts and wasn't
hiding somewhere Moody didn't know!
Again he kicked a little stone and the stone vanished into the woods of
the Forbidden Forest.
"Stupid insomniac child," Moody grumbled. "Imbecilic hiding Slytherin in
Gryffindor robes!"
A little black cat looked up at that and scrutinized the swearing Auror
with its cold, grey eyes. It had been sun-bathing in the last warmth of
autumn until a little stone had hit its back and woken it.
"Damn brat!" and with that the Auror turned and decided to use his time
to do other things he wanted to do.
The cat stood up and followed him until he left the grounds and
apparated. Then the cat turned and returned with a huff to Hogwarts.
Stupid paranoid Ex-Aurors!
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It was late evening on the same Saturday when Arthur Weasley and his
two eldest sons arrived in the same room Augusta Longbottom had been
apparated at in the early morning.
Arthur looked nervously around the room. It was empty – at least it was
until a hidden door opened and another man entered.
In the next moment Arthur corrected himself.
Not a man. A boy.
A boy, not much older than his youngest son.
"Welcome, my kin," the boy greeted them.
Arthur blinked surprised; then he decided to be better safe than sorry and
bowed to the boy. His sons followed his lead.
"Head of House," he greeted in return.
The answer was a soft smile.
"I don't insist on formality in informal settings," he said. "You may call me
Salvazsahar – or Sal if you have trouble with my name."
"Salvazsahar will be fine, my Lord," Arthur answered and relaxed. He had
never been good with the customs of purebloods – one of the reasons his
family had been labeled as blood-traitors. "Please feel free to call me
Arthur." Then he pointed at his sons. "These are my heir, William, called
Bill and my second born Charles, called Charlie."
The other one nodded in acceptance and then gestured to a few seats in
the corner.
"Let's sit down before we will start our discussion."
Arthur, Bill and Charlie followed.
It was Bill who spoke as soon as they had sat down.
"Tell me, my Lord, what do you want with us?"
Arthur looked a little bit unhappy at his son. The question might have
been true, but there were definitely better ways to phrase it.
But instead of feeling insulted, the boy in front of them laughed.
"I didn't choose to send you the message because I want to use you for
anything, Heir Weasley," he said. "I choose you because you are family
and you have the right to choose if you want associate with those you
belong to in blood."
"You have to be very ambitious if you want to recreate a Grand Family.
People like that normally choose exactly what kind of people they want
to have in their family and what kind they don't want. And normally they
look for powerful allies or people they can use for their own benefit," Bill
answered coolly. "So forgive me if I don't believe you."
The answer was again a laugh.
"I'll send my invitation to the family to every direct descendant. I
wouldn't have considered the Weasley's as they are first cousins if it
hadn't been for Molly Weasley, nee Prewett. As she is the last of the
Prewetts I decided to invite the Weasleys even if they are not as closely
related as the rest I am inviting," the boy answered. "Of course the
consequences are that I have also to invite another family, so that they
can't protest the invite."
"Excuse me?" Charlie asked surprised. "What has inviting our family to do
with inviting the other family?"
Salvazsahar shrugged.
"They are cousins to the Weasleys and the Grand Family," he answered
casually. "At the same time they are closely related to me. So you could
say that they are as closely related as the Weasleys, so when I am inviting
you, I will have to invite them. I don't mind. I don't like the current
British Head of the Branch Family I am talking about but they could be
useful for me."
"So you selected us because of our use. What use would you get from us?"
Bill said coolly. Arthur wanted to slap his boy for his rude tone.
Salvazsahar just shrugged.
"It is in my nature to consider the use of those people I associate with," he
said unimpressed. "To be straight forward: the value I see in your family
would be a curse-breaker, a dragon-tamer, a ministry worker three more
potentially promising children, two genius pranksters and a trained
researcher. That is the value you bring and that is the value I seek.
Nothing more, nothing less."
The three Weasleys gawked at him.
"And if we join the family, what would you have us do?" Arthur finally
asked, giving up on customs. His sons had broken them way before and
their potential Head of House didn't seem to mind.
The boy shrugged.
"Whatever you do now," he said. "Of course there are things I would
forbid you to do or things I would encourage you to learn but mostly I'm
interested in keeping your family exactly like it is now."
Charlie's eyes narrowed.
"So what are the rules you expect us to follow?" he asked.
Salvazsahar shrugged again.
"Unity of the Grand Family in public. You can hate each other all you like
when you're in private, as long as you are in public you stand behind
family."
A reasonable demand, Arthur thought.
"I also would expect you all submit to a health test. You will be tested for
potions or spells."
Nothing to object there, even if it would be embarrassing.
"Another rule would be that all of you learn to Occlude your mind. It will
help against possession, compulsion charms or Imperius. This is not
negotiable on my side."
This time it was Bill who nodded in understanding. The goblins also
insisted on the same safety measurements. They definitely were a good
way to keep the whole family safe.
"And lastly, the family comes first. I don't care what you believe. I don't
care if you're light or dark. But I care if you decide to follow another man
like little ducklings, unable to think for yourselves. If you join my family,
your loyalty will be with your family. You might admire someone else –
someone like Albus Dumbledore or Fudge or whoever – but you won't
follow them blindly. The family comes first. Work with them, admire
them for all I care, but you will always think what your actions will do to
the family name."
Arthur nodded thoughtfully. It would be different than before. Until now
he had always looked up at Dumbledore but if he truly considered
following this Grand Family then he would have to look at the man with
critical eyes.
"What about You-Know-Who?" Charlie asked. "Would you be as lenient if
we decided to join him?"
This time the Head of the House hesitated before he sighed.
"I am not light," he said softly. "The Grand Family won't be light. And if it
had been any other Dark Lord – Grindelwald, Morrigan, whoever – I
wouldn't care if you admire him, at least not to a certain extent. I
wouldn't like it if you'd follow him and if you'd kill people because of
him, but I wouldn't mind it because you're dark but because you are
doing the wrong thing. Life is precious. As long as you don't endanger life
I don't care at all. Except Tom Riddle. I'd care if you follow him. If you do
and are unwilling to give up your alliance with him, I would never accept
you in my family. Joining him might have been a mistake you made, but
if you don't want to correct it, I won't have you in my family, remember
that."
Charlie blinked astonished.
"Wait! You're saying we could be followers of Grindelwald as far as you
care, and you wouldn't mind as long as we don't kill for him – but we
can't follow Voldemort even if we don't kill for him? Why?"
The answer was a snarl.
"Simple," the boy-Head of House said. "Because he is Tom Marvolo
Riddle. He is a lying bastard, using everyone for his own benefit and
doesn't allow people to stand aside. You're either for him or against him –
not speaking of his deeds against this family."
"Deeds against this family?" Bill asked astonished. "What deeds are you
talking about?"
The answer was another snarl.
"Like I see it, he is at fault for the murder of some of our family members.
Even if you don't accept your part in this family, I will still count the
Prewett family to my family – and I don't accept allies who killed family
members."
This time Arthur felt his tears threatening to fall. He knew that Molly was
still hurt after losing her brothers and that the Prewett part was accepted
by this unknown Grand Family and not only accepted but also one of the
reasons to refuse Voldemort – that was more and better than they had
expected.
"But you will still accept dark wizards as family members if they follow
these rules?" Charlie asked in that moment.
Death green eyes looked at them gravely.
"I'm going to," he answered.
"You're going to?" Bill asked softly. "As in, there are families you asked
that are dark?"
"…Yes."
Arthur, Bill and Charlie looked at each other.
"May we ask who?" Bill finally said.
The boy sighed.
"This Grand-Family vanished when the three heirs of the family changed
their names to escape prosecution," he finally said. "One family kept the
new name they had chosen for themselves, the others married in two
families who had women as their heirs."
"So we're talking about the reunion of three families?" Arthur asked
softly.
"Five," Salvazsahar corrected. "The main family later split again when
two other sons married the female heirs of lesser families."
"So, what families are we talking about?"
The answer was a grim smile.
"We're talking about a dark, two neutral and two light families, one of the
light ones are the Prewetts, the other one the Longbottoms. And of course
there is the little problem with the kin-family I will have to contact
because I contacted you. This family will also be dark."
Bill frowned.
"You won't be able to get them all to join you. Normally light and dark do
not mix and the neutrals are neutral for a reason…"
Salvazsahar just shrugged.
"So you won't join because of the possibility that dark or neutral families
will be part of the family?" he asked them.
Arthur's mind was reeling. This was THE question. The one question he
had been waiting for since the beginning of their meeting.
Arthur knew that he wouldn't get more answers today. Salvazsahar had
said what he wanted and what he could. Now Arthur had to accept or
decline the offer.
Like the Longbottoms had, Arthur had no illusion that the naming of said
family meant that they said yes. You couldn't name a family who hadn't
declared its standing to that point of time.
So there was just one thing Arthur knew: two dark and two neutral
families might still join the family. Two dark. Would he be able to accept
a dark family as relations?
But then, Arthur and his family could finally be part of a family, could be
shielded against those who looked down on them – but there was the
chance that they had to work together with the likes of Malfoy, Crabbe,
Goyle and McNair. But then, whoever would be part of the family
wouldn't be a Death Eater – or at least a Death Eater any longer…
So there was just the little problem that they might have to work
together with former Death Eaters. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't be happy.
It was that thought that stopped his thought process and made him
grimace. Was that what he had become in the last years? A lackey of
Dumbledore, solely worrying about pleasing the old man?
Yes, Albus Dumbledore had the right idea.
Yes, it was a good idea to follow him and fight against the Death Eaters
and Voldemort.
But Dumbledore was not responsible for their family, like Bill had told
him when the letter arrived. It was Arthur's choice. Solely Arthur's – well,
and maybe the choice of his heirs.
Arthur looked at his sons. Both of them looked grim and determined. He
could see in their faces that they had thought about what they had
learned. He looked at them inquiringly.
Bill nodded softly at his father, a second later Charlie did the same.
And Dumbledore?
Was not his keeper.
"No," Arthur said finally. "We don't mind if the families in this Grand
Family are light, neutral or dark."
Again Arthur took a steady breath. And then he leaped over the cliff and
hoped Salvazsahar would catch him before he fell to his death.
Metaphorically, of course…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Hullo, Tom!"
Tom, the innkeeper, of course – not the Dark Lord, said man would have
killed anyone who even dared to utter said name in front of him – looked
up from polishing his glasses.
"Xeno," he greeted the man in front of him.
"I've the next edition of my paper," Xeno said and Tom took out the
money pouch he kept behind his counter and gave it to Xeno. The money
was from the sales of the last paper. Tom sold them and then gave Xeno
his share of the money when the man came with the next edition of his
newspaper.
"There's an article from Twist in it?" Tom asked interested.
Xeno just nodded.
"Yes," he said. "I asked him to be a columnist for my newspaper after all."
"I need more of your papers today," Tom said as an answer. "They were
gone just hours after you brought them the last time around."
Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler, just stared at him in
surprise. Then he nodded slowly.
"Of course," he said. "I always knew that the two-nosed unicorn would
interest a lot of people…"
Tom said nothing to that, wisely.
"So, how many do you want?"
For a moment Tom contemplated his options then he shrugged with his
shoulders and decided to take a risk.
"Triple it," he said. It was a risk, but a small one with Twist.
Xeno just looked at him oddly, but finally nodded and did as he was told.
As soon as Xeno was gone, Tom risked a glance at the article of Twist.
Ouch.
That definitely would sell…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The next week was a tense affair between the Golden Trio. Harry had
made true of his statement and had stopped speaking to Ron and
Hermione. Instead of sitting with them in the Great Hall, he sat with
Neville.
The quiet boy said nothing to that for the first three days, but a day later
at lunch he finally cracked.
"Harry?" he asked hesitatingly. "What happened between you and Ron
and Hermione?"
Harry shrugged.
"They decided to go to Dumbledore instead of talking it over with me,"
Harry answered shrugging. "I won't talk to them until they understand
that what they did is wrong."
Neville blinked at that.
"Oh," he said, stopped, but then pressed on. "Why did they think they had
to go to Dumbledore? I mean, what did you do?"
Harry shrugged again.
"They think I act different than I did last year," he answered sincerely.
This time Neville frowned.
"Well, you do act different," he finally said nervously. "You don't
antagonize Malfoy and Snape anymore, you know potions and you are
friendly with the Slytherins."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"So you will also go to Dumbledore because of that?" he asked the timid
boy coolly.
Neville snorted.
"No," he said. "But I would like to know what happened to change you
that much." Then his eyes widened and he hastily added. "Just if you
want to tell me, that is!"
Harry just smiled.
"I learned about some things I never knew," he answered softly. "Like my
heritage and my status in the wizarding world. I simply cannot continue
to act like I did, now that I learned about it. It wouldn't do me any good –
especially when I enter the Wizengamot."
"So you're planning to enter full time?" Neville asked him interested. "I
thought you might want to keep the proxy you had until now, I mean,
that's what the most of us do who are still at school."
Harry shrugged.
"I don't know who my proxy is at the moment," he said sighing. "I was
never told anything about my seat in the Wizengamot by anyone until
now. If my proxy did not approach me when I returned to the wizarding
world, do you really think he still has the right to call himself my proxy?
He should have met with me years ago and not continue to vote in my
stead without even asking me what I want!"
This Neville definitely could not object.
"So you're taking on your seat full time," he concluded.
Harry shrugged.
"We'll see," he said. "There are still some variables I have to calculate
before I decide."
Neville blinked at that.
"You know you will lose political clout if you don't go to the first
Wizengamot meeting next term," he said, watching his friend closely.
Harry shrugged.
"I know," he answered Neville's inquire. "But the truth is I still don't know
how I should do it. After all officially I still have no idea about my
heritage."
"Then how…?"
The answer was a smirk.
"There's a secret in my family," Harry answered him, still smirking. "A
secret not even Dumbledore knows."
"What has that to do with you knowing…?"
"Simple. The secret has to do with the goblins. And goblins never break
their word."
Neville shuddered when he heard that. Harry of course was right. A
goblin never broke its word – but they were deceiving little things who
would do anything to have the advantage. That Harry's family secret was
with the goblins could mean just one thing: They would have done
anything to share it with Harry if that was what they had been asked to
do. No wonder Harry knew about his responsibilities…
"So the goblins told you," Neville concluded, still shuddering. Harry
shrugged.
"Something like that," he answered the timid boy. After that answer,
Neville decided not to ask any further. He knew better than to pry into
the secrets of another family, after all.
"So what are you planning to do today?" he decided to ask instead.
Harry smiled.
That was the moment the morning post arrived and with it the next
edition of The Quibbler.
Hogwarts wouldn't have a peaceful day today.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The Leaky Cauldron was full. The people inside stepped on each other's
toe, all of them talking to their neighbours with hushed voices and huge
eyes.
Tom was standing behind his counter, looking over the crowd, watching.
The people were discussing an article in the newspaper heatedly.
Not an article in the Daily Prophet, no, an article in The Quibbler.
Since Xenophilius Lovegood had come by this morning and had brought
his batch of newspapers, the Leaky Cauldron had been filled with people
discussing Oliver Twist and the article he had written this time.
The most important word in the discussion?
Riddle.
Tom could hear it everywhere.
Riddle, here, riddle there.
Yes, the people were discussing Twist's article.
"Do you think Twist's right and the ministry wants to slander the Boy-
Who-Lived?"
"Definitive. That's the ministry for you. They don't want to hear
something and so they disgrace whoever told them the truth. It's the
same like last time. I bet there was someone telling them about the Death
Eaters and their deeds. And did they do anything? No, they just stick
their head in the ground and hope whatever is their problem will vanish
on its own!"
"And then Riddle…"
On and on the discussion continued. Sometimes people were calling
comments to each other through the whole room. Sometimes they would
whisper in each other's ears.
Tom just snorted when he heard some of the comments.
He finally shook his head and decided to read the article again.
It was the work of a master.
Yes, this article definitively had to be acknowledged by reading it at least
a second time…
xXx
THERE'S A RIDDLE IN THE WORLD – IT'S CALLED HE-WHO-MUST-
NOT-BE-NAMED
Facts and Fiction about You-know-who's (maybe) return to the living
Hogwarts has started again – and with it the typical rumor-mill that graces the
halls of Hogwarts. "Detention, Mr. Potter for spreading lies about You-Know-
Who!" I just wonder what lies he has spread, because according to those who
were present when the detention was given to our famous Boy-Who-Lived, said
boy never stated anything about the return of the darkest Dark Lord since
Grindelwald.
"He was at his Muggle-relation's home," I heard one of the fifth years repeating
after class. "He never mentioned You-Know-Who neither in the past summer,
nor in class."
And yet he was given detention for spreading lies about the return of You-
Know-Who by the new Defence Teacher of Hogwarts, Dolores J. Umbridge,
the Senior Undersecretary of Minister Cornelius Fudge himself. And I asked
myself "why?"
The only thing I can think of is that the ministry wants to break our beloved
hero. Just look at it: they slandered a minor over the whole summer – a minor
who was at that time living at his Muggle-relations and because of that unable
to renounce the ministry's claim. Then there was the trial – a trial that was
nothing more but a shame to our own laws; and now this.
So why? Is it because the ministry fears he is right? Is it because the ministry
knows he is right and refuses to believe him? Or is the eluded Senior
Undersecretary this time working on her own device?
I don't know, and I don't care. What I care about are facts. Hard facts that
will tell you the truth.
So, let's go to the facts. Maybe we'll find out whom to believe and whom to
disregard.
One of the facts I've already mentioned before: why using Peter Pettigrew for
your claim if you have Sirius Black on the run and everyone knows that
Pettigrew is dead?
Others I haven't thought about until I decided to enter into this discussion:
What happened to Cedric Diggory? We know he died – but did he die in the
maze? And if he did, why was he brought back to the entrance by Harry
Potter? Was Potter there when Cedric Diggory died? And if he was: why did
Diggory die and not Potter? Let's face it: Diggory was a seventh year student
and one of the brightest minds of our generation. Potter instead might be
famous, but at that time he had just been a fourteen year old boy who was
more interested in playing Quiddich than learning. So why did Diggory die?
Did he rescue Potter and was killed at that time? But if he was: where is the
mark of his heroism? There was nothing in the maze that would have him
looking as if he was just sleeping. The only thing I know that kills without a
trace is the killing-curse.
And there's the problem. I don't think that there was anything in the maze that
would operate with the killing curse. So where did it come from? Potter? You
won't tell me that a fourteen-year-old will be able to perform the killing-curse.
The reason I don't believe that is simple: in 'Magical Law and Theory' from
Aldwin Hoppenbaecker is stated that "A wizard has to at least mature the
second time to be able to perform dark spells like the Unforgivables flawlessly.
Before that he would be hard pressed to perform a Curcius or an Imperius and
he would be absolutely unable to perform the killing-curse." Normally a wizard
matures between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. Harry Potter was neither at
that time – and because of that unable to perform the killing-curse. So who did
it?
Sirius Black? So why didn't Potter name him?!
Who else is there?
The only one who ever handed out the killing-curse like sweets in the last
decades was You-Know-Who. And if it wasn't You-Know-Who, it definitely
had to be someone just as bad as the infamous Dark Lord. So why doesn't the
Ministry investigate? Isn't it the right of Cedric Diggory's parents to know who
killed their son?
And if it's the deed of someone else, why does the ministry nothing to catch the
killer? Is it their fear that Potter might be right and You-Know-Who's back?
So in the end I decided to at least take a look into this You-Know-Who
business myself. You know, the simple facts: who is he, what has he done, is
there a way for him to come back?
The questions, as simple as they seemed at first brought interesting results.
We are talking about 'You-Know-Who' and mean that one dark wizard who
had half of Britain under his control just a decade earlier – the wizard who
calls himself Lord V*.
Lord V* – it should have been simple to find out anything about a pure-blood
lord like that. After all, we have generology books and books about the lords
of the wizarding world and their power – in all those books the family names
of said lords are always mentioned; easy to find, enjoyable to read.
In the end it came different than I thought. I simply didn't find any reliable
data on him. There was nothing about him. Nothing to know, nothing that
counted as reliable facts. The question I asked myself at that point was
"why?"! I pondered sometime over the answer of that question until I finally
found the answer I was looking for. I couldn't find anything because –it was a
shock to me, but I have to confess that like maybe a lot of people in the
wizarding world – I just truly DO NOT KNOW WHO he is!
Of course I know what he did and how he was seen by the wizarding world –
but that knowledge does not tell me WHO he truly is. It just tells me what he's
capable of.
Well – there is a way to rectify this. So I started at the beginning. Everybody
knows You-Know-Who's name is Lord V*. There are not many lords in this
realm, so I just looked them up in my school history book in the chapter about
wizarding nobility. Can you imagine how surprised I was when I did not find
evidence about any Lord V*?!
There even never was a family V* at all. So the first fact, I have to tell you, is,
that the man who brought war on us until he was stopped by Harry Potter –
was a lying coward. I cannot fathom how any respectable pure-blood can
follow someone who cowardly hides behind a false name – a synonym that
means 'Flight from death' in French. A coward indeed. My mother's a
respectable pure-blood of a French lineage. She said she would die before being
called V* – being afraid of death is nothing a proper pure-blood would ever
be! She told me it is against proper pure-blood behaviour to be afraid of
something as natural and as connected to magic like death. I believe my
mother – but if that's true, wouldn't that make You-Know-Who an uneducated
mudblood? And I mean a 'mudblood' – because that is what the blood-purists
call those who don't follow wizarding traditions.
Sadly that's all guesses and there are no facts to tell me if my mother's right…
So I went back to scratch. There is not much known about You-Know-Who.
He is a Dark Lord, he is cruel, he lies about his name and maybe his lordship
– and he is the heir of Slytherin.
This information has been whispered everywhere. It's just a rumour itself but I
decided to try. I went to the goblin for this piece of information. Normally,
they don't give up sensitive information like that – but there is a simple way:
They are required to hand out the Great Book of Wizarding Genealogy if you
ask them. The book is an edited version and does not show all heirs. There are
heirs in our world that went into hiding by changing their names – they will
not be listed in it. The goblins themselves have another copy where they are
truly listed but I digress…
I looked up the lineage of Slytherin. The lineage vanished in 1651, when a
daughter of the house most likely killed all the heirs and the Lord of Slytherin.
The only reminding, known family member was the son of said daughter, a
Gaunt. The last one who came to Gringotts to be added to the family was a
Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, back in the forties or fifties. He
was a half-blood, Muggle-raised orphan and attended Hogwarts in Slytherin.
He vanished shortly before the rise of You-Know-Who.
So, let's go back to our facts: Lord V* is a liar. He lied about his name, as V*
is no family name. He even maybe lied about his lordship. Then there was
Tom Riddle, the last descendant of Gaunt and maybe Slytherin. The goblins
denied him the title of Lord Slytherin and he never claimed the Gaunt-
lordship. Tom Riddle never had a child – so there is no way that Lord V* is his
son. There is also no other known living descendant of Slytherin. So how come
that the liar Lord V* claims to be a pure-blood Slytherin?!
There are just two possibilities that could lead to the current situation: One,
Lord V* is indeed a cowardice pure-blood who killed Tom Riddle, last of the
Gaunt and maybe Slytherin-family and took his lineage for himself. The
second, Lord V* is Tom Riddle and is lying about being a pure-blood. Either
way: How can a respectable pure-blood follow someone like that?! He can't.
So just look at it like that: even if You-Know-Who's back like Albus
Dumbledore claims, there is no way that he would gain enough followers to be
a threat.
After all, I believe in the society I have been raised in – and no pure-blood lord
would follow a half-blood who rejects the old name of Gaunt just to spout of a
secondary name (even if it's more famous) like Slytherin who's family first
carried a lordship years after the Gaunts.
After sorting through all the facts I found, I finally realized that there is no
way to decide who You-Know-Who really is. That leaves me with just one
solution. I simply will not call him You-Know-Who anymore – simply because
I don't know who.
From now on he will be 'Riddle' to me. Eventually it is his real name and even
if it isn't: He still is a multiple Riddle I have not solved until now: After all, I
do not know who he is and I do not know if he lives – so why calling him
something that is wrong? Even if he is alive – he cannot fault us for calling
him a riddle when he does nothing to rectify our knowledge about him…
And a ban on Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a
common word…
Oliver Twist
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
Sorry for the wait.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
36. Chapter 35: A Teacher's
Advice Apologize
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Un-beta-ex for now.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
A Teacher's Advice: Apologize!
sss
Amelia Bones sat in her bureau, stunned in disbelieve. In her hands she
still held The Quibbler with a death grip. Around her were scattered
different kinds of papers. Some of it was of the Black-case she was
working on but others were about the magical murder of the Riddle
family in Little Hangleton. She had searched the archives for the name
'Riddle' after she read the papers and she still couldn't believe what she
had found.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. Son of Merope Gaunt, squib daughter of Marvolo
Gaunt, the last heir of the Gaunt lordship. Son of Tom Riddle, Muggle
aristocrat. The one who 'found out' that Rubeus Hagird was responsible
for the killing of a girl on school grounds.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, whose father and grandparents were mysteriously
killed just a year later by the killing curse. Tom Marvolo Riddle, who's
uncle was blamed for the murder of the Riddles even if there never had
been more evidence than the odd confession the uncle gave before he
was sentenced to Azkaban.
Coincidence?
Amelia did not believe in coincidence.
Like she was sure that it was no coincidence that the topic Oliver Twist
had chosen was Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort. Her gaze
returned to the article. It was a challenge to the Dark Lord and it was at
the same time a way to stop people calling him that ridiculous
hyphenated name they had come up with.
You-Know-Who might imply fear – but calling a person 'Riddle' definitely
didn't. What a genius way to make people lose some of the fear they had
of the Dark Lord and at the same time annoying said Dark Lord – if he
was still around, that is. Amelia was quite sure that the answer to that
question, even if it was not stated like that in the newspaper, was a clear
'yes'. Or why else write an article just to bait a Dark Lord?
Well, Amelia was sure she could aid in gaining some information for
another interesting article like that. And with that thought Amelia packed
the information about Tom Riddle and some other things about the
ministry and Dumbledore she had gathered in a neat package before
adding it to the stack of letters she intended to send. Then she returned
to her work in the Black-case, not even bothering to look at the boldly
titled package on top of her letters. And if someone read 'Oliver Twist'
scribbled on it, they had to be delusional. After all Amelia Bones after all
would never, ever think about sending a letter to Twist to aid him in
his… twisting. Never. Except…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Augusta Longbottom was reading The Quibbler at the same time as Amelia
Bones. She had the newspaper sprawled all over her desk, her satisfaction
evident in her face. A nice article. A very nice one – and it somehow felt
like justice to spit the man whose followers tortured her precious child in
the face with those words, even if it weren't hers but her Head of House's.
But then, she was family and as such had the right to feel pride for her
family. And it felt good to see her family finally avenging what had been
done to its members!
What had been done to her precious baby boy, to the child she had
hoped for for decades and that she had lost when he had just started to
take a step back from his carrier to have a family.
Finally she looked up and in her visitor's eyes.
"How did he react?" she asked coolly.
"He definitely wasn't pleased," the man in front of her sighed while his
fingers weaved through his slightly greying red locks. "I cannot believe
that I was always too blind before to see that he definitely isn't pleased as
much as he pretends to be."
Augusta just shrugged.
"That's Albus Dumbledore for you, Arthur," she answered while she
frowned at the unkempt appearance of the man in front of her. Her own
clothes were in predestine condition. Her stiff green robe and her tightly
bound grey bun showing her status as the Dowager Longbottom. "You
should do something about your appearance, Arthur. Your clothes and
hair won't do when your family takes its place among the other houses in
the Wizengamot."
Arthur Weasley's eyes widened.
"I don't believe my family will ever…"
"Of course it will. Your second born is the Prewett heir and you are the
Head of House Weasley, one of the minor families of our Grand Family.
You will get a place in the Wizengamot, so you should start acting like
it."
Arthur just snorted.
"I have no idea how to act lordly, Augusta."
Augusta scrutinized the man in front of her, then her gaze returned to the
article. She still wanted to burst into laughter after she had shown the
article to Arthur Weasley yesterday morning when the paper came out.
The man's eyes had gotten huge and he had started to splutter that he
never ever expected someone to dare to do such a thing! But the best part
had been when she had revealed that it had been a crew of their own
head of house. The poor man had nearly suffocated before he had been
able to get in another breath in his lungs. He simply had forgotten to
breathe after that revelation.
"Well, then there is no way. I will tell you. You, your wife and your sons
and daughter. There is no way that a part of my family doesn't know how
to act properly with others of their standing."
Arthur spluttered and tried to object.
"Do you want to shame our Head? A Head as brilliant as him?" she asked
the spluttering man while pointing at the newspaper in front of her. The
Weasley Head followed her finger to the paper with his gaze and shook
his head.
"Then it's settled," she said. "Your lessons will begin as soon as possible…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
But not all the reactions to Twist's article were as positive as Augusta
Longbottoms. So while she started poor Arthur Weasley on lessons in
etiquette, another man was withering in pain on the floor of his own
manor. In his hands he clutched a letter and next to his head lay a
newspaper he had brought the Dark Lord after it had been published in
the Witch's Weekly.
"Crucio!"
Again pain shot through his body and Lucius Malfoy dearly regretted
sharing the article with the Dark Lord. But if he hadn't it would have
been a lot more painful than it was now – that was something Lucius
Malfoy had learned when he had served the Dark Lord in the first war.
Bad news had always consequences, if they were your fault or not did not
matter. If you were the messager, you suffered – it was as simple as that.
"How dares that brat to imply I, the great Lord Voldemort, are afraid of
death! How dares that… that unruly child to imply I am no lord! I am the
Lord Slytherin, the most powerful lord in Britain!", the Dark Lord hissed
at that moment while he strode up and down the room, sometimes
stopping to either curse Lucius or Peter Pettigrew who had been at the
wrong place at the wrong time and as such also had to endure the wrath
of their lord.
"Crucio!"
Lucius would have never thought that he felt ever thankful towards the
sniffling rat but at the moment he could kiss the rat – simply because
Pettigrew was there and because of that shared the burden of the Dark
Lord's wrath. On the other hand – no. He definitely wouldn't kiss the rat
even now. The danger of being infected with some ominous Muggle-
illness was far too great if he did that.
"This brat! I will show him! I will teach him!" the Dark Lord ranted. "I
will…"
Lucius stopped listening again and instead looked down to the letter he
clutched in his hands. The letter had nothing to do with the article Twist
had written. It was a letter addressed to the Head of the Malfoy family.
The letter itself consisted of heavy parchment and Lucius Malfoy's name
and social position printed boldly on it in green letters – the colour of the
letters indicating that it was an invitation of some sort.
It was the invitation to join a family. A Grand Family.
Lucius closed his eyes and tried to remember the words of the invite
while the Dark Lord still ranted next to him. Maybe if he concentrated on
something different he would lose the fear he held for the raving lunatic
who strode up and down the room just some inches away from Lucius'
head.
sSs
To the Head of the House Malfoy and his Heir,
Children of the House of Malfoy, you have lived in honor of your ancestors.
You have lived sly; you have lived true to your ideals. You have followed the
way of your ancestors. I declare you kin of a beloved daughter of my House.
As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need. You are granted
entrance in my family.
Answer my call, kin of my House, and return to your rightful place.
Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight.
I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return.
The Head of the Family
sSs
In the past Lucius Malfoy would have never considered an invite like
that. Joining a Grand Family simply meant less independent politically.
But now his perspective had changed. Without the Malfoire-family
holdings he soon would be unable to pay the things the Dark Lord
wanted him to pay. The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy when he found out
and Lucius could clearly see death in the near future. And he didn't want
to die.
One option was to tie you to a Grand Family. He would gain access to the
family holdings of the Grand Family and he would be able to return to
his previous life-style with those founds – all positive aspects of a Grand
Family. To Lucius' regret he would have to consider the power of his new
head of the house over him if he truly decided to join. There were rules
that might be stated to be able to join the family – and Lucius wasn't sure
if it was worth to follow this family to get some money and some certain
political allies instead of following his own ideals at the end. But then, he
had lost his freedom to do so since the Head of Malfoire had come and
taken over the responsibilities that Lucius had done before. Lucius had
felt horrible when he followed his head's wishes for the first time and
instead of voting for an anti-werewolf-law he vote against it. Still, he had
done as he had been told. It was after all far better then being cast out of
the family…
In that moment another Cruciatus curse hit Lucius and all his thoughts
flew out of the window. The only thing left was pain. Absolute agonizing
pain.
And one thought: "At least the Head of a Grand Family is not allowed to
hurt his subjects…" Maybe the thought of joining was worth considering.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile Albus Dumbledore was fuming. He had been fuming since
yesterday morning when the paper had been released and he had seen
that a student had dared to uncover one of the secrets he had held since
fifty years.
Tom Marvolo Riddle had been his little dirty secret – the one child he
had not been able to safe. That someone had dared to step up and
uncover that fact did definitely not sit well with the Headmaster.
And then Arthur Weasley had happened.
Oh, Albus Dumbledore despised the nice man at the moment. The
meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had gotten along nicely until Arthur
Bloody Weasley had brought up the article in The Quibbler and had ask
him if he knew what parts of the article were true and which weren't.
And Albus had to tell the whole Order – why couldn't that idiotic man
wait with his question until after the gathering?! – that there was no lie
in the article. And because of the questions of the others Albus had
finally to admit that Oliver Twist until now had never lied in his articles.
Every fact mentioned in the articles were true and if you took your time
you could look them up – even now after the Minister had closed the
archives for the public.
Oh, how Albus Dumbledore wished to uncover the identity of Twist – just
so that he could kill that boy for bringing important information like that
in the open! The boy would destroy everything if Albus couldn't stop
him!
Until now Harry had been too preoccupied with the new Defence
professor – and this year Albus praised that woman just for existing and
stopping the Boy-Who-Lived to stick his nose in things like those articles
– and with school in general.
Of course Albus had heard about the fight Harry had had with Ron and
Hermione and he wasn't too pleased that neither of them told him the
truth of what had happened between them when he asked. Hermione
Granger had said something about Harry being his typical teenage self
again, but Ron Weasley had just stared at him in loathing as if their fall-
out with Harry was somehow Albus' fault. The boy had not said a word
to him ever since.
And then there were Arthur and Molly. Instead of speaking with their son
like he asked them to do, Arthur told him to stop sticking his nose into
this fight. It had nothing to do with him and so he had no right to noise
around in it. Arthur had never ever said 'no' to him before…
In that moment his door opened and Moody stepped in.
"Alastor, my friend," he greeted the man.
The Ex-Auror just nodded his head at him.
"I know you are still watching Harry closely. Have you found out what
brought on his fall-out with his best friends?"
Moody snorted.
"You know that I doubt they are his best friends, Albus," Moody replied.
"But to indulge your curiosity: the boy and his 'friends' had a fall-out
because it seems that they were too noisy for the boy's comfort.
Something about going to you instead of talking to him."
"Ah… well, that's unfortunate," Albus said sighing. "I guess it's definitely
time that Harry has his first Occlumency lessons with Severus. He should
do better as soon as Voldemort has not a grip as strong as now on the
boy's mind."
Moody just snorted but said nothing. Albus of course knew that the Ex-
Auror believed that Harry was an imposer but then, Albus was the only
one who knew about the Horcrux in the boy's scar – so no wonder that
Alastor came to the wrong conclusion.
"Was that all, Albus?" Moody asked instead.
Albus nodded.
"Of course, Alastor, my friend."
The Ex-Auror turned but just before he could leave the room, Albus
decided to add another thing.
"Alastor!" the other man stopped and turned back to him. "Have you ever
seen something that indicates the identity of Oliver Twist while you were
spying in the castle?"
For a moment the Ex-Auror staid silent and contemplated his answer,
then he shook his head no.
"I fear there never was any evidence about someone being Oliver Twist
that I noticed, Albus," he said and then looked the Headmaster in the eye.
"Was that all, Albus?" and with Albus' nod he left, leaving a still not wiser
Headmaster in his wake.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
As soon as the door closed behind Alastor Moody his expressionless mask
fell from his face and he face-palmed. He had been chasing the faux
Harry Potter all year, never realizing that the one difference he had never
contemplated was Oliver Twist.
Not only Harry Potter had changed this year. Oliver Twist had started to
exist – so 'Oliver Twist', or at least the person writing him, also had
changed. He knew that Oliver Twist was a Hogwarts student – the lad
had written it himself in the first ever letter he had written to
Xenophilius Lovegood. But the lad had never written before this year…
"Before they started to slander Harry Potter, actually," Moody concluded
still in disbelieve that he could have missed something so obvious.
The writer of the articles had accused the Daily Prophet of slandering
after they had gone after Harry Potter. Then there had been Harry Potters
trial and the quip at Sirius Black. Later on the missing trial of Sirius Black
himself. And now Voldemort. Whoever the writer of the articles was they
had to have some connection to Harry Potter – there was just one
question in Alastor Moody's mind: was the connection to the real Harry
Potter or the person impersonating him?!
Alastor Moody had a new clue to chase after…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile Fudge was staring at the article, fuming.
Did this boy really thing he could question the Ministry and his word as
the Minister? How dared the boy to question his word by stating that
You-Know-Who might still be alive?! Alone to have the nerve to even
state that it might be, was something Cornelius Fudge, Minister
extraordinaire, would not tolerate. The reason for that was simply: if he
tolerated it, the step to the idea that You-Know-Who was truly alive was
far too… small to take.
So Fudge would not tolerate it.
Of course it wasn't the first time the boy had seen to it that the ministry
looked completely incompetent – and Fudge would not tolerate these lies
and accusations anymore.
No, Fudge would strangle the boy as soon as he got his hands on him!
But that exactly was the problem. There was no way to get his hands on
that boy. And Fudge hated it.
"Maybe you should approach Xenophilius Lovegood about Twist. He
should know who the boy is and there sure are ways to pressure him to
give in to our demands," Dolores Umbridge said. She was not truly in the
minister's office but flooing Fudge just at that moment. Cornelius Fudge
had used this to ask her for advice concerning Twist.
The answer to her words was a smile – a smile that promised problems to
Xeno Lovegood.
"A very good idea, Dolores. I will instantly get things started," he stood
up and closed the floo connection to Hogwarts. Instead he opened a
different one.
"Auror Dwalis," he said in greeting. "Would you please step through? I
need you to accompany me somewhere."
The Auror on the other end just inclined his head. "Sure thing, minister,"
he said while stepping through. Galleons exchanged its hands and not ten
minutes later Cornelius Fudge was on the way to a war against a twisting
Hogwarts-student.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
While Fudge and the other people all were very emerged in the article,
Hermione Granger wasn't. When she read it after classes on the day it
was released, she was still preoccupied with Harry's words. Not that she
truly thought them through. She was quite sure that Harry was just a
moody teen and that he would come around in time.
At least that was what she told herself and others when they asked. But
deep inside her there was a tiny voice, telling her that she was
delusioning herself and that Harry truly meant it.
But she had been right! The Firebold could have been dangerous! She had
to go to a professor and take it away from Harry before something
happened!
"But why didn't you tell him first?" the tiny voice asked her in Harry's
voice. "Why did you go straight to the professor? Harry is your friend;
you can talk to him…"
Like she could have talked to him before running to Dumbledore because
Harry was behaving differently than she had expected. But had it truly
been her right to judge Harry? Had it been her right to decide what was
unusual for Harry and what wasn't?
"He forgot things he knew for years, things about me he never forgot
before…" Hermione reasoned. But Harry had never been through what he
had been through at the end of last year. Hadn't he a right to act different
than she was used to after seeing Cedric die in front of him? Hadn't he a
right to forget that she hated brussle sprouts when he might be
traumatized after seeing Cedric die? After meeting the Dementors in the
holidays?
But he was Harry – and Harry always bounced back.
"Always until now, yes," the tiny voice whispered. "But there is always a
first time when he won't. Maybe he finally reached that point. Maybe
your actions – your telling on him – will push him over the edge. Maybe
he didn't bounce back this time and you pushed him away with your
insisting demands that he tells you everything…"
With a frustrated huff Hermione threw The Quibbler against the wall.
"Oh, wow," a voice stated behind her. She turned. Fred – or was it
George? "And I thought you would like the article Twist wrote and not
throw it against the wall…"
Hermione blinked. Then her thoughts returned to the present and she
blushed. "I liked the article, mostly. But I cannot believe Twist actually
used the word 'mudblood'! That's not a word a proper journalist should
use! It's like… it's like… I don't know!"
George – or was it Fred? – just blinked while his brother laughed at her.
"You're right. It was definitely a word you don't see in a newspaper
normally," Fred said.
"I guess he did it to provoke the Dark Lord Tommy-boy…"
"Or the Dead Monkeys who follow and believe in him…"
"Or Malfoy. Maybe he wants to see the git faint in the middle of the Great
Hall…"
"Oh, good one, brother of mine! I didn't think of that one!" the other twin
said – Hermione had long since given up trying which one was speaking
at the moment. "But maybe he didn't want to take on Malfoy but Snape. I
heard he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when he read the article."
"Or he wanted to see if Umbitch blows up by solely reading the m-word
used to describe her lover…"
"Ew, Forge! This image! This image!" the other twin cried and started to
claw at his eyes. Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste.
"You didn't just say that, did you?" she asked while bile rose in her
throat.
"Why? Don't you too think they fit? Umbitch with all her pink and good
old snake-faced Tommy-boy," the twin who definitely had to have some
kind of brain damage stated with a faked disbelieving look in her
direction. "I bet they would get on like a house on fire."
"Sometimes I wonder if Bill or Charlie let you drop one time too often,
Forge," the other twin stated.
"No, Gred," 'Forge' said grinning. "They just forget to drop you as often as
they dropped me. But don't worry. We can fix that."
That was for Hermione the clue to take her leave. She definitely didn't
want to get into whatever the twins would do now…
She never saw Ron lurking in one of the shadows, staring out of the
window, The Quibbler in his hands and his eyes hardened with the
decision he had finally made. Ron had listened to Harry when the boy
had told them of. Yes, Ron was a hard-headed bastard sometimes. Yes,
Ron could be a jealous prat. But furthermost Ron had still one character
trait that would always guide him in the end. Like it would do this time
around. Like it had done in the past.
Ron was loyal.
He was a git.
He was a jealous prat.
He was a hard-headed bastard.
But he was a loyal one.
And he finally understood that it was time to take his head out of his arse
and wise up. After all, Tom Riddle was back – and Harry would need
everyone to get rid of this monster again. Even a jealous idiot like Ron.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Interestingly Severus Snape was one of those persons that were not at all
concerned about the consequences of Twist's article. He had read it,
nearly spat his juice on it when he saw the cunning that had driven the
writer and then simply moved on to other things.
The consequences of the article instead were something Severus Snape
definitely couldn't ignore as simply as the article itself. And so it came
that he was striding with billowing robes to the Headmaster's office to
report at midnight of that eventful day after he had been summoned just
a few hours ago by the Dark Lord.
He spoke the password to the gargoyle and rode the stairs up to the well
known office of the Headmaster, filled with all those useless trinkets that
Albus Dumbledore was so fond of.
The Headmaster was still awake and waiting for him.
"Severus," he greeted the man and gestured to a chair for Severus to sit
on. Severus just sneered at the chair and stopped in front of the
Headmaster's desk, standing.
"The Dark Lord has upped his schedule," he said stiffly. The Headmaster
just sighed.
"He plans to raid Azkaban tomorrow night."
The answer was another tired sigh.
"So he feels provoked by the article of Oliver Twist," Dumbledore said
tiredly. "That's bad news for our side. If he ups the schedule too far it
might be that he will conquer Great Britain long before we are ready to
react."
"But it also will give him less time to plan, Headmaster," Severus replied
stiffly. "I am sure that you have enough people to stop this raid
tomorrow."
"I cannot stop him tomorrow, Severus," Albus Dumbledore said tiredly.
"The world needs to know that he is back and sadly this will be the best
way to make them believe."
"If we do nothing the Dark Lord will be able to get his forces back. His
most trusted are in Azkaban! And Fudge will just aid him. This man is
scared enough of the Dark Lord to ignore a Dark Mark and claim that
nothing happened! He will do exactly the same if the Dark Lord breaks
his most trusted out of Az…"
"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted the heated rant of his potion master
and spy. "We cannot react to this. We don't have the means to get into
Azkaban to stop him…"
Severus Snape said nothing after that. He just nodded stiffly and bowed.
"I am sure you know what is best," he said coolly. "If you excuse me. I
should turn in for the night now."
Albus Dumbledore just smiled his grandfatherly smile at the stiff potion's
master.
"Of course, my boy," he said smiling gently. "Have a good night's rest."
Severus Snape just inclined his head and turned around to leave the
Headmaster's office, his back stiff with silent resentment towards the
Headmaster's words.
And tomorrow, while the world would crumble, Severus would also have
his first Occlumency lesson with the Potter brat. There was no way to
ruin an evening better for Severus Snape than the Dark Lord on the loose
again, coupled with teaching the Potter brat Occlumency…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Surprisingly it had taken Harry's friends two weeks and two days – the
exact two days The Quibbler had been released and had turned the
magical world upside down – until they finally decided to apologize to
Harry and it was Ron – Harry was definitely surprised on that one – who
started it.
"Harry," Ron said that afternoon, hesitatingly and sat down next to Harry
who was working on his Transfiguration essay in a shielded corner of the
Gryffindor common room at that point of time. Later on Harry would
have his first Occlumency lesson and he definitely wanted to be done
with his essay in time to go to his 'Potion's remedy lessons'.
So Harry just looked up shortly before turning again to his essay and
saying softly. "Yes, Ron?"
"The toad – I mean Umbridge – she's still giving you detention, isn't she?"
This seemed to be the start of a longer conversation. Harry sighed
inwardly but finally shrugged and put his quill down. He had had his last
detention with Umbridge just a day ago – and today he had gotten
another two weeks, starting tomorrow for 'his cheek'. Harry had been
silent the whole time her class lasted before he got the detention.
"You know she has no right to do that," Ron continued. "I mean, you are
polite in her class and you don't cross her at all. She has nothing to base
her detention on and you know it."
Harry shrugged again.
"I know. But if I go against her because of the detentions she is giving me
she will just use my antagonizing her to give me even more detention,"
Harry answered, at that point of time not really sure what to think of his
best friend and the odd conversation they were having.
"But she's doing something illegal!" Ron cried at that moment. "And don't
tell me it's nothing! I have seen you rubbing your hand at odd times. I
have seen the words engraved in them! You cannot let her continue to-"
"I won't," Harry said. "But this-" he showed Ron his hand with the
engraved words on it. "Can be covered up by the ministry if I don't do
this right. I need a catalyst to even have a chance to get her. Something
big – and don't tell me something like this is easy to find!"
Ron opened his mouth, most likely to retort, but the only thing he finally
said was: "Bloody hell! You really think that the ministry or the teachers
won't do anything if-"
"I went to McGonagall," Harry said. "I tried to tell her. She won't listen."
And it was the truth. He had gone to her – not because he needed her but
because he was sure that if he didn't go to her, no one would. He knew
very well that with his political power there were a lot of people even
here in school that looked up at him. If he didn't go to the teachers, no
one would because if he could bear it, everyone could.
So Harry went.
Harry went the day after his first detention but the only thing
McGonagall had told him was to 'keep his head down'. She wouldn't even
listen to him when he told her he had done nothing to antagonize the
ministry toad – not that he called her that, mind you – and she even
wouldn't look at his hand as if she had been afraid to see that his claims
were more than words.
That was the moment Harry had fully seen how far the school was from
the ideals it had been built on.
"She… she wouldn't listen?" Ron repeated, disbelieve coloring his voice.
Harry just smiled bitterly at him.
"Welcome to my world, Ron," he said while he continued writing his
essay.
"But… but… but your hand! I saw your hand! There is no way she
couldn't have seen-"
"She didn't even look up to see, Ron. Was that all you wanted?"
Ron gawked at him for another moment or two, then he blurted out.
"No! I wanted to say 'sorry'!"
"Whatever for, Ron?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
"For being stupid and for going to the Headmaster before even trying to
talk to you," Ron said. "I know I am a jerk sometime and I know I often
cannot see further than my nose but, Harry, please! I am truly sorry for
my behavior the other day! I should have gone to you! I should have
talked to you! I'm really, really sorry that I just followed Hermione to the
Headmaster's office to tell him everything!"
This time Harry put his quill down and looked at Ron with a serious
expression.
"So you think that now, after you have apologized, it will be all well
again?" he asked the boy in front of him while scrutinizing him.
Ron squirmed on his seat.
"I… I don't know," he said, his voice oddly soft. "I think I cannot blame
you if you want to continue being angry with me. Merlin knows, I would
never forgive you for the stunt I pulled and I guess… I guess I have to be
okay with it if you do the same. Still, I am sorry. Even if you can't forgive
me I at least have to say it. The only other thing I have to offer is to tell
you that I try to never do that again."
Harry studied his best friends face.
The red-haired boy in front of him looked at him with sincerity in his
eyes. Ron meant it. Truly meant it. And even if Harry was not the same
Harry Ron had been friends with before the summer, Harry was still
hesitating about refusing the boy's apology outright.
Finally he sighed.
"I accept your apology," he said to the red head. "But that doesn't mean
our friendship is still like it was before. I won't trust you as easily as
before and I'm not sure if I will ever trust you with a secret ever again. I
am sorry."
And with that Harry turned back to his homework, unable to look at the
red head in front of him.
"I understand that, Harry," Ron said finally after the silence stretched
between them. "Thank you for forgiving me." And then the red head who
normally did anything but homework, pulled out his essay for history of
magic and started to write about goblin wars.
"You should add the Great Battle of the North Fields to the wars you're
researching," Harry recommended after a few minutes. "There's a witness
report somewhere in the library that shows the side of the goblins."
"Hu? What witness?" Ron asked dumbfounded. Harry just shrugged.
"Prince Salvazsahar Pendragon, son of Arthur Pendragon," he said. "The
prince fought on the side of the goblins in that war, so it definitely
broadens your perspective on the goblin wars."
Ron blinked once, then twice. Finally he slowly nodded.
"Er… thanks, I guess," he said staring at Harry as if he was a foreign
creature.
"You're welcome, I guess," Harry answered and returned to his essay. Half
an hour later he finally finished, packed it away and then stood up.
"Where are you going?" Ron asked, then caught himself. "I mean, if you
don't mind me asking, that is…"
"I have remedial potions with Snape," Harry said. Ron looked at him in
disbelieve.
"You are acing every potion since the beginning of the year – so why by
Merlin's soggy underpants are you having remedial potions?"
"And that is the question, Ron," Harry said, grinning. "Ask the
Headmaster. He was after all the one who came up with this idiotic
explanation – but then, maybe Snape never told him that I memorized
the potion's book over the summer?"
And with that Harry left the room and went to the dungeons to meet the
man, he planned to break one day.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Legilimens!"
Harry was baffled. So these were the lessons Dumbledore wanted Harry
to have?! No introduction, no theory – just 'Clear your mind' and
'Legilimens'?!
Harry was not impressed.
And maybe he would have been totally pissed-off if he wouldn't already
know what there was to know about Occlumency and Legilimency.
Maybe these Arts were some obscure branch of magic today – when
Harry had been taught, it had been absolutely necessary.
And Harry still thought it was.
If he would have been a teacher he would have taught his students both
Arts as soon as they entered in his care…
Of course he was a student now…
When his teacher stopped trying to read his mind, Harry turned his
attention back to reality.
His teacher sneered.
"I told you to clear your mind, Potter!"
Well, Harry already had a clear mind – not that his teacher was able to
tell – so he surely would not attempt something he had mastered already
when he really had been fifteen.
But how could Snape know?
Harry was sure, that his Occlumency was of a totally different kind than
the man had ever seen before. And maybe would never see again…
The normal art of Occlumency was closing of all of his memories, leaving
the mind empty for every attempt to read. Harry thought nothing of this
idea.
When you would clear your mind, so there was nothing to find anymore,
everyone would get suspicious – and Harry could and would not have
that. He needed to be able to play an unprotected, helpless teen too often
in the past to just wipe his mind from everything someone would attempt
to read. So he had used a different approach, the one his father had
taught him.
The result had been that Harry had not attempted to close of all his
memories; he had just packed layers of unimportant memories over the
important ones while burying the important ones behind different layers
of defences. Harry himself wasn't sure how many layers of defences he
really had. He just had built another one when he had learned a new way
to protect his mind.
His outer layers now – the unprotected part – were childhood memories.
All stuff Snape would have expected in Harry's mind – well, not really
expected, because the memories Harry had used were those of the old
Harry, and not of a pampered prince…
But that did not matter. It just mattered, that it were Harry's memories –
and just enough to be believable. So there was nothing of the original
Harry's memories before his fourth birthday and after that there just were
some half remembered ones.
The only absolutely clear memories were those that had happened in the
last six to seven years – just like it would be in every other mind that had
not the uncanny ability to remember everything that had ever happened
in his life.
A memory the original Harry would have had…
But pulling the wool over Snape's eyes was something that started to bore
the new Harry to death. They were doing this mind-raping since twenty
minutes. Harry wished they were finished. He hated sitting there and
watching Snape shouting Legilimens at him, while he not even had to try
to brush him of. His teacher was gliding off of his shields as if Harry's
mind was glass and his teacher's attempt to read it water sprinkled on it.
Maybe…
No! He was Harry now!
But maybe…
He was Harry!
But maybe he could… just one glimpse… and he was so bored… so…
Maybe he should have his own fun while his teacher was feasting on his
hatred to Harry's father and Harry himself.
But he shouldn't… the original Harry wouldn't…
But he wasn't the original one!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Legilimens!"
There his teacher was again. Entering his mind, searching for his
weaknesses…
But this time, it was different.
This time, Harry struck.
With the agility of a serpent he wound himself along the magic his
teacher was using in the mind of the other. There was no escape from
him. Greater men had fallen into his trap – and that was no surprise.
Harry might be a good Occlumens, but he was a genius Legilimens.
Not even Dumbledore's or Voldemort's shields were a match for him, if he
really tried – and even if the man's shields in front of him were strong
enough to keep both of the old men out of his mind, he had nothing to
defend himself from Harry…
And Harry wanted to know if his teacher's uncommon beginning of the
lesson was out of pure hatred or out of something else.
Harry knew that teaching like that would end in nothing, if his opponent
was a mere, ignorant student. Normally his teacher had to introduce the
subject and then start with teaching Legilimency, not directly
Occlumency. There was no way that a student would be able to learn
Occlumency first. Legilimency would show him his teacher's defences so
that he was able to build his own after them…
But without…
Harry did not follow his thoughts further, instead scrutinizing the
defences his teacher had built in his mind.
"Impressive" Harry thought while gliding through the defences as if they
weren't there. "Nearly impossible to breach."
Not that Harry had to. His knowledge of magic and the blood-magic he
practiced let him conceal his own present in the flow of magic that was
leaving his teacher's mind – something that even Dumbledore and
Voldemort never had thought of.
"Very impressive indeed."
His teacher's approach was to delude the other mind into thinking that it
was reading him while in reality it was bound in a box and fed with the
memories and feelings Snape wanted them to see. Harry was sure that
even Dumbledore would be trapped in this highly secure prison cell.
Of course, Harry wasn't. He had bypassed all the defences while being
concealed in the man's own magic, looking now at them from the inside.
After he had mentally anatomized the shields of his teacher he returned
his attention to the thoughts of his teacher.
They were an utter chaos – nothing a normal Legilimens's thoughts would
be. They were dancing though the older man's mind, laced with guilt,
fear and bitterness. There was dislike, bound to Harry's appearance,
bound to Harry's father – but this was not the main feelings directed at
him.
Sadness – as if Harry was something his teacher had lost a long time ago.
Bitterness – also bound to Harry's appearance, but this time more to his
mother's aspects.
Guilt and fear…
Fear for Harry, fear of Tom Riddle… and somehow fear of Dumbledore
and his scheming.
All swirling through his teacher's mind which had lost half an hour ago
the cool efficiency that clearing the mind would bring normally…
"I have to teach him Legilimency first," a thought echoed through the
mind of the man and Harry watched the memory playing through the
feelings of the other one. "It is always done like that."
"But we don't have time to begin with Legilimency," another voice
answered – Albus Dumbledore's, Harry would recognize this voice
everywhere. "The boy will be able to handle it. He has shed the Imperius
– he will be able to learn Occlumency without Legilimency first."
"One thing has nothing to do with the other…"
"So you would risk teaching him Legilimency while being under
Voldemort's eyes? Don't you think that Voldemort would kill you when
he finds out from the boy's mind – and believe me, he will. The boy is far
too much under his control at the moment to not find out about that. And
who would then be there to watch over the boy? Sirius? Remus? Would
you like Lily's son's security solely in their hands?"
His teacher had nothing replied, but Harry could feel guilt and fear
growing stronger.
Harry stared at the memory, storing it away in his own mind.
Then he decided to follow the strings attached to Snape's guilt and fear
and watched where they lead to.
Childhood memories of his teacher swamped Harry's mind. He saw the
parents arguing, saw the father drinking. He saw the cruelty and the fear
that penetrated the Snape household. And he saw Lily – the only light in
Snape's early years.
Lily, who was the source of Snape's guilt.
He felt the love bound to the red haired girl, the genuine awe Snape had
felt for her. She had been perfect in his teacher's eyes – not perfect in 'she
had no flaws' but perfect in 'she was everything he needed to be happy'.
Not that Snape ever understood that it had been his dabbling in the Dark
Arts that drove Lily away in the end and not Potter.
And then Harry stumbled over the memory of Snape begging the old goat
of a Headmaster for Lily's life – vowing the man to do anything for him
as long as Lily was kept safe.
He stumbled over this memory and all that correlated with it. The
prophecy – and wasn't that some interesting discovery? Of course, Harry
had found out meanwhile about the shift in the ministry to keep
something safe – but he had not found out until now that it was a
prophecy about him and Tom Riddle…
And Dumbledore had used Snape's actions of running to Tom Riddle with
what he heard to guilt-trip the younger wizard.
"Manipulating bastard," Harry thought while drawing back, returning to
his own mind. "Old slippery manipulating bastard!"
But there was nothing he could do now – except for one thing.
While leaving he placed a single, simple rune-spell in his teacher's mind.
This spell was something that maybe would be considered dark today – it
had been considered dark when Morgana LeFay herself used it, but it
would do its purpose…
Harry let the other man go, returning to his own mind and then waited
until his teacher drew back from his mind. He scrutinized his teacher.
The older man seemed fine, so the spell Harry had used had integrated
itself in his teacher's defences without any problems.
Snape instead huffed at Harry.
"Try again, Potter!" he hissed. "Legilimens!"
This time Harry opened one of his defences and added another three
memories to those he had gathered in his protection. With a subtle nudge
Harry shoved his teacher into the first memory.
Lily's death.
Harry knew he was cruel, but he also knew that he had to be cruel to
reach his teacher.
The rune-spell Harry had placed reacted instantly, telling Harry that
Snape definitely did not take well to see the night of Lily's murder. Still,
when Snape tried to pull out, Harry held him in place. Harry held him in
place until the memory had played out, then he shoved Snape into the
next – an even older one.
"If it's Severus like Dumbledore told us, then I believe that he is genuine in his
change of heart," Lily said. James was carrying baby Harry who was playing
with a stuff dog.
Harry could feel Snape startle when he heard Lily defending him. Instead
of trying to pull away from the memory, Snape emerged in it and Harry
let him. It was far easier to keep someone in a memory if this person
wanted to be there.
"Lily," James said with a sigh. Snape sneered at the man.
"No, James! I know you hated Severus but I was friends with him! I know that
he dabbled in the Dark Arts! I know he chose the wrong crowd! But he was
my friend since I was eight – even if you don't like him, at least accept that I
know him better than anybody else!"
Harry could feel the surprise and the self-hatred in Snape. Not that Harry
could blame him. It was the first time for Snape hearing the real reason
why Lily left him.
"No, Lily, You knew him better than anybody else," James corrected her. "He
changed long ago!"
But Lily shook her head.
"Somewhere, deep inside he was always the same sweet boy I met so long ago,
James. People might change – but there is still a core that won't change
whatever you do. And Severus was always good at his core."
This time the guilt Snape felt was even more pronounced than it had
been before.
"Lily…"
"No, James! I know it! I… I… I need to believe it! I was never a bad judge of
character – are you telling me now I am?"
"Well, you don't like Peter…"
"That has nothing to do with that, James!"
Harry then ripped his teacher from this memory to stuff him into the
next, a memory that had been open to Snape all along – the revealing of
Peter Pettigrew being the traitor in the original Harry's third year.
Fury tasted like iron on Harry's tongue when the rune he had placed in
Snape's mind reacted to the memory of the traitorous rat.
Harry knew that the rat wouldn't survive the next encounter with Severus
Snape if Snape had any means to kill the rat at his disposal at that time.
It seemed as if until now the rat and Severus had not met in Voldemort's
service.
Harry didn't mind that Snape might kill the rat. Of course, the rat would
make it easier for Sirius to get his freedom – but Sirius' freedom was one
of the lesser parts in Harry's plans and there were other ways.
He let the memory play out and threw Snape in the last one he had taken
out of his protection.
Lily was standing next to the crib, rocking Harry.
The baby looked at her with huge eyes, innocent and green – so green.
"Shh," she whispered. "Sleep my precious child. Sleep, my little angel."
Baby Harry squealed.
"Mummy loves you, daddy loves you," she said, like she had told Harry shortly
before Voldemort reached Harry's room. "Don't forget. Whatever will happen,
don't forget, mummy loves you, daddy loves you. You are my precious baby
boy."
She looked up and out in the night.
Her grip tightened.
"Never forget. Even if mummy has to die for you to keep you safe," one of her
hands let go of little Harry and touched the walls, marred with blood and
runes. "Mummy will keep you safe. Even if daddy will have to die for you,
daddy will keep you safe. Whatever will happen – as long as I'm alive I will do
anything, anything to protect you!"
And with that Harry threw Snape back into the cruel memory of Lily's
death.
"Mummy loves you, daddy loves you."
"Whatever will happen – as long as I'm alive I will do anything, anything to
protect you!"
It was like he had dosed Snape in ice water.
For a moment Snape's magic and essence froze in place, staring at the
scene of Lily dying again like a deer frozen in headlight.
Then Snape stared to struggle against Harry's hold.
Snape's magic was all over the room, uncontrolled and ready to defend.
Harry could feel the breakdown that was to come.
It had been too much. Too much guilt was clouding Snape's mind, too
much hurt. This time it wasn't just guilt about killing Lily, it was the guilt
about letting her down. About treating Harry like he had treated him
when Harry had been first and for all Lily's son.
Not Potter's.
Lily's.
Harry let him go and Snape retreated as fast as he could from Harry's
mind – a flight, but a gentle one because the first time since the start of
their lesson, Snape did everything to avoid it, to hurt Harry.
Harry looked up at his teacher but the man avoided his eyes.
"Go" he sneered instead – his voice, as steady as he would have wished it,
trembling because of the things he had seen. Harry felt a little guilty now
after seeing the potion's master struggling with playing unaffected. The
man in front of him was nothing but a child, chained by his grieve and
guilt for something he had just a little part into doing. "Same time next
week – and practice clearing your mind every night before bed."
Harry nodded and turned to leave, but at the door he stopped again.
He could not leave like that…
xXxXxXxXxXxXx
Severus Snape couldn't even think clearly anymore. His thoughts were a
mess, his emotions were all over the place.
It couldn't be true. The boy… the boy had been far too young to
remember things like that!
But it was true.
He had seen the memories.
Potter had no Occlumency shields, no way to keep Severus out! And even
if he would have had, you couldn't create memories like that without
leaving at least a hunch that something was wrong. Tempering with a
memory was possible – but not as long as the memory was still inside
your head.
So Severus did the only thing he could do: he tried to remove Potter from
his present before his fragile grasp on his emotions slipped. Severus knew
that if Potter was still there when he broke down, he would lose every
respect the boy ever had for him – not that the boy ever had a lot of it for
him…
"Go," he rasped out, while trying to sound as normal as he could. Luckily
the boy was a Gryffindor – he shouldn't know that something was amiss
at all with his thick head and egocentric mind. "Same time next week –
and practice clearing your mind every night before bed."
The boy nodded, but instead of leaving stopped in front of the door
again.
"You know, the Headmaster has no right to guilt-trip you like he does,
Professor" he said without turning around to the teacher. Severus
stiffened while hoping against hope that his bodily reaction was going to
be unnoticed. "You weren't the one at fault for my mother's death. You
might have played a part in it, but in the end I blame Tom Riddle and
Albus Dumbledore for her demise – and you should do it, too."
It was like another shock to Severus' system.
A guilt absolution.
Once, Severus would have interpreted Lily's son's words as arrogance,
now he could hear Lily's voice in his ears. "Somewhere, deep inside he was
always the same sweet boy I met so long ago, James. People might change –
but there is still a core that won't change whatever you do. And Severus was
always good at his core."
"You weren't the one at fault for my mother's death."
Those words were not arrogance. Those words were Lily, talking to him
through her son from beyond the grave.
"You have no idea what you are talking about, Lily's child!" Severus
hissed, lashing out at the absolution that was presented at him. An
absolution he so dearly wanted, but one he didn't deserve. Not from Lily's
son.
"I killed your mother!" he hissed, hot tears misting his eyes, but not
spilling – not yet. "The Headmaster did everything to protect her and I…"
"Albus Dumbledore did nothing to protect my family," the boy
interrupted, also hissing. Lily's son turned around and this time Severus
was not fast enough to escape the death green eyes of the boy. Fire was
dancing in them – fire sparked by fury.
"Dumbledore," the boy hissed, his deathly eyes capturing Severus' black
ones, holding them hostage. "Dumbledore did nothing for anyone! If he
really would have cared like he pretends to do he wouldn't have just
watched Riddle – he would have stopped him! If Dumbledore really
would have cared he wouldn't have hidden away when Grindelwald tried
to take over the world, but would have stopped him long before their
epic battle in 1945, when Grindelwald was at the height of his power! If
he would have cared he would have found the means to end this coming
war before it even started! He suspected for decades what Tom Riddle had
done. He knew for years that he was right! And what did he do? He sat
there, watching – watching a child struggle to fight off a man, decades
older than it! He had thirteen years of peace – time enough to find out if
he was right, time enough to do everything in his power to stop Tom
Riddle! But again, he did nothing! You…" Lily's son's finger was aiming at
him as if the boy wanted to pile him with it.
"You went through a war. You might have been young and foolish at that
time but you know war! Tell me, Head of House Slytherin – when did you
join the war?"
Severus stared at Lily's boy in front of him. It took a few moments but
when the seconds of silence ticked by, Severus understood that the boy
wanted a genuine answer to his question.
So Severus gave him the answer he wanted.
"When I was eighteen," he whispered harshly. His Occlumency was
working over time to keep his emotions in check – but to everyone who
couldn't read the slight glimmering of his eyes, nothing would seem to be
wrong.
"Eighteen – and just out of Hogwarts," the boy said and the knowledge
and age that suddenly displayed in his eyes nearly unsettled the potion's
master. "Albus Dumbledore was sixty-three when he finally decided to end
a war that had lasted for at least a decade and that was at its high for the
previous four years! More though, Albus Dumbledore knew that Gellert
Grindelwald planned to overthrow the world decades earlier – he knew it
since he met Grindelwald when he was not even fully out of Hogwarts!
He should have told someone when he found out that Gellert
Grindelwald decided to go through with his plan! Instead he did nothing.
He knew and did nothing!"
Severus stared emotionlessly at Lily's child, but his mind was racing with
the information given to him just seconds ago.
"Tell me, Professor, how long did it take until you knew that the side you
had joined was the wrong one – and don't come with you joined
Dumbledore's side in 1979 when the prophecy was made. You might
have dabbled into the Dark Arts, but you aren't a cruel man. So, how long
until you knew you made a mistake?"
How did the boy know about the prophecy?
How did the boy know about Severus' change of heart?
Severus wanted to tell Lily's boy that he was wrong and that Severus had
not understood the truth until the Dark Lord had target Lily. But that
would have been a lie. As ensnared in the Dark Arts as Severus had been,
he had known he had made a mistake after the first raid he had ever
accompanied.
Before he could even think about answering, the boy's eyes lit up and
Severus knew that Lily's child knew – he didn't know how, but the boy's
eyes showed the truth.
"It was far earlier, wasn't it?" the boy said.
"Even if it was – it does not matter!" Severus answered sneering.
The answer was bitter smile.
"It does matter," the boy said. "You saw Tom Riddle's lies and even if you
were unable to do something against him, you knew what you did was
wrong! Albus Dumbledore tells everyone that he was the first one to look
behind the mask of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tell me, if he truly did – and he
did, believe me – why didn't he do something about it? Instead of trying
to change the way the boy was on, he settled on watching. He watched.
He watched while Tom Marvolo Riddle killed a girl on school ground. He
watched while Tom Marvolo Riddle murdered his own father. He
watched while the new dark lord in the making dabbled in the Dark Arts
– he always watched, doing nothing!"
"He fought against the Dark Lord!" Severus argued. His emotions were all
over the place and at the same time tightly controlled. He couldn't bear
to hear what he was hearing but his Slytherin mind told him to listen.
But still, the Headmaster had been the one who had rescued Severus and
who had given him a task to atone for his sins. The Headmaster had
always fought in the war – there was no way he had damned the world
by knowing about the new threat that Voldemort was, and not reacting,
had he?
"He always did everything he could to stop the Dark Lord," the words
sounded empty, but Severus had to say them anyway.
"Like he did something when my father and his friends bullied you?"
The portraits that listened and reported to the headmaster.
The wards that told him about the happenings on the school grounds.
Lily's child didn't mention any of them, but they were there and Severus
knew of them, like every other Head of House did. They had to have been
there as well when Severus had been a student. Not the child's words but
true nevertheless.
Suddenly Severus' world had cracks all over. Albus Dumbledore hadn't
known about the Marauders and their doings, had he?
An unbidden memory returned to him when he thought about it. He saw
himself, dishelmed and frightened after his near-encounter with an
enraged werewolf and he saw Albus Dumbledore, standing in front of
him and instead of punishing Potter and his cronies, rewarding Potter,
dismissing Black and telling him, the victim, that he wasn't allowed to
speak about it to anyone if he didn't want to leave Hogwarts for good.
But that was a one time occurrence – an honest mistake on Albus
Dumbledore's part, wasn't it?
"Did he do something about your father and his treatment towards you –
especially after your mother died?" Lily's child asked. "And don't delude
yourself that he didn't know – there are basic diagnostic charms every
nurse or healer casts before treating a patient. Those diagnostic charms
don't miss things like that."
Severus' clenched his fists. He knew of the charms. But they had started
to use them after his time, hadn't they? There was no way they had
known and done nothing! No one knew! No one had ever known – no
one except for Lily…
But the child knew! Somehow this boy, Lily's boy, knew about Severus'
treatment at the hands of his father.
"Tell me, did he ever give you a way out after you came to him, pleading
for my mother's life? Did he ever give you the choice to quit?"
Dumbledore had needed a spy, had needed him…
"He needed me where I was! And I had to atone for my sins!" this time
Severus had to voice his thoughts. He couldn't keep quiet when the child
tried to destroy the image he had built himself of the man who had taken
him back even after he had done the unforgivable.
"What sins?!" Lily's child said. "When you joined, you were an eighteen-
year-old, lost and disillusioned teen! Tell me, why did you join Tom
Riddle? Was it because of his ideals?"
Severus sneered.
"Was it because of his charm?"
Severus sneered again.
"No! You were an angry teen who wanted nothing but being
acknowledged for himself once in his life!" this time Severus couldn't
sneer. How did Lily's child know? "You wanted someone to see you for
you – and Tom Riddle promised you that. He promised you revenge
against those who tormented you, he promised to see you for you! Of
course his promises were nothing but lies – but you didn't know because
you were a child! Children make mistakes and it is the job of their elders
to forgive them and to show them the way! Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts, let you down! No, instead of forgiving you he
decided to use your guilt to trap you as a chess piece in his sick little
game!"
"He did it to keep everyone safe – your parents included, boy!" Severus
argued, his frustration and grieve were turning his eyes red while he
desperately tried to stop the tears from spilling. He was the bat of the
dungeon, the man without feelings, the nightmare of every Gryffindor.
He didn't cry like a child – he hadn't cried since the day Lily left him for
good. "It was his right! I made a mistake and I paid for it! I knew I made
a mistake just days after I took the Dark Mark!"
"Yes, you made a mistake!" Lily's child interrupted him heatedly. "A
single mistake and you are paying for it ever since! You knew you made
the wrong choice just days after you made it, like every sane person with
your background in the Muggle world would have known! You, not like
the purebloods, knew that Tom Riddle did the wrong thing because you
had experience in the Muggle world. You knew the good and the bad of
both worlds – different than those purebloods in his service that feared
what they didn't know."
"Really?" Severus sneered. "If I truly was so perfect – why did I stay true
to the Dark Lord for nearly a year before betraying him?"
"Of course you didn't tell anyone," the boy replied snorting. "No sane
Slytherin would have endangered his own life without a reason. It's the
epitome of a Slytherin to be able to twist and to lie until no one knows
the truth anymore, until he can deceive anyone – even the false Heir of
Salazar Slytherin."
Severus sneered at Lily's child.
"You have no idea what it means to be a Slytherin, Lily's boy!" he hissed.
"You have no idea what sins I committed in the name of the Dark Lord,
what deeds I did to escape his wrath!"
The answer was an unsettling smile.
"Tell me, Professor, did you kill for him?" the boy asked softly, while
returning to the middle of the room – nearing Severus until the potion's
master was sure that the boy could see the red rim of his eyes, until he
was sure that the boy could see the tears that tried to spill.
"How… how dare you…!"
"Ah, so you never killed," Lily's child said. "Then tell me, did you torture
for him?"
Severus flinched.
And those green, green eyes were watching him, exposing all his
secrets…
"How often?" the boy's voice was soft.
Severus tried to look away but those eyes held his gaze, captured it.
"So not really often – but you still feel guilty for it."
"I don't feel guilty!" Severus denied. The answer was a soft, warm smile.
"That's alright," Lily's child said. "I stopped feeling guilty for those I killed
a long time ago – a Crucio is nothing against what I have done."
This time the potion's master sneered at Lily's boy.
"I am quite sure that you never killed, Lily's child," he hissed. "The
Headmaster would have never allowed it!"
The child just looked at him. Then the boy shrugged.
"I'm quite sure that the first time I killed at least a body, even if it wasn't
a person, was when I was just a fifteen months old child."
Severus sneered.
"Quit your arrogance, Potter!" he said. "Whatever happened that night,
I'm sure you were the one who did the least!"
"Ah, but the ritual my mother used to protect me was taught and created
by me – so wouldn't it have been my kill, how indirectly it had been at
that time?" Potter said.
"What are you babbling about, Potter?" Snape hissed. "Are you delusional
now?"
The answer was a predatory smile.
"Severus Snape, Head of House Slytherin," Potter said instead. "Why do
you blame yourself when it was Dumbledore who stomped on my
mother's sacrifice?"
Severus sneered.
"The Headmaster would never…"
"Petunia Evans," the boy interrupted him and Severus' sneer vanished
when he remembered the awful girl who had always belittered Lily.
Every other thought was swept away when he looked down at Lily's
child.
"Why are you mentioning this vile woman?" he hissed.
"She didn't change from the time you knew her, you know?" the boy said.
"Imagine what it was like, growing up in her loving care…"
Dark, little spaces and frying pans made their way in Severus' mind –
memories he had seen in Lily's child's mind but had not paid attention to.
He had not been interested in what he saw, he had just been interested in
ending this cursed lesson as fast as possible.
Now he remembered them and shuddered inwardly.
His eyes were unconsciously searching those green, green eyes in front of
him. His magic spiked and a not controlled Legilimency probe just added
to what he already knew.
He didn't even think when he touched the child's chin, raising the boy's
head to be able to look better in Lily's eyes.
"Who was the imbecile who put you there?" he hissed.
The boy smiled – but the smile clearly didn't reach those green, green
eyes.
"Albus Dumbledore."
And Severus' world shattered fully.
Glasses with ingredients exploded. His desk was nothing but dust. His
magic was raging against the castle walls and the moaning door.
Severus did not know if he should rage, cry or grieve. His emotions were
all over the place when his Occlumency shields finally shattered under
the last disheartening revelation.
He knew, the Headmaster meant to do the right thing.
He knew the Headmaster was good.
But it was too much.
Severus had fought in a war since he was old enough to leave school. The
Headmaster, the great leader of the light, instead had opted to stand by
and watch while others struggled.
Severus had lied for that man, spied for that man – all to keep Lily safe.
But Lily had died in the care of Albus Dumbledore.
Severus had gone to Azkaban for three months for this man. He had
stayed true to his mask for this man – all to keep Lily's child safe.
And Albus Dumbledore had taken said child and placed it in the care of
that one person Severus never had the chance to protect it from: its own
aunt – a woman Severus had never thought of as the guardian of Lily's
child.
In that moment one of his shelves gave in to the pressure and crashed
before it was malmed into dust by Severus' magic.
Soft hands enveloped him, softly stroking his back in soothing circles.
And the first tear fell from his eyes.
He was the bat of the dungeon, the man without feelings, the nightmare
of every Gryffindor. He didn't cry like a child – he hadn't cried since the
day Lily left him for good!
But then the soothing hand again circled his back and the next tear
spilled. Severus' hands searched something to hold on, to rely on. Soft,
black fabric was what he found. The fabric of the boy's robe.
He was the bat of the dungeon – again a tear leaked from his eyes.
He was the man without feelings – his fingers tightened their grip on
Lily's child's robes.
He was the nightmare of every Gryffindor – and with a final soothing
circle on his back his shoulders sacked and he began to sob his heart out.
Until now, he had never allowed himself to grieve for Lily and for
everything he lost. Until now, he had simply shut away his emotions and
had instead relied on his hatred for Gryffindors and Potters especially to
be able to continue his day.
He had been crushed by his fears and had struggled under the burden
placed on his – at that time – far too young shoulders. He had never time
to grow up because he had been shackled to the place of his darkest past
– and at the same time he had been forced to grow up far too quickly.
And now he was sobbing on the shoulders of Lily's child. Relying on the
strength of Lily's child. His hands fisted even more when again guilt crept
into his consciousness. He shouldn't rely on a helpless teen in his distress.
He was the adult, the boy the child.
It was another soothing circle that destroyed these thoughts again. It was
the calm, shielding feeling of the boy's magic that made him rely on the
child and it were those green, green eyes that destroyed the last bits of
his resistance when he finally broke down in the arms of his student,
unable to take the cruelty of the world any longer.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When Severus Snape awoke the next morning, he was lying on his couch
in his quarters. On the table next to him was the well known letter he
had gotten some days previously. Severus stared at it.
When did he put it there? He was sure he had placed it on his desk in his
office the last time he had it in his hands.
The letter was open, displaying the invitation it contained.
xXx
To the Heir of the House Prince,
Child of the House of Prince, you have lived in honor of your ancestors. You
have lived sly; you have lived cunning; you have lived true to your ideals. You
have followed the way of your ancestors. I declare you the child of the beloved
heir of my House. As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need.
I will redeem your claim and return you to your rightful place. You are subject
to my House and I will take you in as mine.
I invite you back in my family.
Answer my call, heir of my House, and return to your rightful place.
Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight.
I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return.
The Head of the Family
xXx
Had Potter read it?
Then Severus shook his head to clear his mind. Potter couldn't have read
it. Severus might not remember how he found his way into his quarters
last night but Potter definitely hadn't been in here with him.
And the Occlumency lesson definitely hadn't taken place like he
remembered it. There was no way he would break down in the arms of a
student!
Sadly a certain part of Severus' mind – the Slytherin part – told him that
he was delusioning himself and that it had happened. But it couldn't
have. Potter… Potter hadn't been Potter yesterday. Especially not at the
end.
So maybe the end hadn't happened but had been added as dreams to the
lessons. Wishful thinking and all that. Sadly being an Occlumens made
convincing himself that he had dreamed the end of the lesson impossible.
An Occlumens always had a well sorted mind – to confuse a dream with
reality definitely would destroy said sorting…
So there was just one thing Severus Snape could do now.
He had to regain his dignity.
Gryffindor House of Hogwarts would wish to be never born at the end of
the following day.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
An explanation to Snape's behaviour: I tried to base it on his reaction to Lily's
letter in the memories of DH and because of that made him emotional -
exactly like he reacted when he was confronted with Lily again in DH. I hope
he doesn't get too OoC for your liking in this chapter...
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
37. Chapter 36: 980-1021 AD To
Aid A Child
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Un-beta-ed for now!
Sorry for the delay. School started again and I had to put it first, sorry.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Somewhere between 980 and 1021 AD
To Aid A Child, To Have A Child
sss
The next two and a half years were pure horror for Godric.
Until Salazar left, he had always thought that he was right and that
purebloods were a threat for the wizarding world. He had never ever
thought about the fact, that he once had known that Salazar was a
pureblood. When Salazar had told him all those winters ago, the fact that
he was a pureblood was something abstract and not worth thinking over
for Godric. He had simply accepted it at that time. And he had forgotten
it over the decades he had worked with Salazar side by side.
After all, who would remember something like that if the man you work
with was not different than every other man he had ever met? There was
no aspect in Salazar's personality that screamed "pureblood" – or at least
that screamed "pureblood" to Godric. Salazar was simply nothing like the
picture Godric had constructed for himself of a pureblood.
And so Godric had forgotten. Maybe him forgetting had also to do with
the fact that he had never heard of the word Salazar had used to name
himself a pureblood, before he had met Salazar. Salazar simply never had
said outright "I am a pureblood," not because Salazar was ashamed, but
because Salazar had never called a pureblood a pureblood. He had
always spoken of… Godric had forgotten the word again.
It had been two and a half years since Salazar had left. It had been two
and a half years since Helga had even looked at her brother or spoken to
him about anything but classes and the academia. And Godric had
learned the price you payed for prejudice.
Salazar's house, the Slytherin's had ochestrated themselves from the rest
of the houses, sneering at them and ignoring them. Especially Godric's
house was scorned by the Slytherins – and of course, Godric himself. Oh,
the Slytherins still attented his classes and did the things he ask of them.
But when they spoke to him their voices were icy and their gaze cold.
They blamed him for Salazar leaving. And he was to blame. He was the
one who had not stopped the students when they biasedly talked about
purebloods. He was the one who had bought into the rumors. He was the
reason Salazar left.
He and his big mouth.
He and his single brain cell.
And Godric blamed himself. He blamed himself for Salazar leaving. He
blamed himself for Rowena's tears and her refusal to even look at him for
a whole month after Salazar had left.
Of course, Godric had appologized. He had appologized to his brother-in-
law and his wife for calling them a monster. He also would have had
appologized to Salazar – but the man had vanished and wherever Godric
looked, he could not find him.
And Godric had looked. He had looked everywhere and he would
continue to do so whenever he had time. Every summer break since
Salazar left he had vanished looking for his friend, with no success. Every
day he had free he left Haugh's Wards by horse or wrote letters to every
acquaintance he had – the letters to Salazar himself returned unopened.
Slytherin house was in the moment managed by the potion professor –
just that the man was unable to teach at all. Godric regretted now that he
never listened to Salazar when the man had complained about the potion
master. Godric had always thought the man complained because of his
wish of perfection – Godric had never guessed that his complain was
founded on nothing but the truth.
They had to call back a former student to find an adequate rune master,
but the man was not truly interested in teaching and he was not even half
as good as Salazar had been. On the other hand the position of the healer
was left unoccupied because every decent healer was employed and the
others were mostly inadequat or asked for too much money.
And all that was Godric's fault.
All because he had decided to believe in rumors.
Oh, how Godric regretted his stupidy! Oh, how he regretted not even
trying to learn about the people he was afraid of!
In the end Godric had done the only thing he could do except of
searching for the vanished Slytherin-Founder. He had started to work on
his fear.
Instead of sneering at the centaurs in their woods he had searched them
out and had spoken to one of them. His heart had fluttered the whole
time and he had been ready to bold at the slighest movement, but he had
spoken with the centaur.
Centaurs were not terrifying, at least not much – that was the result
Godric drew at the end of his conversation with one. Not much of a
result, but enough for Godric.
Then Godric had searched out other purebloods. He left the castle and
visited another lake because he had heard the rumors of merpeople. The
merpeople had been terrifying to look at but they had been friendly and
patient when Godric had tried to start a conversation with one of them.
This time the results were that Haugh's Wards gained some new
inhabitance in the lake – Godric dearly hoped that Salazar wouldn't mind
but he guessed that if the man could accept centaurs in their woods, he
would be able to accept merpeople in their lake.
Peverell had just shaken his head and mumbled something like: "The next
time he comes back with a grim or a dragon!"
Maybe Godric would have – but he definitely knew his sister and his wife
good enough to not even try this stunt. He would be banished from
Haugh's Wards before he could even open his mouth and tell them about
the new addition if he would dare to bring a dragon or another
dangerous creature…
Not that he would have brought a dragon. Well, maybe…
Godric shook his head to clear it. He was back in the outer world,
searching for either a pureblood he had not met or Salazar – whatever
crossed his way first. Usually it was a pureblood.
"You should look where you're going," a voice suddenly interrupted his
musings. Godric startled. "It's definitely not a bright idea to walk through
a forest like this one without being allert. There are more terrifying
predeators in the world than animals."
Long years of training kicked in instantly and a second later Godric had
turned to where the voice had come from, his wand in his hand and a
spell on his lips. The stranger reacted just in time to step out of the way
of the spell.
"Well, it seems that you are at least adequate with your defences if you
are allert," the stranger drawled, white fangs gleaming in the dimming
light of the evening.
Vampire.
That was a pureblood, Godric definitely had not wanted to meet.
He gulped.
Immortal, his mind suplied. Drinks blood. Dangerous.
Nope, definitely not a pureblood he wanted to meet.
"Cat got your tongue?" the vampire asked with a raised eyebrow.
Apparently it had judged him and had dismissed him as a threat – or why
was it still talking to him after he had shown it that he was a wizard?
Then the words of the vampire caught up to him and Godric snarled.
"Definitely not," he hissed. The vampire just looked at him, clearly
unimpressed.
"So, wizard, is there a reason why you wander these woods while clearly
asleep with your eyes open?"
"I was not asleep! I was thinking, remembering!" Godric defended himself
while blushing. He could not believe he hadn't payed attention to his
surroundings while walking in the woods! Especially unknown woods!
"Maybe you should remember elsewhere when you need to be asleep to
do it," the vampire remarked. Godric hissed.
"Shut up! Clearly whoever raised you had no idea what he was doing if
you are that rude with every person you meet!" it was after he had
uttered his sentence that he remembered that he was speaking to a
vampire – a human blood sucking, ridiculously powerful vampire. Maybe
not the best idea Godric ever had to insult a vampire's parents if the
vampire could rip him to shreds without anybody wiser.
But the vampire just laughed.
"Pater wouldn't mind. I grew up getting reminded to never sleep in the
woods without proper wards around myself. Of course, it still can happen
that you are surprised or captured by whatever, but it is less likely if you
are cautious – and you definitely weren't," the vampire added after
having a good laugh at Godric's words. Godric just growled.
"And I bet he also taught you how to prey on innocent wanderers," he
mumbled. He thought that he had been quiet enough but it seemed that
the hearing of a vampire was far sharper than he had assumed because
the vampire looked at him stunned and a little bit offended.
"I'm not preying onto you!" the vampire said. "If I truly would have liked
to do that I would have done that hours ago when I first saw you – not
when you were just inches from kissing a tree goodnight!"
"Hu?" Godric asked and turned around to look in the direktion he had
been heading – just to hit his head on said tree.
"Oh, ouch."
"So much to my warning," the vampire snorted and shook his head.
"You're definitely an odd sorcerer, you know?"
Godric looked at the vampire oddly.
"I would say you are an odd vampire," he countered. The answer was a
pearly laugh.
"Aye, that I am," the vampire said grinning. "But I'm proud of it!"
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the vampire
bowed in front of Godric and said. "Anastasius Sanguini, at your service."
Godric refrained from rubbing his eyes to see if he was hallucinating. A
vampire wouldn't act like a properly raised lord, would it?
"Er… Godric Gr… LeFay, at your service," he said, correcting his own last
name in the last minute. He had not spoken his own last name for such a
long time that it sounded nearly foreign in his own ears.
"LeFay?" the vampire repeated surprised. "You're a child of my uncle?"
Then recognition lit his eyes.
"You're the wanna-be mixblood who insulted my father," it said
knowingly. "I never thought I would meet you after Pater left you and
your relations."
It was the way the vampire said 'wanna-be mixblood' that sparked
recognition in Godric.
He had heard the description before.
But where…?
Salazar.
Godric's eyes widened.
"You know Salazar?" he asked interested. Then the words of the vampire
caught up to him and he fully understood what the vampire had told him.
"Wait – Pater? As in father? As in Salazar is your father?!" he asked with
huge eyes. The vampire's eyes narrowed.
"And if he is?" it – no, he asked and Godric had a feeling that if he would
dare to say something against his friend, the vampire would use him as
his next evening snack.
"I was searching for him!" Godric explained hurriedly. "I wanted to
appologize! I acted like a dunderhead. I never thought the words I said
through. I never wanted to hurt him and I was an idiot whose
impressions of the purebloods were based on nothing but unfounded
rumors and the fear of the unknown! I've been searching for him for the
last two years and… and… Do you know where he is?"
The answer was a snort.
"The error of your ways?" it – no, he repeated with disbelieve coloring his
voice. "Did you, really my dear wanna-be mixed blood?"
Godric frowned at the creature his friend had raised – no, his friend's son.
"Yes, I did," he finally said, his eyes never leaving those silvery, uncanny
eyes of the vampire. The next steps the vampire took were too fast for
Godric to follow. One moment the vampire was still some feet away, the
next it was in front of him, nose to nose, watching him with eyes that
seemed to see more than normal eyes.
"I still don't think you understand, Godric, child of my uncle," the
vampire said, its eyes looking into Godric's soul with a clarity that was as
frightening as Salazar's deathly gaze could be.
"Believe me, Salazar's child, I know now that I looked at purebloods the
wrong way. I know now that my bias was based in fear. I had my reasons
to react like that," Godric whispered, but his eyes still stayed on the eyes
of the vampire. He couldn't show weakness. Not in front of a creature
that could kill him with its bare hands if it wanted to.
"You had your reasons?" Anastasius raised a single eyebrow at that. "Then
tell me your reasons. Maybe I will forgive you and help you to find my
father."
Godric opened his mouth to tell the vampire that he was an idiot, that he
simply never new that Salazar was a pureblood as well and that his bias
was founded in his unfounded fear of the unknown.
"My father was killed by the goblins," he said instead. "I was a lad of
seven at that time. We were on the way home from my grandparents
house. They killed my father because he was there. He wasn't even
fighting them! They just came, saw him and killed him! My mother took
me and my four year old sister and ran. She died the day after we
reached my grandparents. Something about her being unable to live
without her bonded! Purebloods… purebloods have done that! Can you
truly blame me if I hate them after that? My sister might not remember –
but I do. I do!"
Godric stopped, surprised with himself for the answer he had given the
vampire. He had not truly remembered that incident until his mouth had
spoken for him those damning words of hate.
"You seem surprised," the vampire said, raising its eyebrow.
"I… I forgot that incident. It was years ago – way before I even met
Salazar," Godric said. "I… how can I give you an answer like that if I
never even remembered that incident actively?"
The silvery eyes of the vampire sparkled.
"Because I wanted to know the truth – and if a vampire wishes to know it
there is no way to stop it from getting it."
Vampire abilities – at least this explained Godric's answer a bit.
"Is it wrong, to hate those purebloods?" he asked, his fists clenching while
his eyes finally left those of the vampire to study everything but the
being in front of him.
"Is it wrong to feel hate for the killers of my family?"
And Anastasius looked at him with understanding and wisdom in his
eyes.
"I hate humans", Anastasius said, it was not an answer – but at the same
time it was the only answer the vampire seemed to be able to give. "I was
just a lad of three when my parents fell to their hatred. When my parents
died because they decided that they wanted to raid the city we lived in.
But as much as I want to hate them – I am unable to look at them and see
nothing but monsters.
"Maybe I can't because when I look at them I see my father looking at
me. For all its worth, my father should have hated me. I belonged to the
very nation that killed his family – but he doesn't blame them. The
romans were the reason his fathers, brother and uncles died. The romans
are the reason why he still feels the pain of death sometimes – and he
still took me in and loved me. I was a roman child when he found me – I
might have been a roman vampire child, but still a roman. You cannot
blame a whole nation for something a few of its people did."
This time Godric snarled, forgetting that his opponent was a vampire.
Instead the old feeling of hatred and fear found its way out and showed
itself on his features – features that looked so much like Salazar's and
were so different at the same time that it was uncanny.
"It is my right to blame them all for the death of my parents! Someone
has to! If I don't – who will remember them?" he hissed. "Someone has to
keep their legacy alive!"
"And yet you worked with my father for years. You even went to the
goblins and interacted with them. Tell me what changed?"
"Nothing!"
"Did you maybe remember that you aren't different than them in the end?
Did you fear to go against the current believes because you know deep
down in your heart that there is nothing to distinguish between you and
them?"
Godric just snarled again.
"I am absolutely different than a pureblood!"
"Are you? If you truly believe that – tell me the difference you are
refering to, cousin," Anastasius voice was hammering away the shield
Godric had build to shield himself from prejudice and pain. "Look in the
mirror and tell me the difference between you and me – between my
father and you!"
Godric opened his mouth – just to close it again with a snapping sound.
In his mind he saw Salazar's deathly green eyes.
Godric's eyes.
In his mind he heard Salazar's voice telling him about a pureblood soul.
"A pureblood has a hard soul. If they marry another pureblood the child is still
a pureblood. It still has a hard soul. If said child marries another mixed-born
pureblood, their child will still be a pureblood – a pureblood with four halfs of
a different pureblood.
"If neither of the child's grandparents is the same pureblood the child will have
four halfs of different souls. The soft soul of a mundane has no chance to add
itself to a construct like that. It cannot interact with a full circle – and four
soulparts build a full circle. Those children are the beginning of a line of Olde
ones.
To add a mundane soul part would mean to destabilize said soul. It's just
stable because all those soul parts are hard and easy to fit together. A soft soul
part wouldn't act the same as the hard ones and in the end the soul wouldn't
be able to stabilize itself. An Olde one cannot have a part of a mundane soul.
They would not be born alive if they did. They are basically still Firbolg-born."
And when Godric had ask how the conditions of the Olde lines added to
this mix, Sal had just shrugged.
"They are the tricker to manifest the soul of an Olde one. Your sister is a
Firbolg-born because your mother obviously was a Firbolg and not a sorceress.
But if your mother would have been a sorceress, your sister would never have
been a Firbolg-born. She would have lost this part of her inheritance, because
it was you who inherited the tricker. The inheritance of the abilities of an Olde
one is tricky and there are few lines who are producing Olde ones to beginn
with. Lines like yours. Lines like Peverell's will be if Helga and he will ever
have children of their own."
Anastasius was right.
Whatever argument Godric would try to utter – there was no difference
between himself and a pureblood. He was a pureblood. Like Rowena was
a pureblood, like Peverell was, like Godric's own little sister Helga was.
The knowing eyes of the vampire filled his vision.
"I… I can fight evil. I can fight those that want to destroy our world,"
Godric finally said, his eyes begging the vampire in front of him to
forgive him, to understand him. "But I cannot fight prejudice. I cannot sit
there and accept that they belittened me – just because I was born the
same as this… this mass-murderer!
"I am strong – but I am not strong enough to stand up to the Gathering of
the Lords and tell them they are idiots because I am the same as this
mass-murderer they fear! Because my sister is the same! My wife! I
cannot stand up to them because if I did they would come after my
family instead! I know the fear that drives them! I felt that fear myself
when the goblins killed my father! I cannot and I will not let them have a
go at my family! If that means to forget what I am – so be it. If that
means to anger those around be, so be it! As long as they are safe, I don't
care!"
And it was the truth – a truth Godric had kept enclosed in his heart, a
truth he had never considered, never actively known but had followed it
nevertheless. He was a lion at heart – but even a lions priority was its
pride.
And Godric would do anything for his pride – even let them hate him as
long as they were safe.
And Godric would have been fine with their hatred if Salazar hadn't
been. If Salazar hadn't confronted him and forced him to take a look at
his own behavior. It might have begun with the wish to keep his family
safe, but on the way he had forgotten his goal and had instead become
what he tried to avoide.
Salazar would never forgive him for that.
"And yet you are out here, searching for my father, ready to tell him that
you are sorry, ready to give up everything just to get him back,"
Anastasius said in that moment.
Godric snorted, but this time self-hatred colored his voice.
"He was one of those people I tried to shield. What use has a shield if
those shielded stand in front of it?" he asked.
The answer was a small smile.
"My father… Pater always was the one shielding. He doesn't take well to
being shielded – especially not if others are in harms way because of the
shield that is build to shield him," Anastasius said softly. "You cannot
shield someone who has long since lost every kind of blindness to the
cruelness of the world."
"Salazar still believes in those around him," Godric answered. "He always
sees the best in them."
"And yet he was able to look at you and believe that you have lost your
path. Pater might give everyone a fair chance – but he knows that people
can be fickle. He was hurt because you turned on him, but he wasn't
surprised that you did. He knows it can happen. Pater has seen the bitter
truth too often to be blind to it."
Godric stared at Salazar's child. In front of his inner eye he saw every
interaction he ever had with Salazar. The other man had always acted
nice and approachable. But at the same time there had been times in the
past that told a different story. Godric just had never looked.
He had not understood Salazar's reaction when they gave him the name
'Slytherin'. Now, looking back he could see that Salazar had known that
they would give up on him in the future. It seemed the moment they
called him Slytherin he had known they would go against him some time
in the future.
And Godric had been to blind to see that knowledge, that pain, at that
time.
And Godric cursed himself for his blindness.
"Will he ever forgive us?" he asked nearly silently. "Will he ever forgive
me?"
The answer was a shrug.
"He will forgive you, cousin," Anastasius said. "Pater doesn't hold a
grudge. But even if he forgives you – if he will ever trust you again is
another thing."
For a moment Godric said nothing, then he nodded.
"It doesn't matter," he declared. "As long as I can say sorry I will be able
to accept any punishment he bestows on me."
The answer this time was a bitter smile.
"I cannot help you, cousin," Anastasius said. "I know where he is – but
even I can't reach him there."
"Why? Where is he?"
This time the vampire winced.
"He was captured by sorcerers two month ago," Anastasius said, guilt
showing on his face. "It was my fault. I was careless and Pater had to help
me to escape them. He wasn't strong enough to escape them, too."
And with those words the old feeling of fury rose in Godric's chest.
"Where?" he asked but Anastasius shook his head.
"Pater will kill me if I do something recless again – and bringing you
along on a rescue mission counts as recless, I fear."
Godric snorted as an answer.
"I am a well-trained sorcerer. I know what I can and what I can't do!"
But the vampire just shook his head.
"Pater prohibited me to go on a rescue mission with just Gryffindors. He
said something about 'if you ever dare to go somewhere dangerous solely
with Godric I will use you and Godric in my next potion experiment as
test subjects!'"
Godric winced.
"Maybe we should return to Haugh's Wards and ask Peverell and Rowena
to come along… or Helga… better Helga. My wife would skin me alive if
I suggested something like that. Maybe its because she's expecting?" he
finally suggested. "Anyway, that should rescue us from becoming test
subjects."
And as much as Godric wanted to free his friend – he definitely wouldn't
dare to go against an order like that. He knew too well that Salazar did
not just threaten with things. He would follow up with his threat if
someone dared to disobey him.
Anastasius just hesitated a moment, then he nodded.
"Good idea, cousin," he said. "Very good idea."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Ya belong ta Haugh's Wards, don't ya?" the voice that spoke to Sal was
hated by him now. Ever since he had freed his son from the hands of
those man and had been captured instead, they had tried to use him to
their own benefit.
They had soon found out who he was – they had forced a truth serum
down his throad. The truth serum was no Veritasserum, that didn't exist
yet, but it was a strong enough truth serum that he had been forced to
tell them he was 'Salazar Slytherin'.
Two years he had been away from Haugh's Wards now, touring the
world, healing like he had done for centuries – and they still tried to use
him to gain access to it.
"I'm sure ya know that castle like no one else. We're searchin' for
somethin' an' I'm sure ye know where ta find it," the man in front of
Salvazsahar said.
"Ya're Slytherin, aren't ya?" one of the rest of the men said. The first
speaker and his men had captured Sal, bound and blinded him with a
cloth after he had rescued his careless, curious son from them. Just a few
days before that rescue, Sal had still worked himself nearly to death by
trying to help a village against a plague. Sal had been at the village and
its neighbour-villages for the last two and a half months, fighting against
dragon pox. It had been draining and agonizing on his body and Sal had
been happy when he had finally been able to move on – still drained
because of his extended use of sterilisation runes and other magics but
sure that the villages would survive.
The villages would, but thanks to Anastasius curiousity Sal had not been
able to move on like he wanted. Instead he had followed the bond he
shared with his curious and recless son – a bond that had told him his
son was in danger and unable to rescue himself – until he had reached
the fortress in which he was captured now. He had been forced to enter
said fortress, his bond telling him that there was no time to ask for help,
and then had searched the castle until he found his son, fed him his
blood, healed him and finally forced him to leave without Sal when it
had become clear that they wouldn't be both able to escape capture.
So instead of being able to wander again, he was now in the hands of
those thugs.
"Hey, I talked t'ya!" the leader – or who Sal thought was the leader – said
and in the next moment Sal felt his cheek sting after being slapped. Sal
just hissed at the man. He was angry with himself. He knew long before
he reached the fortress that he was in no condition to help his son. He
had been tired and drained after treating the plague for two month. But
at the same time he knew that he hadn't been able to do something
different. Anastasius, is curious, stupidly recless child, would have died if
he hadn't come when he had. And Sal would prefere death to the death of
his own child.
The next slap Sal received made his head spin.
"If ya don't want t'feel my hand again, speak!" the man growled.
Sal spat at him, but answered anyway.
"And if I was Slytherin, what would you do?" he asked coolly.
The answer was a hearty laugh by the still invisible man – Sal cursed his
luck that they had bound and blinded him. He was too exhausted to use
normal magic without his wand so family magic – the only magic that
could have helped him – was definitely out. Sal needed time, rest and
nurishment to recover, but being in the hands of those thugs would give
him none of that…
"I heard that Haugh's Wards was once Camelot," the man said and Sal
could just hear the invisible evil grin. "My master want ta have the castle.
It's rightfully his, ya know?"
Sal spit at him.
Regretfully he missed.
Another slap in his face was the answer – but Sal had gone through worse
since his capture.
"O' course there's the graves, too, ya know? The graves o' Arthur, the
traitor and o' Mordred, the Great!"
"As if I would give people like you access to my family's graves!" Sal
answered with a hiss. "You and your master might think yourselves above
the normal sorcerers, but you aren't! You have no right to access my
home!"
The answer was a punch in his gut.
Sal spit blood at them, not caring for his injury. It wouldn't be the first
time in the last two months that he nearly died in their tender care.
"I heard ya taught a lot o' children o' the Lords of the Gatherin'," the man
said in that moment, trying another tactic – as if Salvazsahar would give
in to something like that. "And I heard ya 'n'ya comrades're rich. I'm sure
we can find a way t'share ya gold between us poor people. And I'm sure
ya'll be willing t'aid us in finding a way into Haugh's Wards. Ye know, ta
the grave o' Mordred, the Great!"
This time Sal spat him in the face – and he was pretty sure he didn't miss
this time around because the man cursed and then slapped him again.
Sal kicked the man in the shien.
The answer was a harsh punsh in Sal's gut, followed by a gag.
"And I thought ya'd cooperate more with us, now after ya've been thrown
out o' Haugh's Wards…" the man said. "Well, we've ways t'make ya
cooperate."
The next weeks were again pure torture for Sal – literally, to his utter
regret. They broke and shattered his bones, they burned him, they slithed
his skin and nearly drowned him – some of the treatment was new, some
of it he had experienced before. Sal wasn't even sure how often they
nearly killed him that time around. The only thing he knew that he
cursed his cursed life and his inabilty to die more than once – not that
they truly noticed when they once truly killed him. He stayed dead too
shortly for them to notice.
Nevertheless, Sal was sure that if he wouldn't have been stubborn by
nature they would have broken him in spirit long ago. Regrettably Sal
had never done what another person wanted if he saw no reason to do so.
And agony was no reason.
That fact he had learned a long time ago, on the day he died the first
time. The weeks while his heart healed itself were by far worse in pain
than anything they could do to him – especially if they tried to 'keep him
alive'.
"Well," the man said. It was their dayly ritual after another torture
session. "Do ya want t'talk now?"
Sal just hissed through his gag.
"Well, maybe ya'll talk if I show ya this," the man said and the first time
in three months the blinding was taken from Sal's eyes and Sal's head was
turned so that he could see a young boy sitting in the corner. The boy
was pale and bruised, blood was colouring one of his cheeks and his
clothes red.
Sal knew the boy.
It was one of his Slytherins.
"Myrddin Wylt," his mind supplied. "The boy's name is Myrddin Wylt."
In the same moment fury rose in Sal's chest. He had never been a teacher
to the boy but even with him out of Haugh's Wards he had taken care in
knowing every child that entered the academia. He knew every child who
was in Slytherin and he knew that the boy had been taken home by his
parents shortly before Sal had been captured by those thugs. The lad's
grandfather had been dying and had wished to see the lad a last time
before he died and so Myrddin Wylt had left Haugh's Wards to comply
with his grandfather's wishes.
"Ah, it seems ya recognize the lad," the man said triumphantly. "So, if ya
don't want the lad t'suffer what ya've suffered so far, ya'll do as we want
ya to!" And his hands grabbed Sal's hair and turned Sal's gaze so that Sal
could look him in the eyes.
A mistake on the man's part.
A grave one.
Fury fueled Sal's magic, his green eyes showing the fire of the Phoenix.
And the fire of the Phoenix was unforgiving, unforgiving like the basilisk
in Salvazsahar's blood.
And from the deathly green eyes the second, unseen lid flew open, setting
free the fire within those deadly eyes.
The man had not even time to react. One moment he thought himself the
winner, the next he was laying on the floor, his eyes open and broken,
dead.
A basilisk gave no second chances.
And the basilisk was powerful in Salvazsahar's blood.
Sal moaned, tiredly. He had not eaten even once a week since he had
been captured and he had lost a lot of blood – not good for someone who
practiced blood-magic. Sorcerers using a wand were not as connected
with their magic as someone who practiced blood-magic. Practicing
blood-magic meant that Sal's body and magic were intervined on a far
higher level than by a normal sorcerer – having lost as much blood as he
had and being starved, beaten and dehydrated was definitely
contraproductive for a druid's magic.
Still, when two other men entered the dungeon they had hidden Sal away
in just a few seconds after Sal had killed the first, they met the same fate
like their leader.
No mercy, the basilisk cried.
No mercy, the Phoenix called.
And Salvazsahar had learned long ago that even as a healer he couldn't
show mercy to thugs like them.
Then Sal heated his arms with his magic.
He was panting, doing so. It was utterly draining. At least he could use
magic again. He hadn't been able to do so when he had been captured –
still too drained to even think about using magic after his excessive use
the two month before and the feeding of his child his blood just minutes
before.
Sal also knew that it wouldn't take long for him until he was again unable
to use his inheritance. He was too hurt and too tired to keep it up. It was
only the desperate wish to protect his student that fuelt his magic at the
moment – definitely not ideal but Sal didn't care. He himself had suffered
through death before, being tortured to death was not as bad as dying by
a destroyed heart had been, but Myrddin Wylt was a child – and Sal
would be damned if he let those thugs torture a helpless little twelve-
year-old.
In that moment the bindings on his arms fell to the floor. Sal winced
when his arms were freed. They were cramped and hurt – but he could
not tend to himself now. He needed to get the child out of here before
the other men returned.
So Sal ignored his pain and instead freed himself from the gag and stood.
"Mryddin," he hissed, his voice sounded more like a snake's than his usual
voice but he had no energy to form words beyond the rhasping hiss he
produced. The boy looked up at him with huge eyes. Sal stumbled over to
where the boy sat and freed the child from its bindings. "Stand up! We
need to go!"
"Who are you?" the lad was clearly terrified and Sal winced inwardly
when he suddenly remembered that the lad had seen him kill those
people.
"Salazar Slytherin," he finally settled on saying, hoping that the lad had
heard positive things about him in his house and not negative ones.
The lad's huge, admiring eyes suggested that at least Slytherin still held
him in high regard.
"Now, stand up lad, we have to go!"
"What about my parents, sir?" the boy asked, fear lacing his eyes.
The parents.
They also had the lad's parents.
Sal guessed that the parents were long dead by now, but he asked the lad
anyway:
"Where're they?" Sal rhasped.
"I… I don't know," the boy answered. "We were separated by those…
those men. I… mum… I have no idea were my parents are now…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"You're telling me, you need me and my pregnant wife to go with you
because you might have a lead concerning Salazar?" Godric cringed when
Peverell looked at him sneering. It seemed as if Peverell was less than
pleased with what Godric had found out.
"Well… we might help to storm the fortress he is captured in…" he
hesitatingly tried to explain.
"And you need my heavily pregnant wife for that, Godric?"
"Er… well… we could take Row…"
"So instead of my heavily pregnant wife we take yours? Great idea,
Godric. That's so much better!"
"Er… yes… well…"
"No," to Godric's relieve Anastasius finally had mercy on him. "We just
need someone who isn't a Gryffindor – so you alone would be enough,
actually."
Peverell raised his eyebrow at that declaration.
"You need someone who isn't a Gryffindor," he repeated, disbelief
colouring his voice.
Anastasius nodded eagerly.
"Pater forbid me to come to his rescue if I'm solely backed up by
Gryffindors."
For a moment Peverell stared at him as if Anastasius had gone insane.
Then he pinched his nose and sighed.
"How sure are you that he's captured in there and that he's still…" he
stopped midsentence. "Actually, forget the second part. There is no way
he died."
"So you're helping us?" Godric asked eagerly, clearly ready to bounce
back to where he had come from just minutes ago.
"I asked how sure you are that he's the…"
"Absolutely," Anastasius interrupted him. "He rescued me from there but
wasn't able to escape himself afterwards."
Peverell frowned.
"That doesn't sound like the Salazar I know. He would never go in there if
he didn't know a way to come out whole on the other side."
"Well, Pater hadn't had time to think about that or anything," Anastasius
said, wincing. "I was in a little bit of trouble in there and if he hadn't
come at the time he came I wouldn't be alive anymore, you know?"
Peverell just frowned at the vampire in front of him.
"And you are?"
"Anastasius Sanguini. Salvazsahar is my father."
It acutally took a moment to connect the different sounding name to
Salazar, then Peverell pinched his nose again.
"No wonder Salazar was always able to keep Godric out of trouble. He
had obviously a lot of practice while raising you!"
Anastasius just shrugged and looked at him a little bit guilty.
"Maybe?" he finally offered and Peverell sighed.
"I can't believe I'll go with two recless Gryffindor's to rescue a snake."
"Snake?" Anastasius asked, clearly not understanding. Peverell just
shrugged.
"His character is definitely sake-like. He knows how to turn everything to
his benefits and strucks you when you think of it the least."
For a moment, Anastasius thought that over, then he nodded.
"You're right. Seems to fit," he declared. "You coming?"
Peverell just sighed again, but then nodded.
It took them another hour until they cloud finally leave. Peverell after all
had to tell Rowena and Helga where he was going first and then still had
to pack. Both women weren't exactely happy with them but both of them
understood that there was no way they would let Salazar suffer at the
hands of men who were clearly enemies.
And so they started their wandering towards the fortress Salazar was
caputered in – and they had to wander. Apparation, floo or port-keys
weren't invented at that time, after all.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Salvazsahar maybe wouldn't have been able to rescue himself and
Myrddin Wylt from the fortress they were imprisoned in, if a distraction
wouldn't have occurred just seconds after Sal was able to open the door
to the dungeons.
They had just reached the lived-in part of the castle and Sal had feared
that they would have no chance to cross this part without being seen and
being captured again. If Sal was truthful, he had long since expected to
be captured again – as long as Myrddin would have time to flee, Sal was
alright with dying again and again at the hands of those monsters.
But now, with the distraction, there might be a way for them to escape
both – and Sal had to give it. The distraction definitive was one of the
bigger scale.
The earth shook beneath their feet and power surged through the air
when a second huge bold of lightning embodied itself in the middle of
the fortress, roasting a lot of the sorcerers who protected the walls. The
first one had hit the main tower. The roove was in flames and the walls
were staggering. Just a few minutes and they would break down fully.
"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Sal heard a voice he hadn't heard for two years,
exclaiming in utter disbelieve. "What did you do just now?"
Godric.
Godric was here.
For a moment, utter relieve flooded Salvazsahar's venes, then dread
settled into his stomach. How would Godric react if he saw him after all
this time? They hadn't parted in friendship after all and Sal was in no
condition to fight against him again.
Still, those two were his way out – and if he had to die by Godric's hands
to get Myrddin Wylt to safety, then he would die gladly.
"I'm the son of a thunderbird, you dolt! I might be able to perform magics
like you do with a wand but as I'm half-thunderbird I'm able to use
lightning if I truly want it! And now get out of my way, you useless
sorcerer!"
Peverell.
A clearly unhappy Peverell.
Why, by earth and fire, were those two even here?
Myrddin Wylt, mayhap?
In that moment the next lightning stroke the fortress.
"Better keep going, Myrddin!" Sal adviced and pushed the lad along. The
lad just stared at him blankly.
"What about my parents, sir?" he asked.
"We have to get you out of here, lad," Sal answered. "I promise I'll look
for them if we have time and you are safe, child."
"But," the boy started to protest, but Sal just yanked him along, hoping to
find Peverell and Godric before those two brought down the castle
around them.
Had those two never heard something about doing a rescue mission silently?
"Stop your attack or I will kill my prisoners!"
Sal stopped running and pushed Myrddin against the stones of one of the
towers so that they weren't seen. On the walls stood a man – obviously
the lord of the castle – and in his hands he helt the hair of a woman who
clearly had been subjected to the cruelty of his men.
"MUM!" Salvazsahar tried to hold the boy, but he clearly hadn't enough
muscles anymore to stop the child. So instead of stopping Myrddin Wylt,
the child escaped his grasp and stormed towards the woman and the lord.
"Myrddin!"
Sal reached out to the boy, desperate to catch him again, but his hands –
hands that once had been able to catch the snitch so securely – missed
the child and Sal could just watch it running out of hiding towards
danger.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"So tell me, Godric, how did you plan to enter this castle?" Peverell asked
when they finally reached their destination. The castle looked forbidding
and dark.
Godric just shrugged.
"Knocking, maybe?" he suggested. Peverell stared at his friend as if he
had never seen him before.
"Knocking?" he repeated. "Knocking! We're here to break out a prisoner
and you think that the right way doing it, is by knocking on the door?
Have you finally gone insane, Godric?"
Anastasius next to them sniggered.
"At least now I know why I was forbidden to go on a rescue-mission with
only Gryffindors as my back-up," he said.
Peverell turned to the vampire.
"Don't tell me you also would have knocked?" he sounded absolutely
horrified. Anastasius answered him with an odd look on his face.
"What else?" he said. "It's definitively the easiest way to catch their
attention."
Peverell just burried his head in his hands and groaned.
"I never thought that someone as causious as Salazar would be able to
raise a child like you!"
The answer was another unconcerned shrug from Anastasius.
"Pater said he was once as forward as I am now and that I will learn in
time to do things differently," he tried to reassure the other man. Peverell
just sighed.
"Well – if you want to knock on the door so badly, do me a favor and let
me do it at least," he finally said while his mind made up a plan that
should work even with two careless and reckless idiots like Godric and
Anastasius as a back-up.
"And what's different if you knock on the door instead of us?" Godric
asked him frowning.
"I do it with a bigger bang," Peverell answered and then knelt down on
the earth. He emptied his mind like he always did before going to bed
and concentrated on a hidden part of his personality. The hidden part he
had inherited from his parents – a hidden part that most of the sorcerers
had forgotten how to use a long time ago.
"What are you doing?" Godric asked him. "You can't knock on the door if
you're sitting here in the gras, half a mile away from the fortress…"
Peverell ignored him because in that moment he found what he was
searching for in his mind. His last weapon. The last thing his magic
would resort to if he was ever threatened and unable to defend himself.
Unlike Sal's abilities, Peverell's were never awakened and so he was
unable to actually fully control them. But Peverell was the son of two
purebloods – he had learned to harvest his blood-born ability even
without the advantages of blood-magic and the full control over it that
came with this advantage.
"Peverell?"
And that was the moment Peverell let go of the power within him. The
sky darkened and then a huge lightning struck the main tower. A second
lightning followed just seconds later and roasted a lot of their enemies
before those even understood that Peverell, Godric and Anastasius were
there.
"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Godric exclaimed with huge eyes. "What did you
do just now?"
The answer was a laughter. It wasn't Peverell laughing, but Anastasius.
"Whatever it is – it is the best distraction ever!" he crawed. "I'm of,
rescuing Pater!" And with that Peverell was left alone to deal with an
absolutely flabbergasted Godric.
Another lightning struck the fortress, and then the lord of the castle
came, in his hands a woman and on his lips a threat.
"Myrddin!"
Salazar's voice.
And Peverell suddenly knew that whatever the day would bring today, it
would never be the same afterwards.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Godric stared at the other Lords of the Gathering. It had been a month
after Peverell, Anastasius and he had attacked the fortress.
The last thing that Godric had heard from Salazar was a message of his
son that they had been able to escape the fortress thanks to their help.
Godric had written back and begged Salazar to finally return home, but
the reply had been from Anastasius again, telling him that Salazar would
and could not for the time being. And Godric had ripped the sheat of
parchment into shreds, crying and begging for forgivness. And Peverell
had stood next to him and told him that it was Salazar's decision. If the
other man was still not able to forgive him, Godric had to accept it and
would have to live with it.
And so Godric had decided to stand his man and to live up to his new
believes of equality of beings, even if he was absolutely outnumbered in
the Gathering of the Lords.
Since Salazar had vanished, the Lords had started to insist that they
should have a say in the processes of the academia. Godric hated it. It
was as if without Salazar the Lords thought they had the right to
influence the proceedings in the academia, just because there was no lord
of the land.
"The lands of the academia should be searched and every pureblood
found on it should be banished before they can hurt our children," one of
the Lords said coolly in that moment, ignoring Peverell who grimaced
when hearing his words.
"You have no right to decide that!" Godric objected heatedly. "The lands
don't belong to anyone but…"
"Wherever Slytherin is, he is gone for over two years! He gave up his
ancestral home for the academia, if he's gone now we have every right
to…"
"Don't you dare to finish this sentence!" Godric interrupted fuming.
"Peverell and I have taken over the academia as long as Salazar is gone!
It is our right to…"
"There is no guaranty, no evidence that he is still alive! He has no heirs
so there is no one who can inherit! The castle is his legacy to us! It is our
right to decide what happen with the academia!" Lord Gaunt said coolly.
The answer was a snarl from Godric.
Oh how he wished he had seen Salazar when they rescued him from this
hounted castle! If he had he would have been able to truly declare that
Salazar was alright and returning soon!
"The castle belongs to Salazar. He might have vanished two years ago,
but this is no evidence that he died!" Peverell said calmly.
"There also is no evidence that he is still alive!" Lord Gaunt hissed. "I say
we should assume that he died and turn over the castle into our hands!"
Godric gawked at the man. He could not believe what he was hearing!
They wanted to steal Salazar's inheritance just because the man had
vanished? He had known that the lords had wanted influence but he
couldn't believe that they tried that now – now while Peverell and
himself were still there!
"Salazar is still alive!" he said fuming. "We heard of his well-being just a
month ago!"
"That's what you say!" Lord Gaunt countered. "Where's the evidence of
your words? As long as he doesn't come back the castle should be given
to us!"
"The castle…" Peverell began, but before he could speak further another
voice interrupted him. The voice was cool, nearly icy and controlled.
"Even if I would have died, the castle would have never fallen in the
hands of the Gathering," the voice said softly. As if they were one man,
the Lords of the Gathering flinched and shifted to look at the entrance.
There stood a man, wearing a roughed up, green tunic. Next to him stood
another hooded man and a child of maybe twelve. Then the man made
another step forward and the light of the candles exposed his face to the
Lords of the Gathering.
Salazar.
Salazar was back.
"L-Lord Slytherin!" the stutter was heard not only on the lips of one lord.
Salazar sneered at all of them.
"I cannot believe that you tried to get influence in the academia when
you should know that there is no way that I would ever leave the school
to the Gathering," Salazar sneered.
The answer was a frown from Lord Gaunt.
"You have no wife and no heir, so who should inherit when you die?" he
asked Salazar.
It was that question that reminded Godric of the last time he had seen –
well, not truly seen, but seen nonetheless – Salazar and he spoke up
before Salazar could say anything.
"Salazar has a son," he said. The answer was a laugh from the stranger
next to Salazar.
"Indeed, he has," the stranger said.
And Godric could see the eyes of the lords wandering to the child next to
Salazar.
Salazar just put one of his hands on the shoulder of the little boy next to
him – a boy that Godric had seen before, but for the love of everything
holy, he couldn't place the child.
"A son?" Lord Selwyn asked hesitatingly.
"Two sons," Salazar corrected as if it was the most normal thing in the
world. Godric blinked surprised.
Two?
Where, in Myrddin's name, did the second one come from?
"Myrddin Slytherin here is the younger one," Salazar added, brushing
back the hood that had shielded his son's face from the gaze of the
Gathering. "He is my heir. The heir of Slytherin."
And when the boy looked up, Godric finally recognized the child.
Myrddin Wylt.
The boy who had returned home to say good-bye to his dying
grandfather. The boy who had never returned.
At least the child was safe.
"Myrddin Slytherin?" Lord Gaunt repeated sneering. "Did you truly think
it prudent to name a child after the greatest mage in history?"
Salazar just snorted.
It was funny that over the decades, the other lords again had forgotten
about Salazar Slytherin's origins and many of them had long accepted
that 'Slytherin' as Sal's true last name. Sal's true name, Emrys, instead had
become a legendary myth again.
Of course, Salazar had never named the child. But Myrddin's former
parents had never been part of the Gathering, so no one except the
children in Haugh's Wards had ever heard the lad's name before.
"He was named after his grandfather, Lord Gaunt," he said and the lad's
eyes snapped up to stare at his new father in surprise. It seemed that
Salazar was willing to pretend that the child had always been his to
secure the child's standing in the Gathering. "Do you always criticize the
names of the other lord's heirs, Lord Gaunt?"
The other man had the grace to look ashamed.
The answer was a snort from the still hooded man behind Salazar.
"It seems, my fledgeling, they have forgotten your ancestry," the man
said.
Salazar just turned and frowned at the man.
"And I still don't get why you even bothered to come here with me," he
countered. "Anastasius did not even argue with me half as much as you
did when I said no."
"Well, Ana is your egg, my fledgeling. You are mine. I have the right to
come if I think that it's too dangerous for you to walk here alone."
Salazar snorted.
"Don't lie to me, Grandfather. It was Grandmother's wish that brought
you here."
Lord Selwyn who had opened his mouth to argue against the foreign
man's presence, snapped it shut again when he heard Salazar addressing
the man.
If the title of the other man wasn't just an honorific, the man had every
right to be here because even if Sal was the current lord, the grandfather
had to have been the lord long before him.
"Yes, well, maybe we should continue with the Gathering," Lord Selwyn
finally stuttered instead. Salazar and his grandfather both turned to look
at the first lord of the Gathering. Then the grandfather threw back his
hood and looked at the lord with a federal grin and eyes golden, burning
with flames.
Lord Selwyn shuddered under the red haired stranger's gaze.
Godric shuddered as well.
There was just one description that fit Salazar's grandfather perfectly.
Not human.
The man, whatever he was, was not human.
"I don't think that we should continue this… gathering… as if nothing
transpired," the grandfather said smiling coolly. "My name is Fawarx and
I am here to chew you out and to tell you exactly what will happen if you
ever, ever think of breaking one of your laws ever again – especially if
this law contains my grandson's ancestral home."
"We're dead," Godric just nodded to Peverell's optimistic point of view of
the near future.
"Dead as a door nail," he confirmed.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Salvazsahar watched with hidden amusement Fawarx, his grandfather,
while said individual slowly and painfully disentsected the Lords of the
Gathering with his words alone.
They had it coming.
Sal had heard rumours about them trying to get control over the castle
since the day he left – but for the last four months and a half their
attempts had reached a new hight and Sal was not too sure if not one of
the Lords of the Gathering was the reason for his imprisionment in the
fortress. He had no evidence, of course, but that their attempts had
picked up at that time meant that at least one of the lords had to have
known of Sal's predictment.
Of course said lord had never thought of Sal surviving the experience.
But Sal had survived.
It had been critical at the moment, Myrddin had escaped his grasps and
had run towards the man who held his mother prisoner – but they had
survived.
The lord of the castle had seen Myrddin running out of the shadows and
had killed the woman in his hands, and maybe he also would have killed
Myrddin that day if Anastasius wouldn't have acted in that moment and
pounced him.
It had been Ana who killed the lord of the castle, but it had been the
unexpected arriving Fawarx who stopped Myrddin's run into danger.
And it had been Fawarx who had taken them all away after Anastasius
had told Godric and Peverell that they were safe.
Now, after a time of healing, they finally were able to return. Sal had
dreaded his return but his grandmother had talked him into confronting
the others until he finally had given in just to have his peace again.
Sal had thought the Gathering would be a good place to start over. He
had taken Myrddin with him and his grandfather had followed them as
well. And it had been Salvazsahar who had decided to introduce the child
as his son.
It wasn't true.
Myrddin had not been officially adopted in his family, but Sal knew how
greedy some of the lords were and Myrddin was a powerful individual.
You could feel his power radiading off of him without even trying to
sense it. Sal knew that if he had stated that Myrddin was an orphan a lot
of the lords in the Gathering would have tried to take in the child as a
ward – and then would have married of the boy to one of their daughters.
A magical powerful child like Myrddin would be a bonus to every
sorcerer line.
Sal couldn't accept that the boy would have no choice – so the only way
to give the boy a choice was to claim him as an heir.
"But maybe," Sal thought to himself, inwardly grimacing. "Maybe I should
have talked to the child first."
The boy was looking at him with an odd look, distrust clearly visible in
his eyes. So when Fawarx started to rant, Sal had bowed down to the
child and whispered.
"I explain later."
The boy just looked at him for a moment, then the child gave a short nod
and Sal's attention turned back to his grandfather.
The phoenix had meanwhile reduced the whole Gathering nearly to tears
– or at least to the guilty look of a child with the hands still in the cookie
jar.
Those lords definitely wouldn't step a toe out of line anymore – Sal was
sure of that when he saw the first one of the lords reduced to guilty tears.
Ouch.
But what had he expected from an enraged phoenix?
"At least there are no flames," Sal thought wriley.
Then Lord Gaunt spluttered and stated that it had been their right as the
Lords of the Gathering, to rule the school after 'Salazar Slytherin's' death.
"At least for now," Sal corrected, eyeing warily the soft glowing fingertips
of his grandfather's right hand.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
In the end, Godric concluded, they had survived the rage of Salazar's
grandfather.
Barley, but they had.
The Gathering had stopped early after the lords had been criticized
sharply for their actions against the academia of Haugh's Wards, Salazar
himself and pure-bloods in general. And the only thing Godric could say
after that, was that Salazar's grandfather definitely had to be a venomous
snake.
Something deadly.
Like a cobra.
Or a basilisk.
So when Godric slowly dared to come near Salazar after the Gathering
had dissolved, he kept a close eye on the other man.
Sal just raised an eyebrow when he saw Godric's actions.
"Still prejudiced against Firbolgs?" he asked coolly, when Godric was
finally near enough to not be overheard by other lords of the Gathering.
Godric blinked.
Why would Salazar think that…?
It was in that moment that he remembered Salazar's words about the
blood-status of his grandparents.
Purebloods.
They were purebloods.
"Acutally I'm more afraid that your grandfather will bite me if I dare to
come near you," Godric corrected nervously. "He took apart the
Gathering of the Lords for less than I did, after all."
The answer was again a raised eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
"Er… yes," Godric said, still eyeing the pureblood who was now lowly
talking with the child that Salazar brought with him. Salazar's son.
"What is he? A basilisk?" Godric finally dared to ask.
Salazar snorted.
"A phoenix," he corrected and Godric spluttered.
"You're… you're joking, aren't you?" he exclaimed and his eyes finally
turned to look at the other man. "There's no way he's a phoenix! Phoenixi
are light creatures – they shouldn't threaten to rip out the throat of a man
if said man doesn't abide their rules!"
This time a small smile played over his once-friend's face.
"Is that so?" Salazar asked. "And I thought I grew up with a phoenix
around, and not you."
"Er…" this time Godric definitely didn't know what to say. But it seems
that Salazar knew exactely what he wanted to hear from Godric's lips.
"And maybe now, that I have endulced in your curiosity, you might think
about telling me why you suddenly decided to be civil to me again. After
all, as far as I know, I am still a monster in your eyes."
Godric gulped and his eyes searched those of his one-time-friend – just to
find those emeralds looking back with a gaze like death.
Godric gulped again.
"I… I… I…," he stopped. His brows slowly wettened with sweat and his
breathing quickened. He knew that if he didn't explain himself now,
Salazar would never look at him ever again. This was his last chance.
"I…," his lips were dry and the eyes of the other still as unforgiving as the
endless sea. "I'm sorry."
He stopped again. He didn't know what to say. When he had talked to
Anastasius it had been so easy, but standing in front of Salazar now, all
his explanations, all his reasoning had vanished into thin air.
"I was a prejudiced dunderhead with nothing in his mind but the past and
the idiotic idea that if I denied the truth it would keep you and the others
safe."
"Safe from what?" the unforgiving eyes asked.
"Safe from… safe from… safe from everyone, alright? I know how people
can start to hate others if they have free reign and I was a coward and
took the coward's way out! I should have stood up for us and shouldn't
have tried to deny who I am!"
And with that the other man's eyes softened.
"Who you are?" he asked and Godric suddenly felt the hope for forgivness
again.
"Yes," he said, reddening. "I might have tried to deny it, but I am a
pureblood just like you and I should have never tried to act as if I'm
different. I'm sorry, Salazar, truly sorry for the grieve I caused you and I
know that you might not be able to forgive me but please, come back to
Haugh's Wards! Come back home!"
For a moment those green, green eyes – mirrors of Godric's own – stared
at him in icy judgement, then finally Sal inclined his head.
"I will return," he said and Godric deflated in relieve. "But I won't come
alone. It seems that my family is determinded to make sure that you have
changed before even thinking about leaving me alone with you again."
This time Godric shuddered inwardly.
He definitely didn't look forward to a basilisk-like phoenix joining them
at Haugh's Wards. Anastasius, he could handle, but Fawarx?
"Er… is your grandmother coming as well?" he finally dared to ask.
The answer was a snort.
"Of course she is," Salazar said and then turned to his grandfather,
leaving Godric to explain their adition at Haugh's Wards to Perverell.
"And don't worry about her. She is just a basilisk."
Just a basilisk.
No wonder Salazar and Fawarx could be so venomous. It seemed that Basilisk
genes did indeed always win out – even when someone originally didn't have
them. It seems you could inherit them just by being near a Basilisk after all…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
And return, Salvazsahar did – just in time to help Rowena giving birth to
Godric's heir and his beloved baby girl.
It was not something that Sal had expected to do when he returned to
Haugh's Wards.
From Peverell he had heard that Rowena and Helga both weren't at the
Gathering because they were in their last two month of pregnancy, but he
had thought that there still would be some time until the first of those
two woman gave birth.
Unluckily there wasn't and so, instead of returning to his quarters to
move back in, Sal was ushered to Rowena's rooms for childbirth.
It wasn't the first child he brought to the world but it definitely was
something different if the woman giving birth was a close friend.
And it definitely was something different if it turns out that the child
would be a twin.
"You know, Rowena, that I originally planed to move back in before
looking after you," Sal said conversionally when he was ushered into the
woman's bedroom.
The answer was a snort.
"I thought you needed some practice before starting here at Haugh's
Wards again," Rowena countered, but her complexion was pale and her
forehead sweaty.
Sal just chuckled.
"Aye, as if I'll help to give birth very often here at the academia," he
commented mildly amused while he checked her over. Her pulse was a
little bit too fast and she was a little bit too pale, but she seemed to be
right enough.
Then he checked over her womb and his eyebrows twitched.
"Twins?" he said and Rowena smiled weakly.
"It seems you are indeed a healer if you can establish that," she said
mockingly.
The answer was a snort while Sal's hands checked if the baby was in the
right position for birth.
"It seems its all in order," he told her. "You have to push soon."
The labour was a long process. The twins were Rowena's first children
and in the end it nearly took her twenty hours until even the first was
born.
It was a boy.
After Sal had checked him over he cleaned him, wrapped him into a
blanket and then brought him over to Godric who was standing anxiously
next to his wife.
"Your son," he told him and Godric stared at the baby in horror. When he
tried to give him over, Godric stepped back two steps.
Sal raised his eyebrow, a clear question in his eyes and Godric cracked.
"I can't take him!" he exclaimed with horror in his voice. "What if I break
him? What if I drop him? What if…"
Sal snorted and then grabbed Godric with his free hand and before the
man could object again, he placed the baby into Godric's arms.
"You won't break him," he said with a snort. "You wouldn't dare. Your
wife would kill you if you did."
Godric gulped and his face ashened.
"Not funny, Salazar!" he exclaimed but his face softened when he looked
down at the child in his arms.
"Does he have a name, yet?" Sal asked while he checked Rowena and the
second child still in her womb. It seemed that this one would still take a
little bit before it was born.
"No," Godric answered. "Well, yes, from my side but it's Rowena's right to
give him his first name so I have no idea what he will be called in the
end."
Sal just nodded.
"What is your name-choice for him?" he asked.
"Arthur," Godric answered. "I will call him Arthur after my ancestor."
"Arthur?" Sal just send a short look over his shoulder. Peverell, Helga and
Anastasius had entered the room. It seemed as if they had heard the first
screams of the baby.
"You'll name your boy Arthur, really?" Anastasius exclaimed. "Isn't that a
huge name to grow into? I mean with him being Arthur Pendragon's heir
and all that…"
Sal just pressed his lips together, not correcting his son about the fact
that it was Sal and not the baby who was Arthur Pendragon's heir.
"Arthur'll be his second name," Godric corrected. "It's Rena's choice how
he will be called, and knowing her it will be something outlandish."
The woman in the bed smiled at that.
"I haven't decided, yet," she said. "But I was thinking about Gaius or
Sophokles."
Anastasius grimaced.
"Really?" he asked. "If you want to use Latin or Greek names, can't you
choose better ones than those?"
Rowena turned her exhaused face to face Anastasius.
"If you don't like them, what would you choose?"
Anastasius just shrugged.
"Maybe something like Lucius, Theodore or Nicholaos – not some names
that come from British wanna-be conquerers or Greek know-it-alls."
Sal just sighed when he heard this exclamation.
This was definitely typical Anastasius. If there was a way to put his foot
in his mouth, he always found it.
To his surprise Rowena just looked at Anastasius thoughtfully.
"Nicholaos – what does it mean?" she asked.
Anastasius just shrugged.
"Something along the line of 'victor of the people'," he answered. "I heard
it when I travelled to Athene."
"Do you also know some girl's names or other boy's names?" Rowena
asked interested.
The time between the first and the second birth was soon filled with
Anastasius telling Rowena names he had heard on his travels.
Sal himself had heard a lot of those names as well but he let his son do
the explaining and instead took the time to relax a little bit before he
would have to help in the second birth again.
The second birth luckily did not even take half as long as the first one.
This time around it was a girl.
"Helena," Rowena decided. She had liked the name when Anastasius had
mentioned it – not that she hadn't heard it before in Greek myths. She
just hadn't thought of it until Anastasius mentioned it. "Nicholaos and
Helena."
"Nicholaos Arthur and Helena Morgana," Godric said.
Then both parents looked expectantly at Salvazsahar.
"What?" he asked.
"You're the godfather. You have the right to choose their last first name,"
Rowena said. She was still pale and obviously tired but it was clear that
she wanted to wait with sleep until her children were named.
Sal's eyes widened when he heard that.
"Er… I never named anyone," he said nervously.
Godric just shrugged.
"It's easy," he said. "Just choose a name."
"Er…"
"Maybe you could use a name of some loved one you have lost," Helga
added when she saw Sal fridgeting.
Sal stared at her, then back at the babies.
Names.
He had to give them names.
And there was no one who could do it for him. It was his decision. His alone.
He gulped.
What should he name them?
The two names he would have thought of, Godric had used them already.
So what else could he name them?
How had his own parents decided on his name?
It was that last thought that brought back the memories of not only
Myrddin Emrys but also Lily and James Potter.
He had not thought of those two in centuries, and still…
"Nicholaos Arthur Myrddin," he said softly. "And Helena Morgana Lily."
"So, Nicky and Helily, hu?" Anastasius said grinning and then turned to
the babies in their parents arms. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm your cousin
Ana."
To Rowena's displeasure her children would be stuck with the nicknames
Anastasius had choosen on their birthday.
Two and a half weeks later, Antioch Ignotus James, Peverell's son would
join them.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Why are you sitting out here?" a voice asked and the young boy turned
around just to see his Head of House sitting down beside him, his eyes
following the boy's gaze to the lake.
It was nearly a year after Salazar Slytherin had returned to the castle and
had taken over his old classes again – including potions. The other
founders were insistend that he should take it up again and brought their
old potion's… amateur… to the gates themselves. They might have not
have listened when Salazar spoke up against him but after two years of
light accidents and nearly fatal accidents they clearly saw where he was
coming from and had insited to remedy this problem themselves.
"Professor Slytherin" the boy said in greeting, turning to look at the lake
again.
"Myrddin Wylt," the professor answered. "What troubles you, my child?"
Myrddin sighed and looked at the professor beside him. He liked the
man. The professor had been kind to him when he had been laughed at
by his classmates. Myrddin often was ridiculed because he did not
understand as fast as the others. He had to repeat and to ask often to
fully understand a topic and he was horrible with his wand.
"It's nothing, sir" he answered finally.
"I don't believe you, Myrddin Wylt" the professor answered.
Myrddin just sighed and looked at the lake.
"I am an oddball" he finally answered his teacher. "I do not remember
very fast, I am not good with magic and finally I do not belong anywhere
anymore…"
"You are talking about your parents," Professor Slytherin stated.
Myrddin nodded.
"I know you rescued me… and I know you couldn't do anything for my
parents. Those men had killed them before we could do anything – but
still… what do I do now? I have been here for the winter and have
learned magic like the rest of them. But soon is summer and the rest will
return to their parents – what will I do?"
"You stay," the professor answered softly. "This is your home, Myrddin
Wylt. No one will ever make you leave, I promise."
Myrddin snorted.
"This is an academia," he answered bitter. "This is not a home. When it
would be a home I would have parents who would help me – who I could
turn to. Instead I am sitting here – alone… I can tell no one about my
problems!"
"You can tell me," the professor answered. "You did it before – why not
do it again?"
"Because I am not your son!" Myrddin answered screaming. "You might
have told the Gathering of the Lords that I am to protect me – but it was
a simple lie so that they would not force me into another family as the
fiancé of their daughter! It was a farce! You know it, the other professors
know it and the rest of the school does know it, too! So stop treating me
as if I were your true son, professor! I know you feel guilty that you did
not rescue my parents before they were killed – but you don't have to!
Don't treat me like that just out of pity!"
Myrddin expected the professor to leave. Instead the professor just
snorted.
"I am too old to feel guilty for something that was not my fault,"
Professor Slytherin said. "Don't try to interpret my motives, boy."
Myrddin stared at his professor. The man looked younger then Professor
Gryffindor – and Myrddin knew for a fact that Gryffindor blamed himself
for things he could not have changed… so why someone younger than
him shouldn't do the same?
"I don't believe you," he finally said. "Professor Gryffindor still feels guilty
about the death of the young witch in Wales he could not rescue…"
Slytherin just shrugged.
"He is still young. Someday he will understand that blaming himself
about something like that will get him nowhere," he answered Myrddin.
Myrddin stared at his professor.
"You are younger than Professor Gryffindor," he finally stated.
Slytherin grinned.
"That's what you think," he answered. "You and the rest of the school…
but no. I am the older one."
"Then you are not much older," Myrddin snorted, looking pointedly at the
black hair of his professor and his wrinkle-less face.
The professor laughed.
"Oh child," he said and ruffled Myrddins hair. "So young, so innocent!"
Myrddin snorted but he did not pull away.
"I am not a child anymore," he said frowning.
"You are thirteen, Myrddin Wylt. You are a child."
"And how old are you… professor?" Myrddin stared coolly at his
professor. He had guessed the ages of all his professors. Slytherin he
guessed was something between twenty and thirty winters – not very old
for a sorcerer.
The professor laughed again.
"Old," he answered. "But I am sure you do not believe me, do you?"
Myrddin snorted.
"Hardly. I know how sorcerers age," he answered.
"Yes. But Godric, Helga, Rowena, Peverell and I are not the typical
sorcerers," the professor said. "Think about it: I met Godric when he was
twenty – that was nearly a hundred years ago."
Myrddin blinked.
"A hundred years ago?" he asked flabbergasted thinking about the sorcerer
who looked to be between forty and fifty winters old. "Professor
Gryffindor is bloody one hundred twenty years old?"
"Something like that," Slytherin smiled.
"And you are older than him?!"
"Yes."
"How much older?" Myrddin wanted to know staring at his professor
beside him.
The other one shrugged.
"I'm not sure," he answered.
"What do you mean – you are not sure?!"
"I never counted the years," Slytherin answered shrugging and staring at
the lake. "But it has been a long time ago when my father died – and it
will be a long time until I die myself…"
"By Myrddin! You are kidding me, professor – aren't you?! I mean, how
can't you know how old you are?"
The professor laughed again.
"I do not wish to know," He answered. "It is hard to remember and I have
seen too much to wish to remember exactly."
Myrddin stayed silence after that. He stared at the lake again.
"Now Myrddin Wylt – what problems do you have?" Slytherin finally
said.
"I told you, you are not my father," Myrddin answered bitterly.
"So if I would blood-adopt you I would be allowed to know?" Slytherin
asked interested.
"As if you would really want to do so," Myrddin snorted. "I am a terrible
sorcerer – why should someone like you want me?!"
"Once I was not different than you," Slytherin answered shrugging. "Once,
when I was a child I was terrible at brewing and everything else to do
with a wand. To be truthful: the first wand since I lost the one I had as a
child I got from the others shortly after we met."
Myrddin stared at him.
"You never used magic before you met the others?"
"Oh, I did use magic" Slytherin answered laughing. "But I was and still am
a druid. I never learned to be a proper sorcerer."
"But… but you are teaching us!"
"Yes, Potions, Runes and Occlumency" the other one replied. "These are
the basics for druids – not just sorcerers."
"But you are using your wand!"
"Yes. But I had to train before I was able to," Slytherin answered
shrugging. "You will be the same. Some day, I am sure, you will be
brilliant – and I would be proud to call you son that day."
"Don't joke, professor."
"I don't," Slytherin replied. "I talked to the other professors. They don't
have a problem if I want you as a son…"
"Stop!" Myrddin held up one of his hands to stop his professor to keep on.
"What do you mean with 'You talked to the other professors'?! I thought
that you just asked me because I said… because… because…"
"No," Slytherin answered. "I came here to ask you to be my son. I just
noticed that you had another problem and wished to first help you with
it before asking…"
"But… but…"
"Myrddin," Slytherin sighed. "I watched over you since you are ten. You
might not have known me until last autumn and you might have never
seen me before that day we met in the dungeons but I still watched you
from afar, like I watched all my Slytherin-children. You lost your parents
last autumn – believe me, I had time enough to think if I really want to
offer you a new family…"
"So… so you offer me to be my father?!"
"Yes," Slytherin answered casually. "I am sorry I can't give you a mother.
And don't worry – I would not force you to call me father. You can, of
course, but I understand if you don't. Just… think about my offer – will
you?"
"I… I…" Myrddin could not believe his ears. He had longed to have a
family again and he had often thought that Slytherin was acting like a
father. He had wished Slytherin would be his father – he had wished it
sometimes even before he had lost his parents.
His father had been outright cool to him since the day Myrddin had
started to do magic. Myrddin's mother had told him that his father
blamed sorcerers for being thrown out of his family – just because he had
no magic himself – and other things that happened to him before
Myrddin was born. His father had never looked at Myrddin the same
after his son had displayed magic.
Slytherin instead…
And now Slytherin was asking him to be his son – him, magically
hindered Myrddin Wylt!
"Y… Yes… I will think about it," he finally managed to promise.
Slytherin nodded and stood up again.
"Tell me when you know – or when you want to speak about your
problems…" he said and started to walk away.
"Wait, sir!" Myrddin stopped him.
"Yes?"
"What's with your family, sir?!" Myrddin asked. "They might not be happy
if you adopt me…"
Slytherin smiled and returned to ruffle Myrddin's hair again.
"Do not worry. My son – your big brother, if you decide so – won't object.
He's adopted himself. And my grandparents would never object to aid a
child," Slytherin answered softly. "Believe me, there is no one who would
even think about objecting. And even if they would. It is only I who is
named Slytherin. I am the Lord of the House. I have the right to add
whoever I want to the house and no one will be able to object."
"But… but surely you cannot be the last of Slytherin! I mean… your
son… your grandparents…" Myrddin answered horrified. His teacher
could not be so alone – could he? Myrddin had seen his teacher's son and
his grandparents. So how could he say that they wouldn't be able to
object even if they wanted to? Even Myrddin had still family – even if
they did not want him…
His teacher laughed.
"My son is a 'Sanguini', my grandparents don't have a last name. Add to
that that I was not born Slytherin and you will be able to understand how
there's no one who can object me," he answered still laughing before he
suddenly turned serious. "But yes. Slytherin might not be the family name
I grew up with, but now that it exists, I am the last of my line."
"But… but how?!"
"My son is a vampire, my grandparents are a basilisk and a phoenix. My
father was a Firbolg-born," Slytherin answered shrugging. "By the law of
the Gathering my son and my grandparents don't count because they are
no sorcerers but Firbolg… pureblood, that is. I still have some family
from my mother's side – but they don't know anymore that I have been
family once."
Myrddin blinked.
"How can someone forget you are family?" he asked astonished and
horrified.
Slytherin smiled sadly.
"I am old, Myrddin Wylt," he answered sincerely. "Very, very old. The last
persons that knew I was family, died a long time ago."
"How old?" Myrddin whispered, staring at his teacher.
Slytherin hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the lake, searching for
something far, far away.
"Sir?"
Slytherin sighed.
"Maybe I should tell you. You should know a little bit about the family
you will enter before you do enter…" he said.
Again silence filled the air. But when Myrddin finally thought his teacher
had forgotten him, Slytherin finally spoke.
"I was born as Salvazsahar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys," he said. "I
grew up far away from here. I was taught by King Arthur how to fight
and by Lancelot how to ride. Mother… Morgana LeFay, that is… finally
taught me how to heal. I am still a healer first, not a warrior. When
finally Medrawed killed Arthur and Arthur Medrawed… I… you could
say I lost the last of my close family-members that time…"
Myrddin stared at his professor.
"You are The Myrddin Emrys son?" he asked flabbergasted. "But… but
why do we all call you 'Slytherin'?!"
"Simple," the Professor answered. "I changed my name."
Not true, but close enough.
"But… but…"
"I hope you know that you cannot tell anyone what I told you right now,"
Slytherin said. "I gave up my identity a long time ago – I do not wish to
return to it."
"But… but… but you are Myrddin Emrys' son! How can you not…"
"Exactly. I am Myrddin Emrys' son, Myrddin Wylt. I do not want to be
compared to my father. I am my own man – and I did my own legacy
without being helped by the name my father gave me."
"So… so no one knows?!"
"The other professors do know that I am related to Myrddin Emrys. The
other… founders… even suspect that I am his son. But no. No one knows
my age – and no one knows truly who my father is. And you will not
tell."
A white lie, but the child couldn't and shouldn't know that there was someone
who knew the truth exept of him. It was less likely of him being overheard if
he had no one to talk to about the truth, after all.
Myrddin shook his head.
"I won't" he answered. "I definitely won't, Professor!"
"Good," Slytherin stood up again.
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"Just one question."
"Yes?"
"Would I be Emrys or Slytherin when you adopt me?"
"Slytherin," the professor answered. "The Emrys-family is long gone. It
shall not return."
The Gathering had forgotten it again, and Sal would do everything in his
power to keep it like that. Slytherin would be a noble family from now on.
Emrys would just be one thing: a legend.
This time Myrddin smiled.
"I will think about it, Professor." He said.
"That's all I ever asked."
And with that the professor left.
Myrddin again looked at the lake.
Being Slytherin… having a father again…
When he finally had decided to say yes he had not once thought about
the fact that he would be the grandson of Myrddin Emrys when he
accepted.
Of course, he was 'just' the blood adopted grandson, meaning that he
inherited some of the family traits like Parseltongue without being ever
able to use the full account of the Emrys' Family Magic.
A blood-adoption was after all just a potion that changed some of the
DNA – but the main part of the Emrys' inheritance was the Firbolg soul,
and that was something Myrddin Wylt could never inherit.
This was also the true reason why Sal had told Myrddin he would be
adopted in the Slytherin family and not in the Emrys' family. To adopt
into Emrys was just possible if the child was a Firbolg-born and if Sal
shared his own soul with the child – and that again was just possible with
an undeveloped soul. Like a toddler's soul. Like Sal's once had been
thanks to the Horcrux.
Not that Myrddin Wylt Slytherin ever knew. Sal had decided against
telling his son because he didn't want to explain to him why he could
have never been Emrys. So when Myrddin Wylt remembered that he was
the grandson of Myrddin Emrys, Sal just smiled and said nothing.
Funnily Myrddin Wylt finally remembered this little detail about his
grandfather the day he held his first-born and his wife decided to call
him 'Emrys' after Myrddin Emrys and like that also after Myrddin Wylt
Slytherin in a way.
After hearing her choice at that day Myrddin collapsed laughing but
unable to tell his wife what he thought to be so funny. He could never
tell her. But he told his father. He told his father that he never registered
that he normally should call himself 'Emrys' and that his son now was
originally an 'Emrys Emrys'. His father had just smiled and then asked
him to never tell his children.
And he did.
The years passed. His father had long ago left the family and everyone
thought him dead. His father had left the family after the last of the other
Founders had died, leaving Salazar Slytherin alone in the world – alone
except of Myrddin Wylt Slytherin who was a father himself and had not
needed him anymore.
The other Founders had died of old age, with the only exception of
Rowena. She had been old when she died, but it was an illness that
brought her down. Sal was a good healer, but even he couldn't rescue her
that time.
He also couldn't rescue Helily.
He had loved the girl like his own daughter and she was the only one he
ever shared with that his mother was originally from the future. He never
told her that he was the one who travelled in time, he just told her of his
mother.
"I named you after my mother," he told her one day when she was little
and asked for the origin of her name. "Lily Evans. She's not even born yet,
but in my memory she's long since dead."
And he refused to tell her more, except for the fact that it would still be
centuries until his mother would be born. When Helily died, it felt as if
his heart had been ripped out and even when her ghost returned together
with the ghost of her murderer – a student of Sal's own house – it was not
enough. And for decades he refused to even look at the man who had
dared to kill his baby girl.
At the same time the Founder's grew old and died, Myrddin Wylt's
children grew up and 'Slytherin' turned into a respectable name. Myrddin
Wylt had finally seen his children's children. He had seen decades. He
had seen over a century and every child his wife birthed had been able to
speak Parseltongue – inherited from the adoption ceremony, a simple
potion with the blood of the new parents in it.
Finally Myrddin Wylt Slytherin died and his legacy mixed over time with
the legacy of his grandfather, binding them together until no one knew
that there had been two of them. Myrddin Wylt was the sorcerer who
invented a lot of new potions and spells – and Myrddin Emrys was the
one who taught Arthur.
A thousand years later there was not Myrddin Wylt and there was no
Myrddin Emrys. There was just a Merlin – and he did both.
Also a thousand years later Helily's ghost would meet a little, lost
Gryffindor first year with flaming red hair and killing curse green eyes.
The same eye color that once Helily's brother Nicholaos had had. The
same eye color that Sal had had.
And when Helily would asked for the girl's name and hear the words "Lily
Evans" she would smile at the young child and tell her: "My name's Lily,
too. I was once named after you." Not that the girl would believe her
exclamation – at least not for another seven years.
But that is history.
History and a grave for each that was all that was left. And it was a
lonely figure with death-green eyes who returned to the graves of
Myrddin Wylt and Helena 'Ravenclaw' to lay down lilies.
Sometimes some family members of Slytherin would see this figure in
front of the grave, wondering who was at the grave of their ancestor but
never connecting the silent weeping Salvazsahar Emrys with the strong
and proud Salazar Slytherin – the one ancestor of them that had never
had a grave himself…
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That's it for today. I hope I redeemed myself a little bit with this long chapter.
Anyway, that's the end of the era of the Founders. Sal will move on to other
adventures xD
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
38. Chapter 37: 1260 Tale Of The
3 Brothers
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Excerpt from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter Twenty-One
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Year 1260
The Tale Of The Three Brothers
sss
"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely,
winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep
to wade through and too dangerous to swim across."
It had been centuries, since Sal had last been in Britain and maybe he
wouldn't have returned, if he hadn't heard rumours about a new threat to
the British wizard kind. Even now, more than a thousand years after he
had been the prince of Camelot, Sal still felt responsible for the British
wizards, who were his subjects by birth right – or adopted right, if you
added the fact that he had not only been Arthur Pendragon's future heir
but also his son by blood adoption.
And so, Sal had returned as soon as he had heard of the killings of
wizards in Britain. Of course, there had been killings before. Just in
1066, William the Conqueror had conquered Muggle Britain and there
had been no way for the magical part to not be subjected to the changes
as well. But unlike the Muggle part, in the end, everything had stayed
mostly the same because unlike in the Muggle world the land-bound
oaths to the throne of Arthur Pendragon could not be broken and so there
had been no way for another magical king to take over.
It was a common practice in the magical world to bind the oaths to a
king not only into the king's blood-line but also into the very foundation
of the kingdom – the castle in which the oaths had taken place and the
very land itself. That practice led mostly to a complete disinterest in
trying to conquer another country. It was simply no fun if the possible
new subjects were by birth sworn to another family – something the
Romans found out the hard way when they tried to conquer the British
wizard kind in 60 AD. It was hard to rule over subjects that could not be
bound to your laws and wishes and because of that had no restrictions
about killing you in your sleep. In the end the Romans had tried to
destroy the natural druidic magic the British druids were practicing. It
had helped them for a while but the moment the first of their own kind
was born in Britain, they found out that the oaths suddenly bound those
children as well. The magic might have changed thanks to the Romans,
but the oaths still hadn't – not until the very foundation of Camelot
would be destroyed and the very last person of Pendragon blood had
died.
And that was more than unlikely to happen.
Still, Sal might not have bothered to return if there just had been a few
killings. But whatever was happening in Great Britain, was different.
Whatever it was, there was a strange kind of summon in Sal's blood that
urged him to return and check on the people that he should have ruled
by right and magic.
The road to Britain had been long and dangerous and Sal was quite tired
when he finally arrived at the shore of the Isles, nevertheless he
continued on to Londinium as fast as possible.
He was still a few days' marches from Londinium, and twilight was
descending upon him, when he saw not far ahead on the road, three
people. They had set up camp for the night near the river bed of River
Thames. A fire was merrily burning in their midst and even from far, Sal
could smell the slowly cooking meat in their pot.
Normally, Sal wouldn't stop for the night in the midst of no-where. And if
he did, he would leave the road and find a secure place somewhere. But
he was weary after his last weeks of travel and the strangers camp ahead
on the road seemed like as good a place to stay for the night as any.
Of course, meeting strangers was always dangerous. Nevertheless, Sal
had learned over the years that most people were friendly and it was
always safer to share a camp for the night, than to camp alone. There
were worse things than strangers in the world and feral creatures were
more likely to attack a lone traveller than a camp with more people.
So when he nearly reached the group of three, instead of continuing on,
he stopped. It was then, that he felt some kind of magical shield
surrounding them.
Wizards.
They were wizards.
All the better for him, Sal decided.
"Hail, dear fellows," he greeted them, his hands open and non-
threatening. "What a lovely night, tonight."
The three men turned and sprung to their feet instantly. Sal could see two
of them reaching for some weapons, which were hidden in their clothes.
Weapons, or maybe their wands. Sal couldn't tell and they stopped before
they could draw whatever they had been reaching for.
Sal made some further steps towards them.
"Stop, stranger!" one of them called out to him, before Salvazsahar could
even reach the light of the fire. Sal stopped, his hands still open in front
of him. Nevertheless he saw that neither of the two men who had
reached for their weapons, had withdrawn their hands from the place
their weapons were hidden. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
Sal scrutinised the wizard who had decided to speak to him and the other
two who were flanking him. All three had unruly black hair and deep
brown eyes. They definitely reminded Sal of himself before he had grown
out his hair – and they also reminded him of Peverell, his old friend and
the husband of Helga Hufflepuff.
"I am a lone traveller, searching for shelter for the night," Sal answered. "I
saw your fire and decided to ask if I could resort for tonight."
The speaker blinked surprised and looked Sal over again.
"Take down your hood," he said finally and Sal slowly reached for his
hood and pulled it down to show his face. The strangers cool, brown eyes
travelled over the features Sal revealed. Sal could see that the stranger
especially took in Sal's traditionally braided hair and his old, a little
travel-worn and faded dark green robes – but his eyes remained empty of
recognition, so Sal guessed that he had no idea what the traditional
braiding of Sal's hair for Sal's standing in the magical world meant.
Finally the stranger seemed to decide that he should at least follow the
customs of hospitality and said: "I am Antioch Peverell, Lord Peverell.
These are my brothers Cadmus and Ignotus. Now tell me your name,
mudblood."
Peverell?
"Mudblood?" Sal asked instead, knowing that he would have time to mull
over the last name of the stranger later on.
Sal had not heard the word 'mudblood' when he interacted with wizards
before, but it had been a while since he last had been in Britain and there
was a chance that the word had come up while he had been away.
"You are one, aren't you?" Antioch said sneering. "One of these mundane
borns that fear magic because of their god. One of those that believe they
have been made of mud by their god…"
Sal blinked. Well, that at least was a different explanation why a
mundane born was called 'mudblood'…
"I fear you are mistaken" he finally said. "I am no such a thing."
The answer was a snort.
"Well, you must be, or you would have continued on, without seeing us.
There are some temporary wards in place to shield us from any mundane
that travels the road tonight."
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
There seemed to be some new magicks that he had not heard of before.
Of course, Sal knew of wards that would keep away mundanes, but until
now he had always thought that those wards were permanent and not
temporary like those around him.
"I am no mundane-born," he said instead. "I am on my way to the
Gathering of the Lords."
The answer was a sneer.
"There is no 'Gathering of the Lords'," the Peverell-Lord said. "It seems
your claim of being no mudblood was just falsified by yourself."
Salvazsahar frowned at that.
"What do you mean with 'There is no Gathering'?" he asked. "What else is
there to lead our people?"
"The Wizards' Council," the answer came from one of Antioch's brothers.
Ignotus, if Sal remembered it right. "We're now led by the Wizards'
Council. The name changed to that about a hundred and fifty years ago."
Sal just sighed when he heard that and then muttered to himself: "Now
they don't just change the language, they deliberately change the names
of things as well. Stupid humans and their short lives!"
When he looked up again, he saw that Ignotus was looking at him with a
raised eyebrow. It seemed as if his rant had not been fully unheard and
Sal felt his face burn with embarrassment.
"Well, it seems that if there's solely a 'Wizards' Council', then I am on my
way to said Wizards' Council," he finally declared and Antioch snorted.
"Why ever should you go there?" he asked scornfully. "Mudbloods aren't
allowed to enter the Council."
Sal just frowned at him.
"I told you, I am no mundane born," he said. "I've been a Lord of the
Gathering and if the Wizards' Council is still headed by the lords, I will
have to take my seat among them."
This time Antioch Peverell laughed at him.
"You seat?" he asked amused. "There are no free seats in the Wizards'
Council, so pray tell, mudblood, were do you want to sit? Do you think
the Council will give you a seat if you just ask them so that you can
spread your believes of being made of mud among our people?"
Salvazsahar saw that Cadmus was chuckling as well, Ignotus instead was
looking at him with contemplating eyes.
Sal still raised an eyebrow towards the other two.
"There are no free seats?" he asked interested. "Pray tell – who are
heading Emrys and Pendragon at the moment?"
"Emrys?" one of the brothers, Ignotus, asked astonished and Sal could see
the wheels turning in his head.
"Pendragon?" the other brother, Cadmus, said, but unlike his brother he
was just amused by Sal's question.
"Why do you ask for those two seats?" Antioch said. "Everyone knows
that Emrys and Pendragon are extinguished."
Sal just snorted.
"Just because you didn't hear of anyone of my family for some time, you
declare my house extinguished?" he asked while shaking his head. "I was
abroad, not dead. Why the hell should I stay in Britain just to go to
gatherings – pardon, councils now – where nothing is done at all..?"
"Abroad?" Antioch asked sneering. "So you want to tell us that your
whole house has been abroad for… how many years?"
Sal shrugged. "For about two hundred years," he answered unconcerned.
"The house Emrys has better things to do than to stay in Britain and go to
Gatherings. I have better things to do."
"Emrys," Antioch said faintly. Sal inclined his head.
"Emrys," he confirmed.
"And your name is?" Ignotus asked, when Antioch stayed silent.
"Salvazsahar Emrys," Sal answered. "Lord of Emrys."
Ignotus stared at him in surprise when he heard that name. Then he
gestured towards their fire. "Then I welcome you on our fire for the
night, Salvazsahar Emrys, Lord of Emrys," he said. "Sit down and eat with
us."
Antioch and Cadmus just nodded when their bother nudged them.
"Sit and be welcome," Antioch Peverell finally managed to say, then his
eyes darkened. "But that doesn't mean I believe your claim. I don't believe
that you are Emrys!"
Ignotus just snorted and turned to their cooking pot to look after their
dinner. After he had stirred it a bit he returned his attention to
Salvazsahar.
"Your first name," he finally said. "Are you named after Salvazsahar
Pendragon?"
Sal started when he heard that name.
"How do you know that name?" he asked the youngest brother.
Ignotus shrugged. "There's a witness report about the Battle of the Great
North Fields in the library of Haughwards," he explained. "I read it when
I was an apprentice."
Salvazsahar started a bit, when he heard the changed name of his
academia, but he said nothing.
Haughwards.
It seemed as if the change of the name to 'Hogwarts' had already begun.
It was kind of a frightening discovery, because it showed Sal how long he
had been away from Britain and how long it had been since he came to
the past.
"And even now, after searching the earth for millennia, there is still no
way to get me back home to the future," Sal thought. Not, that he was
sure that he wanted to return, anymore. It had been a thousand years
since he had last played a child and he had long before that matured to
an adult – if not in body, but at least in mind.
"Well?" Ignotus interrupted at that moment Sal's thoughts. "Are you
named after Prince Salvazsahar?"
Sal sighed.
"Something like that," he finally answered, then he shook his head. "I
never knew that the witness report of the Battle of the Great North Fields
is still at Haugh's Wards."
"So you know the story?" Ignotus asked interested. "I loved the story.
When I was young I always wanted to be a great warrior like Salvazsahar
Pendragon! I…"
"Oh, stop it, Ignotus!" Antioch interrupted his younger brother. "I know
you worship the ground the Prince walked on but could you stop talking
about him at least for today?"
Sal felt oddly thankful towards Antioch. He didn't know if he would have
really been able to listen to Ignotus' admiration if the man had continued.
It simply was too embarrassing for him to even think about being
worshipped by anyone.
Ignotus meanwhile pouted for a moment, before changing the topic.
"If you are heading to Londinium for the Council, you can travel with us,"
Ignotus said and then pulled out some bowls for his brothers and himself
and served dinner. "Do you want some as well?"
Sal nodded and pulled out his own bowl from his knapsack to be filled.
"Yes, thank you."
After he had gotten the bowl back, he returned to the first thing, Ignotus
had said. "I would like to travel with you," he said. "I have been away
from Britain far too long and it will be easier to get up to date if there is
someone I can ask about the changes."
Ignotus just nodded.
"We will cross the river in the morrow," Antioch said. "After that it should
take us another three to four days to reach the Council."
The rest of the evening, they talked about their travels and other
insignificant things.
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"However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they
simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the
treacherous water. They were halfway across when they found their
path blocked by a hooded figure."
They were up at dawn, and Sal watched the brothers transfiguring some
twigs into a narrow bridge, so that they could cross the river.
"It's not very permanent, but it should do until we reach the other side,"
Cadmus said, and led the way over the swaying bridge. Sal was the last
to cross and like Cadmus predicted the transfiguration ended just after
Sal had set foot on the other side.
Sal had been concentrating on the bridge, so when he looked up, he was
surprised to see another man standing in front of the three brothers. He
stopped in his track and unshed his wand.
For a moment he tried to make up his mind if he should step up next to
the brothers to face the stranger, but then he decided to wait and see
what would happen.
The person in front of the three brothers was hooded like Salvazsahar,
but whereas Sal's cloak was a dark green, the cloak of the stranger was
black.
And whoever it was, Cadmus Peverell knew them – and that was reason
enough for Sal to stay out of the incoming conflict for now.
Cadmus was stiff and his hand was grabbing his wand hard enough that
his knuckles had turned white. His eyes were fixed on the face beneath
the cloak – a face that could be adumbrated by Salvazsahar and the
brothers, but not clearly seen.
Nevertheless, the middle brother seemed to know exactly who he was
facing.
"What are you doing here?" he asked with hatred colouring his voice.
"Does your question imply, that you don't want to see me, my friend?" the
stranger asked, chuckling. "And I thought you liked our last encounter.
Didn't you, like I, feel the thrill of a duel of life and death?"
The answer was a hiss and it was thanks to Ignotus honed reflexes that
Cadmus did not throw himself at the person in front of him.
"You monster!" he cried. "You killed my betrothed!"
"Of course," the stranger said. "I had to gain your attention somehow,
after all. And I still think, I choose my opponent well, after all, you
managed to kill me – and that is quite a feat!"
"And yet, here are you! If I truly had managed to kill you, you wouldn't
stand in front of me anymore!" Cadmus hissed.
The answer was a terrible, evil laugh that gave Sal goose bumps.
But it was the whiff of the stranger's magic that gave him the creeps.
There was something unnatural contaminating the other ones magic.
Maybe Sal wouldn't have felt it, but whoever the stranger was, his magic
was oddly known to Sal – and because of that Sal was able to pick up the
strangeness in it without even trying to do so.
"I cannot die, my dear Cadmus. So, of course, I'm still alive! I'm far too
great to die like normal people!" when the stranger spoke, his distaste for
'normal people' was easily picked up in his voice. "Of course, you,
Cadmus, are a rare version of the normal people. You, like your brothers,
are normal, but unusual in your own right!"
The voice.
A shiver ran down Sal's back.
That voice.
Foreign but familiar.
Cadmus snarled at the stranger. "Whatever you think that you know
about me and my brothers, you are wrong!"
The answer was again terrible laughter.
"Oh, I know a lot about your and your brothers' work. Your work about
time and time travel was something way ahead of your times! And your
experiments with powerful objects and the possibility of immortality!
One of a kind!" The stranger exclaimed and grinned beneath his hood. "I
had to challenge you! The brightest minds of your age, the most powerful
wizards alive today! I couldn't pass this up and not challenge you to see
who of us is better!"
The speech pattern – it was something Sal had heard before, but for the life of
him he couldn't tell where he had heard it!
Cadmus snarled again.
"So you killed my betrothed," he hissed.
"So I killed your betrothed," the stranger repeated. His voice was oddly
calm and devoid of emotions.
The repeat of the sentence felt oddly normal to Sal, as if it had to be like that;
as if the person in front of him would always do it and as if Sal knew that
habit unconsciously.
Cadmus roared in fury. Ignotus tried to stop his brother, but the man
escaped his brother's grasp, pulled out his sword and swung it towards
the stranger's head.
"Cadmus!" Antioch exclaimed. "Stop it!"
But the younger brother refused to listen. The stranger just laughed and
dodged the sword.
"Oh, Cadmus, Cadmus, Cadmus," the hooded person said. "Listen to your
brother, Cadmus! He knows best, Cadmus! He understands your agony
better than you, Cadmus! He loved your betrothed more than you,
Cadmus!"
The stranger cackled madly.
"Do as your brother says, Cadmus! He knows best, Cadmus! He's more
intelligent than you, Cadmus! He's more powerful than you, Cadmus!"
"Have you been naughty, little big brother?"
Cadmus just swung his sword at the other, time after time. But the
stranger was fast and dodging Cadmus seemed to be just a play for him.
"Cadmus, stop!" Antioch repeated and when Cadmus started, Ignotus took
the advantage and got again a hold of Cadmus.
The stranger cackled.
"Don't stop him, Antioch! He has done nothing wrong, Antioch! You're a
bad brother, Antioch! You refuse to give your brother revenge, Antioch!"
"Did mommy punish you, little big brother?"
"Shut up!" Antioch roared and drew his wand. "Shut up!"
The answer was another evil laughter and the first sparks of magic
escaped Antioch's wand when the fury also took a hold of him.
"Stop it, Antioch! He wants to goad you into fighting him!" Ignotus hissed
while he still held his other brother back.
The answer was manic laughter.
"Do you hear it, Antioch? Your brother is ordering you, Antioch! He's
taking away your authority, Antioch! You should admonish him,
Antioch!" The stranger said in a high, childish voice.
"Did you have to stand in the corner like an unruly child, little big brother?"
"SHUT UP!" Antioch roared, "SHUT UP!" And again red and yellow sparks
came out of his wand and burned away some of the grass to his feet.
Then Antioch raised his wand, clearly intending to curse the stranger.
The stranger cackled again.
"Come at me, Antioch! Maybe you'll get me to be silent, Antioch! Maybe
you win against me, Antioch! And maybe you will get revenge for your
brothers beloved, Antioch!" The stranger said in his childlike voice.
"Maybe Cadmus will thank you, Antioch! Maybe he'll kill you, Antioch!
For taking his revenge from him, Antioch!"
"Do you know that mommy loves me more than you, little big brother? Do you
feel sad because of that, little big brother? Do you cry at night, little big
brother? For being only the second in her heart, little big brother?"
And in Sal's mind a little boy was standing in front of him, a sword in his
hand, taunting him.
Taunting him like the stranger was taunting the brothers.
That was the moment, a horrible realization flooded Sal's mind.
But he couldn't think of that now. Not with the danger the other three
were in right now. Not, when the others reacted to the goading like that.
It was an idiotic reaction. After all, it wasn't as if the stranger was saying
something true. They shouldn't react like that to the words of the
stranger.
But they were still children and where Salvazsahar had never reacted,
they tried to counter the taunts with violence.
The stranger cackled gleefully at the end of his taunts – taunts that had
riled up two of the three brothers.
Again, Cadmus tried to get away from Ignotus' grip. Antioch instead, lost
it and charged at the stranger.
This was the moment, Sal decided to step in.
Without a single word, he pulled out his wand and stunned Antioch
before the man could reach the stranger in their path.
The stranger started and then turned to Salvazsahar.
"Curious," he said. "I didn't know that there would be another one in your
company." Then he cocked his head and eyeballed Sal.
"I don't recognize you," the stranger said, surprise obvious in his voice.
"Take down your hood. I want to see your face, stranger."
Sal snorted when he heard that.
The stranger had stopped his goading, but the voice of the stranger
created still a horrible echo in Sal's memory. An echo he had loved and
hated all at once.
"Follow your own advice, stranger," he replied coolly, while keeping his
eyes, voice and face expressionless. He couldn't think about his guess
now. It would break him if his mind deduced his guess as likely. "I can't
see your face as well."
The answer was a grin. Even with the hood hiding the strangers face, the
grin was heart achingly familiar.
"You don't need to see my face, to know who I am," the man said
grinning. "I am Death, who else should I be?"
"Death?" Sal said sceptical. "You don't quite look like Death to me."
The answer was a laugh.
"But I am Death!" the stranger said. "I am Death's Master! I alone have
gained power over Death itself! Look at me and believe it!"
And with that the man caressed the cloak he was wearing. Then he
snickered and vanished from sight.
"Look at me!" he howled. "I am Death! I. Am. Death! I have its wand! I
have its cloak! I have its power over the dead! I. Am. Death!" And with
that the stranger was again visible.
Sal felt his heart beating faster after that exclamation.
Death?
It couldn't be, but at the same time, the only other explanation would hurt
even more if it was true.
"I don't think that being able to get invisible is an evidence that you are
truly Death," he finally said and even if his heart was beating a mile a
minute, his voice sounded calm and emotionless. "I have seen people
getting invisible without them being Death." That had been in the future,
of course, where there were invisibility cloaks and spells that hadn't been
invented in the time he was now, but it was nevertheless true.
"But I am," the stranger replied. "You will find out when I finally kill you
– just like I will kill them!" And he gestured towards Sal's travelling
comrades.
"The man's insane," Sal heard Ignotus whisper, and Sal definitely couldn't
object to that statement. The man seemed to be insane – but if Ignotus
was right, Sal didn't know if he could stomach it. He wished with all his
heart that Ignotus was wrong, but at the same time Sal felt an odd shiver
running down his neck; a shiver telling him that there was more to it
than simply insanity. Even if the man was insane, there was something…
not entirely right with him and Sal wasn't talking about his mental
health.
It was the magic surrounding the man. It somehow felt… tainted…
unhealthy. Sal couldn't remember to have ever met something so hideous
like the magic that surrounded the man in front of him.
It was unnatural.
Perverted beyond recognition.
Sal shuddered and the man in front of him laughed.
Please, no! Everything, but that! Everything!
"Afraid?" the stranger asked.
"No," Sal replied and flicked his wand to get Antioch away from the man.
The stunned lord landed next to Sal in the grass and with another flick of
his wand, Sal revived him but held him still in a full body-bind.
Let me be wrong!
I beg you, please! Let me be wrong!
Antioch blinked for a second or two; then he frowned at Sal.
"What did you do?" he hissed.
"I stopped you," Sal answered, warily; his eyes not leaving the stranger in
front of him. "Whatever he is – you wouldn't have had a chance against
him."
Antioch snarled.
"I am Lord Antioch Peverell! Until now I won almost every duel, I ever
entered! There is no way that…"
"This would have been a duel you lost," Sal said.
Please, let me be wrong! Let me be wrong!
A child's laughter filled his head, originating in one of his memories.
The stranger cackled.
"Oh, you seem to be a very sly one, aren't you?" the stranger said, still
grinning widely.
It was an unnatural grin that spread across the stranger's whole face, but
did not even touch his hidden eyes.
I can't bear it if I'm right! I can't!
A child's innocent long gone returned through his memories.
A child's eyes, filled with love, looked at him from a moment long ago
lost in time.
"I think, you will make a great addition to my growing soul collection,"
the stranger said, his grin spreading impossible wide. For a moment the
stranger played with a ring on one of his fingers. The ring was made of
gold and adorned with a black stone. On top of the stone was an odd
symbol to see. It looked like a stylized golden eye with a slit pupil. A
trianglewith a circle in it that was parted in half by a line.
"Look at me, little big brother! I'll make you cry, little big brother! I'll hurt you,
little big brother! And there's nothing that you can do, little big brother!
Because I'm better than you, little big brother!"
"And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out
of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But
Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers
upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been
clever enough to evade him. "
And with a final grin, the stranger charged.
Sal flicked his wrist and released Antioch from his body bind, before
evading the stranger just by inches.
Antioch instead shot spells at the stranger, instantly.
They all missed.
The stranger was too fast, too agile and too cunning to be hit.
He cackled madly and then just charged at Sal again.
Sal dodged and Cadmus used Sal's move to swing his sword at the
stranger, while Ignotus drew his wand and send a spell at him as well.
Both missed and the stranger cackled.
Like an acrobat he flipped on his hands and then swung himself through
the air. He landed behind Antioch and his fingers – claws – set out to
scratch the man. Antioch dodged, but the long and unusually sharp nails
sliced his robes at his shoulders and drew blood.
The stranger licked the blood from his fingers and cackled again.
"Oh, such sweetness! Such strength! Such power!" he said gleefully. "I will
love to slice you up and kill you!" And he charged at Antioch again – this
time too fast for the other man to react in time.
"I love you, little big brother! I want to be like you, little big brother! You're
my hero, little big brother!"
And a child stood with adoration in its eyes in front of him.
The image shattered and a single tear fell from Salvazsahar's burning
eyes.
In the air around him he could smell death and betrayal.
"What have you done?" the words were nothing but a defeated, agonized
whisper. "What have you done to yourself?"
And another tear joint the first.
The stranger looked up at that. He had taken down Antioch and had been
just seconds away from charging Cadmus, when Salvazsahar spoke to him
in this broken voice.
"Done?" The stranger asked, still grinning. "I did nothing. They're all still
alive, aren't they?"
But Sal just shook his head.
"What have you done to yourself?" he repeated horrified. "The forbidden
ritual! What have you done, Medrawed?"
The stranger's eyes widened. He paled.
"Little big brother?"
And when Sal's tears started to fall freely, the stranger – Medrawed –
fled. And Sal fell to the ground, burying his head in his hands and wept
for the man that was no more and for the monster that took his place.
"Why did you rip your soul apart, Medrawed? Why!"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand
more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win
duels for its owner, a wand worthy of the wizard who had conquered
death! So Death crossed to an Elder Tree on the banks of the river,
fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the
oldest brother."
Sal entered the great hall of the Gathering of the Lords – now the hall of
the Wizards' Council. It had changed since the last time he had been
there. The hard, wooden chairs had changed to comfortable ones. The
hall itself had been turned in a real hall – more than the cave-like hall it
had been before.
Sal looked around interested. The throne still stood at the opposite side
of the hall. He knew that there would be a Council today because Antioch
had told him, and he decided to join in. Of course it had been a while
since he last had entered the Gathering, now Council. The last time he
had been in this room, it had been with Godric and Peverell some
hundreds of years ago.
When he entered, the most of the Lords were still missing. The Council
would start at midday. It still would take some time until the Council
would gather. Still, Sal had decided to be early as he was a 'new' face of
the Wizards' Council.
So he entered the room and heeded for one of the chairs – his chair. It
was the same he had occupied the last time he had been at the Gathering.
"We still have to settle if you truly belong here," Antioch said in that
moment, stopping Sal before he could reach his chair.
Sal sighed.
"It sounds as if you don't believe me," he said.
"I don't," Antioch answered sneering. "And I definitely don't trust you –
especially after meeting this creature that recognized you!"
Sal just pressed his lips together.
Ever since Medrawed had fled from the battle after recognizing Sal, the
others had been wary of him.
"I'm not like him," Sal repeated for the x-ed time. "I'm nothing like him."
"But you know him!" Cadmus said sneering. "That's definitely enough to
be wary of you!"
Sal just snorted.
"Of course I know him," he finally said. Until now he had held back with
the truth, but maybe the truth would clear the air between them. "Or at
least, I knew him when he was still human."
Antioch just sneered at that.
"I don't believe this creature was ever human!" he judged coolly. "He
maims, tortures and kills and loves it – that's not human! That's evidence,
that he's a monster!"
And Sal could not object to that.
So he finally just turned around and started to look at the changed hall
again.
"I know that he's not human anymore," he told the three brothers. "But
that doesn't change that he was once a boy like every other boy I met."
The answer was a snort.
"This… creature… plagues our world for at least one hundred years now!
You can't tell me you're old enough to remember the childhood of this
monster!" Antioch said harshly.
"Antioch," admonished Ignotus softly when he saw Sal stiffen. "Let it go.
It hurts him enough as it is."
Sal just smiled at the third brother.
"It's alright," he whispered. "I'm coming to terms with the truth."
"You're coming to terms with what truth?" Cadmus asked coolly in return
and Sal shrugged helplessly.
"I'm coming to terms with Medrawed… with… with my baby brother
being a monster," Sal answered bitterly. This shut the other two brothers
up, while Ignotus sucked in a harsh breath.
"Your baby brother?" Antioch finally repeated. "How? You… you barely
look old enough to be in your twenties!"
"I am much older than twenty" Sal said.
"You're lying!" Antioch growled. "There's no way you could be older than
twenty! I know how long wizards live and if you aren't one of the few
exceptions then…"
"I told you, I am Salvazsahar Emrys," Sal said sighing. "Don't you think
that my last name alone should tell you that I could be nothing else but
an exception?"
"Well, that might be true if you truly are an Emrys. But like I said before
– I don't believe you!" Antioch returned coolly.
Sal sighed tiredly but then went to the stone that invited the new Lords
to the Chamber.
There he bowed down and touched it.
"I am Salvazsahar Emrys. I am Lord to my line. I call forth the Lordship I
carry. I am Lord Emrys as I was born to my father who was the last Lord
of Emrys. So be it, so mot it be," he declared.
Sal could see the three brothers stare at him when a soft golden light
surrounded him and gave him the right to enter the Wizards' Council as
one of its lords.
"What… how…?!" Cadmus and Antioch exclaimed astonished.
"I told you, I am Salvazsahar Emrys and I told you I am a Lord" Sal said
shrugging.
"But… but how? I mean, if that's true – how does nobody know that the
line of Emrys is still alive? I mean, shouldn't have your father come here
to gain his lordship, and your grandfather and…" Cadmus stuttered.
Sal just sighed.
"Like I told you before: I am old," he said. "The… creature… we met, was
once my little brother. I helped to raise him! I trained him! And now you
tell me that he has wreaked havoc on the British wizard kind for at least
a hundred years!"
And Sal guessed bitterly, that it had been way longer. He remembered
the rumours about an immortal Firbolg at the time he still taught at
Haugh's Wards after all. And if Medrawed had done what Sal thought he
did – and he had done it, even if Sal wished he could deny it – then there
was only Medrawed who could be the source of those rumours.
"But… you should be dead if you're as old as you claim! Or, at least, you
should be a very old man!" Antioch said surprised.
Sal inclined his head.
"And I would be if I was human," he answered sincerely. "But I am not.
My father was a Firbolg-born – a pureblood or whatever you call
creature-borns now. He was killed when he was something around seven
hundred sixty years old. If he had lived, there would have been a good
chance that he would have met the Founders of Haugh's Wards – and he
died about seven hundred years before their time. I still have some time
to live."
Of course, that was just a half-truth, but Sal didn't plan to tell the
brothers more than he had to, to convince them that he had not lied to
them.
"You're – you're joking!" Ignotus accused Sal, his eyes big as saucers. Sal
snorted.
"I'm not," he answered.
"But… but you are an Emrys… your father can't be a pureblood – I mean,
you must be a descendant of Myrddin Emrys and like that you cannot…"
Antioch said.
Sal just smirked.
"I am not a descendant of Myrddin Emrys," he answered truthfully.
"Then… then you are claiming a false line?"
Sal snorted.
"No" he said and then decided to add some more truths to his words. "I
am the son of a Firbolg-born and I am an Emrys. I am just not Myrddin
Emrys' descendant."
"Then how…?"
"Easy" Sal answered and shrugged. "I am his son."
The others stared at him with open mouths.
"But… but… Myrddin Emrys was said to live way before the Founders…!"
Sal rolled his eyes.
"He lived until sixty AD" he finally said and decided to go easy on the
astonished brothers. "I grew up on Arthur's court in Camelot." Again – but
some words shouldn't be added if you wanted to keep your opponents
somewhat sane.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided he wanted
to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others
from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it
to the second brother, and told him the stone would have the power to
bring back the dead."
"Lord Peverell! Is there a reason why you brought your brothers to the
Wizards' Council?" a voice said coolly. Sal had sat down, together with
Antioch. His brothers were still standing behind him, waiting for the
beginning of the Council. One after another, the other lords had entered,
but it was the first time, one of them was spoken to since they arrived.
Antioch just sighed.
"I had to," he said. "They have important information for the Wizards'
Council."
"Information?"
"Maybe they should speak for themselves," another Lord, who arrived
way before the first speaker, suggested. "After all it is their information to
share and there has to be a reason why they came themselves and did not
just hand over the information to their brother…"
Other Lords nodded and Slytherin said. "Well, go on, then."
One moment there was absolute silence in the Hall of the Council; then
Ignotus and Cadmus exchanged a glance before Cadmus started.
"I am sure you all know the rumours all over Europe about an immortal
dark wizard, trying to gain influence in different countries. He comes, he
kills, tortures and maims and when someone finally is able to stop and
kill him, he returns to the living just a few days later and hunts his killers
down before he vanishes and turns up somewhere else just a few month
later."
Sal was intrigued. So they had come to the Council to speak about
Medrawed long before they met him on the way to Londinium.
"These rumours are nothing more but a legend," the Lord who asked
about Antioch's brothers said huffing. "There is no evidence that they are
real-"
"We know," Ignotus interrupted. "And my brothers and I thought the
same until a month ago."
"Excuse me?"
Ignotus sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Our brother sent us out to destroy the dark wizard that was threatening
our lands, like the Council wished it," he said. "We succeeded a month
ago in killing him and we thought it was the end – but two weeks ago
Cadmus' betrothed was killed-"
"What does that have to do with-?"
"…she was killed by a man we thought dead. She was killed by the same
dark wizard we killed just four weeks ago! Cadmus was able to kill him
again – but on our way to Londinium, we met him again! This time, he
fled, but that does not change the truth! We fought this wizard three
times already and he still comes after us! He should be dead by every law
of nature but here he is, fighting against us! If he is really immortal he
won't stop until we find a way to kill him! We had to tell you that there is
someone who cannot be killed normally!"
"There is no way that someone is unable to die! Or that someone can live
as long as the rumours exist!" the first Lord that spoke to them, denied.
"But…"
"No! If you find prove that it could be, we will talk about it again – until
then don't waste my time!" other Lords nodded their content.
"But we have-"
"We have nothing but your word, and that isn't enough for something like
that!"
"So you don't believe our word?" Ignotus hissed.
"In this case, forgive me, but no. Maybe you were given a drug and saw
what you were meant to see. We need true evidence to believe you. And
immortality is impossible to obtain."
The most of the lords nodded.
Sal stared at the other men. They were wizards, used to a world full of
inexplicable things – and they still rejected the idea of an immortal
wizard?!
"What the Brothers Peverell said, is not unbelievable" Sal finally decided
to speak up. All the other lords turned to him, gawked at him. Sal wasn't
sure if they had even seen him when he entered.
"And who are you?!" the main speaker asked sneering. Sal suppressed a
grin and decided to rile the man up – with the truth, of course – just to
get him back at least for a bit for his slight against Ignotus' honour.
"I am a member of this Gathering" Sal answered coolly, his face
expressionless. "And I see no reason to introduce myself to someone that
dares to ask for a name without telling his name first."
Sal knew the customs of the Gathering and he was quite sure that the
Wizards' Council had not changed the rules. He had learned them a long
time ago and he would not forgo them for some stranger that dared to act
like he was an intruder.
The other sneered.
"I am Lord Severus Slytherin, Head of the House Slytherin," he answered
arrogantly and Sal thought amused that the man should be grateful that
Sal had loved his son – because if he hadn't Myrddin would have never
been a Slytherin and the Lord of Slytherin would have never started to
exist. Then another thought came to him: now, that he was here, did the
lord even have the authority to be here? After all, Salvazsahar had been
the first 'Lord Slytherin' – and he had never officially given up his title to
his son…
"And now, who are you?" the Lord of Slytherin interrupted Sal's amused
thoughts.
"Your ancestor," Sal answered, still thinking about Myrddin. His words
snapped him out of his thoughts.
Maybe that was something he shouldn't have said…
Lord Slytherin blinked, gawking. Then he sneered.
"I am quite sure that my ancestor is dead," he said coolly.
Sal just smiled, not correcting the man. He had said more than he wanted
to, to begin with, after all.
"I am Salvazsahar Emrys," he told them instead. "I am the Lord of Emrys."
The answers were whispers and distrustful looks in his direction.
"You… you…" Lord Slytherin turned red with fury. "How dare you
to…?!"
"He spoke the ritual words and was accepted," Antioch Peverell
interrupted quietly. "Just ask the obelisk which lords are at the Council
today."
Slytherin was still red with fury, but he turned to the obelisk and,
touching it, asked for the lords who had entered the Wizards' Council
today.
One after another golden fire wrote the names of the lords in the air
above the obelisk. As soon as one had been written fully, if vanished and
made space for the next name.
Sal looked at the names with interest.
McGonagall – no surprise there, the family had existed when he was last
in a Gathering.
Bones – that was a new name. It seemed another known name from his
time had finally started to exist.
Ollivander – again a name he had expected. Ollivander's name was at
least as old as Emrys after all.
Slytherin – this one was written in blue fire to indicate a proxy.
So Sal was still the Head of House – even if the ruling powers were in the
hands of another now...
There were others Sal knew and others he didn't. Some of the new names
he had heard in the future, some not.
And then a name Sal new all too well emerged the obelisk in glowing,
golden letters.
Grim. Peverell's last name.
"Grim?" Slytherin asked, looking a little bit lost. To Sal's amusement
Antioch turned red with embarrassment.
"Er… that's mine," he said with red cheeks. "We just don't call ourselves
'Grim' anymore. Not our fault it was just that we were known for a long
time as 'Peverell's sons' until… well, until no-one but the family knew our
real last name anymore. At that time we finally started to go by the last
name of 'Peverell' – we had to, just to be recognised…"
"So you are Peverell Grim's descendants" Sal concluded smiling. No
wonder they had reminded him of Peverell…
"Er… I guess" Antioch Peverell said. "Also even if we are – I do not know
anything about this man."
Before Sal could answer, the next name emerged from the obelisk.
Emrys.
Slytherin hissed and then turned with huge eyes to Sal.
The others also stared at him.
"I told you I am Salvazsahar Emrys" Sal said and turned away from the
last few fading letters of some names that emerged after his own. "Now…
back to what we were talking about before you questioned my lineage: I
know you said that there is no way for a wizard to be immortal – but I
know that this is false. There are ways to be immortal – not that they are
good, but they do exist."
"Stop!" Lord Slytherin held up one of his hands. "You come here, being
the true heir of Emrys and after your claim is verified you simply want to
return to the previous discussion?"
Sal just raised an eyebrow at the other man.
"What else should I do?" he asked him. "After all, it is no news to me that
the line of Emrys is still alive."
"But… but there wasn't anyone to claim that line since at least the times
of Camelot!" Slytherin returned heatedly. "I, for once, would like to know
how there can still be a Lord of Emrys!"
This time Sal snorted.
"Just because the House of Emrys wasn't interested in mindless chatter
every other month, it does not mean that there wasn't a Lord of Emrys all
along," he finally answered the stumped Lord. "Now back to the topic of
immortal wizards. Like I said, there is a possibility of immortality. It
might be dark and obscure but it is still existing…"
"But," Lord Slytherin started to say, but he was interrupted by another
lord. This lord at least decided to speak of the topic at hand and not of
Sal's lineage.
"There is no known way to live forever, lad," Lord McGonagall, like the
crest on his chest proclaimed him proudly, said huffing. "I know, you are
still young – but Haughwards should have taught you at least that much."
Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"The last time I was at Haugh's Wards, I was teaching there," he said. "I
cannot remember a time in the past where I was a student at that school."
This time Lord Slytherin sneered. It seemed he had recovered.
"So where were you taught, Lord Emrys? I cannot believe that a lord like
your father rejected the idea of his son being trained at Haughwards,
lad!"
Sal just smiled and returned to the original discussion.
"There is at least one way to become immortal," he said. "…Two, maybe
even three if you can reproduce the second and third way I know of…
even if those ways are no true immortality, just something alike to it for
some time…"
Lord McGonagall snorted.
"You sound inexplicably sure, Lord Emrys," he said. "But tell me – have
you ever seen someone who has reached immortality?"
Sal hesitated.
Of course he had seen Medrawed just days ago, but seeing him alive did
not tell anyone if the other man had really found a way to live forever.
There was also the fact that Sal had seen Medrawed dead as well – killed
by the goblin blade that had been smitten for Salvazsahar.
But it wasn't Medrawed he thought of the second he heard the question.
It was another man, an evil lord, who came to his mind nearly
immediately. It had been Sal's first brush with immortality and the
Sickness that was known as the Dark, or like Sal preferred, the Evil Arts
of Magic.
Even after over a thousand years he still shuddered when he thought
about the night Voldemort had regained his body. It wasn't that he was
suddenly afraid of Voldemort – no, he just felt sick, thinking about it…
especially after he had been taught blood-magic by his father and
godfather and had started to truly understand what kind of evil
Voldemort had invoked that night. And it hadn't just been the ritual. No,
the evil had started way before, even way before the day Sal had been
entered in the Tournament and it had reached its peak when Cedric had
been killed and Sal had been used for the ritual.
Someday Sal would destroy the man for what he had done. Some evil
could not be forgiven. And line-theft was one of the evilest magic known
to mankind.
"Yes," he finally said. "I have seen it. It might have been a twisted kind of
immortality, but it was immortality nonetheless."
Lord McGonagall sneered. But the sneer wasn't directed at Sal but at the
possibility that Sal's words implied.
"And how was it received?"
Sal shuddered.
"By splitting one's soul," he answered sincerely. "You will lose a part of
yourself if you try it and you will slowly lose your sanity after you have
done it – but you will be immortal. Unable to die until what you have
done to yourself is undone. It is nothing you want to archive, believe
me."
And in his mind he saw that twisted smile that once was the kind smile of his
little brother Medrawed.
A child's smile, lost forever to the perverted magic that allowed Medrawed to
return from death.
"Splitting ones soul?!" this time there was more than one lord who asked
with disgust in their voice, unbelieving.
"Yes," Salvazsahar said. "I don't know when this path was invented – but
if the wizard, you are talking about, truly used this way… kill him. It's
definitely mercy."
"You seem to have forgotten that killing him would be the problem," Lord
Slytherin sneered. Sal just sighed and shook his head.
"I didn't forget what I told you," he said softly. "I just told you what you
had to do if this wizard truly did what I fear he did."
And Sal knew for a fact that Medrawed split his soul. Sal couldn't explain
the taint he felt in Medrawed's magic in any other way. Sal could not
explain the cry of help he had received through his magic as the Prince of
the land in any other way. Nothing but the evilest kind of evil would
have him summoned with so much force that he had abandoned
everything he had been doing, just to hurry back to Britain.
But it was not all Medrawed did.
There was still something foreign to his magic that did not fit to the taint of a
split soul.
"You must find the container of his soul-part and destroy it. Then you
will be able to kill him," Sal explained aloud.
One of the other lords snorted.
"It's not as easy as you try to make us believe, lad," he said. "Until now I
have never heard about a way to split one's soul, but if there is one and
this creature found it, then I don't believe that it will be easy to undo it
again."
And the lord was right.
Sal remembered his lessons in the Dark Arts from his mother. He had
hated them with passion, but it was part of the inheritance of a LeFay.
The LeFay-family had always had a great knowledge of the evilest of
magic. Even Godric, who had been a light sorcerer to the boot, knew
about them. Sal had never spoken with him about them but the fact alone
that Godric read some of his family-texts and knew about the darker side
of blood-magic – the part that could be used to destroy and kill – was
evidence enough.
And Medrawed had been taught by Morgana LeFay herself. As much as
Sal had loved the woman and her ability to heal, he had never been blind
enough to the fact that his mother had known the darkest magicks and
had taught them to her offsprings.
Still, the difference between her and Medrawed was nevertheless mind-
blowing. While Medrawed obviously had done away with his mother's
warning and had started to use those magicks instead of working against
them, Morgana had used her knowledge to gain a deeper understanding
of the nature of magic and had mostly counteracted the Evil Arts.
Sal had chosen the same way and even now, days later, he could not
believe that Medrawed had turned to the darkest of magicks at one point
of his life. He was still unable to believe that he had lost his brother to
the ritual their mother had forbidden them to ever think about using.
And Sal still wanted to cry because of the loss of his brother.
"It won't be easy," Sal answered the lord, with a bitter tone of voice. "But
it's the only way to stop him. And he has to be stopped, he cannot
continue with what he is doing at the moment! He will never stop the
killings if you refuse to destroy him! You can't reason with him anymore.
Whoever he was once, the person he was is long since gone."
"So you prefer murdering him just to stop him," one of the lords asked
coolly.
"There is no other way," Sal answered while he refused to even think
about the result of his proportion. His little brother would be killed by
them – and Sal would not even try to stop them.
Salvazsahar knew that he would create his own nightmares for the next
thousand years with his decision.
He loved his brother, but the ritual Medrawed did, had killed Sal's sibling
long ago. The only thing that was still left was a mockery of his loved one
- an empty shell, a puppet for the evil in the world.
"There is no other way," Sal repeated. "Even if he would be one of us,
even if he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same."
"And yet, you're just guessing that the man you met was truly immortal,"
one of the lords said coolly.
"He might be guessing the method," Antioch interrupted the lord. "But it's
nevertheless true that this creature is immortal. And I truly don't care how
it archived it – be it by splitting its soul, uniting the legendary Death's
Gifts or any other method. As long as we decide on how to stop this
monster and find a way to do so, I am happy with everything you come
up!"
Sal frowned when he heard that exclamation and while Lord Slytherin
and Antioch started to argue about the possibility of immortality, Sal
quietly repeated the foreign phrase that Antioch had used.
"Death's Gifts?" he whispered. He had heard stories about the so called
'Death's Gifts'. The last time he had heard about them, it had been shortly
before he had returned to Britain where he had met Lancelot was brought
to Arthur's Court. He had never been interested in rumours like that and
had long since forgotten about them.
"A fairy tale," Lord McGonagall, who sat next to him, explained. "Nothing
but rumours about a wand, a cloak and a stone that once belonged to
Death. Whoever collects them all, is rumoured to be the next immortal
Master of Death. Like I said, nothing but a fairy tale."
"I am Death! I. Am. Death! I have its wand! I have its cloak! I have its power
over the dead! I. Am. Death!" Sal heard Medrawed howl in his mind.
A fairy tale?
Or was it the truth and Medrawed had them as well?
And if he had them, would it be more complicated to kill him or would it
somehow ease their job?
"You shouldn't think about that myth," Lord McGonagall added in that
moment. "It's far less likely to be true than your idea with the split soul."
But Medrawed's soul was split, Sal knew it. Sal could feel the taint.
But did that make Death's Gifts real as well?
Did Medrawed's insane chatter make him the Master of Death?
"If they were real, how would you destroy a Master of Death?" Sal
whispered.
Lord McGonagall shrugged carelessly.
"Take over the Gifts," he said. "If you have them all, you would be the
next Master of Death and the old would lose his title. But like I said: it's
nothing but an old fairy tale that was brought to us by the Romans."
Sal carefully kept his face emotionless.
"Of course," he said.
It was in that moment that the argument between Lord Slytherin and
Antioch reached its peak. Both lords were clearly enraged but Lord
Slytherin was the Chief of the Wizards' Council and because of that had
the last word in their discussion.
"Well," Lord Slytherin said sneering. "If you think that you know how to
get rid of your 'immortal' wizard – do it. We, as the Wizards' Council,
have more important things to do than to listen to fairy tales!" Little did
he know, that the decision he would make that day, would end his era
within the next year. Instead of him, Barberus Bragge, later on famous for
the introduction of the Golden Snidget into Cuadich –known in Harry's
time as Quidditch – would take the seat of the Chief of the Wizards'
Council.
"We met him on the way to the Council," Cadmus cried furiously. "He. Is.
Real! And we have to stop him! And we need the Council to do it! You
can't brush us of, simply because you don't want to believe us!"
But the most lords just shook their heads and refused to listen to the
arguments of the Peverell brothers.
Not that it surprised Salvazsahar. Politicians had always had the
tendencies to ignore things that could be a threat to their perfect little
world. It had been like that on Arthur's court and it had been like that in
the Gathering of the Lords. So why should it be different now?
Only the Lord McGonagall – a different one than the Lord that Sal had
known back at the founders' time – looked as if he believed the Peverell
brothers. He was the one who frowned at the other lords of the Council,
but when he opened his mouth to object, Sal shook his head.
"They won't listen," he told the man. "They don't want to believe us."
Another lord, who sat next to McGonagall, nodded.
"The Lord Emrys is right, McGonagall. They won't listen," he said. "The
Lord Peverell and his brothers will have to find a way to show them the
truth if they truly want to be believed by them – and that won't be easy."
"And yet, you, Lord Bones, who don't like the Lord Peverell at all, believe
him and his brothers," the Lord McGonagall remarked.
Lord Bones shrugged.
"I might dislike him," he said. "But I know that the Lord Peverell would
never lie in a situation like that. Lord Peverell might be a selfish…
person… but he would never set himself up to be ridiculed if there wasn't
a danger to his family."
Then the Lord Bones shrugged helplessly.
"Alone knowing that fact means that, even if I hate it, I'm forced to
believe his story," he concluded gravely. "If I even had the slightest way
to disable his credibility, do you truly think I wouldn't have taken it?"
The answer was a sigh from the Lord McGonagall.
"And like that you just shook up my hope that there are more sane
persons in the room than insane. It seems that if even you can see that
there has to be some truth to this story, then the others have to be insane
or blind because they don't see it. That they were able to find the
entrance to this hole they call a hall means that they could see it – and
that leaves me solely with insanity. Lovely."
Sal snorted.
"And there they are asking why the Emrys family keeps away from the
Council."
Two muffled laughter answered his statement.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would
like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the
brothers, and he did not trust death. So he asked for something that
would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by
Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of
Invisibility."
It was the evening after the Council and Sal had been invited to the
rooms the Peverell brothers had been given.
"Even if the Council does nothing, we can't let that go!" Cadmus
exclaimed in that moment. He was pacing up and down the room while
his brothers sat in their chairs and watched him. Sal had leaned against
the wall next to the door and his gaze flickered between the brothers'
faces.
"So, what do you want to do?" Sal finally asked.
"Find him and kill him!" Cadmus growled. "There has to be a way to do
so!"
"If you find the object in which he contained a part of his soul and
destroy it, you should be able to do so," Sal answered with an
emotionless voice. Inwardly he felt sick by just thinking about killing the
child he helped to raise.
"So… how do you find it?" Ignotus asked him. Sal sighed.
"By searching," he answered truthfully. "If you know the person who went
through the ritual well enough you will be able to guess, what he could
have used." Then he contemplated his brother and his wishes, hopes and
obsessions.
"Of course if you don't know the person who did it, you'll have to use
different means to find out," Sal added to what he had said before. "It's
definitely far easier if you know the person but there are ways that would
help you to find out if you don't."
"Well, but you do," Ignotus said. "So we will be able to use the easier
method, won't we?"
This time Sal pressed his lips together. Of course he knew his brother,
and of course he could think about things his brother could have used or
would have liked to use but that didn't mean that there weren't other
possibilities that Medrawed could have chosen.
"I might have an idea what he would have used," he answered the
brothers. "But there are still a lot of other possibilities I might not know
about."
"But at least you know some things that could be it," Ignotus said sighing.
"Now, how do we find out if you're right with your guesses or if you're
not?"
The answer was a helpless shrug from Salvazsahar.
"I think you'd be able to feel it if you encounter it," he said. "It reeks of
dark magic and if you aren't a dark wizard you normally would refuse to
touch it instinctively – or you would be compelled to touch it if there are
wards on it to hide its true nature. I guess that the most obvious thing is
that it tries to influence you somehow… at least that's what mother said."
Sal pondered on it a little bit more.
He had after all never encountered anything like a Horcrux, had he?
It was then that a flash of memory brought him back to second year all
those life-times ago.
The Diary.
Ginny.
Horcrux?
The question was easily answered.
Horcrux.
"They try to draw you in, they try to get used by you so that they will be
able to gain power over you. If you use them, you will lose parts of your
memory. You won't remember what you are doing for the Horcrux – but
other than that I don't think that Horcruxes are easily to recognise," he
finally said. "But then, other than as a child I never had an encounter
with one of those and so I might not know some ways to recognise them."
He couldn't help them further, so finally the others started to debate if
one of them had seen or felt something like that.
Sal was quite certain that not one of them would have had.
Medrawed was no idiot.
He wouldn't have hidden the Horcrux anywhere anyone would know.
There was just one chance: he had never thought that there would be
someone who knew him in the future. Maybe, just maybe Salvazsahar
would be able to figure out where Medrawed had hidden his piece of
soul.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on
their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they
had had, and admiring Death's gifts.
In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
They weren't lucky.
Wherever they looked for the Horcrux, they found nothing.
Not at the home, Medrawed had once grown up in, not at Haughswards,
not anywhere on the Isles. Sal soon started to suspect, that Medrawed
had hidden the Horcrux away somewhere on the country, somewhere Sal
had no clue about.
"Is there some place else, he could have hidden it?" Antioch finally asked.
They weren't far away from Haughswards, the last location they had
searched.
Sal sighed and then shrugged helplessly.
"I guess that he could have hidden it somewhere on the country," he
answered simply. "The problem with that is, that I don't know where to
look. I don't know where exactly he was over there."
"So, simply put: you're no help at all," Cadmus snorted.
Sal just frowned at the other man.
"It's not as if I was following my brother anywhere he went," he answered
coolly, "I had other responsibilities than watching him leading his life –
not adding to the fact that I thought him dead for the last few centuries!"
Cadmus just pressed his lips together.
"You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother," Antioch
said in that moment. "I would never have gotten away with such a
behaviour."
"I buried him! What else should I have done? By wind and fire, he was
dead!" Sal cried. "I at least don't make a habit out of watching graves, just
for the chance that the one buried is still alive! And I am a healer, I
normally know when someone is dead! I checked before I buried him!
Don't you understand? He shouldn't be alive anymore! He shouldn't!"
But he was – and that was the entire problem.
"He's right, you know, I shouldn't be alive anymore," another voice said
suddenly and when Sal and the others turned, they found themselves
facing Medrawed. "But I'm surprised that you checked on me after you
returned to your time. I never thought I was that important to you, little
big brother."
The grin on Medrawed's face broadened with every word he spoke.
"You were my brother, Medrawed, of course you were important," Sal
answered bitterly. "I helped to raise you. Whatever you want to say about
our relationship, don't you ever try to imply I didn't love you!"
The answer was a snort.
"And yet, here you are, ready to kill me."
Salvazsahar just smiled a bitter and sad smile.
"I might love you, Medrawed, but the oath I took as a guardian force me
to work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now.
I am sorry."
The answer was a snort.
"You're just like father," Medrawed hissed. "You do nothing but cast me
away for others!"
"You're acting as if you think that's easy for me to do!" Sal said heatedly.
"I once swore to protect the innocents! I never thought that this oath
would mean that I once would be forced to go against my own little
brother! I love you, Medrawed! If the circumstances would have been just
the slightest bit different – if you just hadn't gone against everything I
stand for – I would have chosen you! But as it is, I can't. Not with the
knowledge of what you have done!"
"What I have done? I?" Medrawed hissed. "I didn't do anything! It's all
father's fault! It –"
"You killed, Medrawed! You decided to use a ritual that uses magic in an
absolute perverted way! That wasn't Arthur's doing! That was yours –
yours alone!"
Medrawed just scoffed.
"As if you ever understood me, little big brother," he said, then he
grinned. "But well, at least this time I will finally be allowed to kill you –
and don't worry, I will kill you. I won't let some goody two-shoes like you
stay alive – not with your determination to kill people for your own
'greater good'!"
Another smile spread over Medrawed's face.
"Let's see who's truly the better of us two! Let's see how long you and
your little friends will be able to hold me of!"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant
village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel.
Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win
the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the
oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the
powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made
him invincible.
Sal watched his brother intendedly.
The other one had been roaming up and down in front of them like a
caged predator, but he hadn't attacked them – yet.
"Don't try to charge him by yourself!" Sal hissed in a warning tone of
voice to the other three. "Don't react to his goading!"
All three brothers looked at Sal in disgruntlement.
"We know how to act," Cadmus admonished him. "We're not stupid."
Salvazsahar just pressed his lips together but decided that answering that
statement would just end in a disagreement – and that was something
they didn't need now.
"We're not children," Antioch added.
To Sal they were exactly that.
Children.
All three of them.
But he said nothing.
Medrawed instead grinned.
It seems that he had just waited for an opening like that, and he took it
instantly with a look of glee on his face.
"But you are children," he told them, grinning madly. "All four of you.
Little, stupid children!"
Antioch was grinding his teeth when he heard that.
"We're not children, monster," he hissed. "Whatever you think about us,
don't you dare to call us children! We're all three middle-aged wizards!"
"Antioch!" Sal hissed, trying to get Antioch Peverell's attention.
Medrawed's gin just broadened.
"Of course you are children!" he countered. "Look at you! Barely out of
your nappies! And you need Salvazsahar to tell you what to do – like a
mommy tells her baby what it's allowed to do and what it'll be punished
for! Little children, all of you! Come on, babies, cry for your mommy!"
Antioch snarled at him. "We're not babies!"
"But that's what you are. Stupid little babies who are still listening to
every word your mummy says!" Medrawed replied. "Just look at the way
you're listening to Sally!"
"Don't listen to him!" Sal hissed.
The answer was a frown from Cadmus.
"He's right. You're not our mother, Salvazar! We don't need you to tell us
what to do!" he returned heatedly.
"Like I said before, we know how to act," Antioch added, also frowning at
Salvazsahar.
Ignotus just shook his head.
"Don't you see that you are doing exactly what this monster wants you to
do by talking back to Salvazsahar?" he asked his brothers.
Those two just scoffed.
"Shut up, Ignotus," Antioch said. "I know exactly what I am doing."
"Are you?" Medrawed asked grinning. "Don't you want to confirm your
strategy with mummy Sally first? I meant, you couldn't beat me the last
time without him, either!"
"Antioch, no!" Ignotus cried, but he was too late.
His brother had long since charged the monster known as Medrawed in
front of them.
That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay,
wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand, and for good
measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.
Medrawed did not even give Antioch a chance to get out his first curse.
He simply waved his wand and Antioch sailed through the air and landed
on the ground a little bit away with a sickening thunk.
Then for good measure, Medrawed spoke another curse and Antioch
started to scream with agony.
That was the moment Cadmus entered the battle and fired his curses at
Medrawed, Ignotus following after him immediately and it was just for
Sal's own reflexes and his knowledge with rune-based shields that
rescued both brothers from the deadly curses that Medrawed shot at
them.
"Ah, it seems my little big brother doesn't like to watch," Medrawed
grinned. "But you're still standing so far away, little big brother. Don't
you want to join us in the heat of this battle?"
And with that he pulled out a sword and switched his wand to his off-
hand.
"Let's see how good you are against me," he grinned.
The following minutes were a massacre.
Sal had not even tried to watch the whole scenes from the side-lines. He
knew of Medrawed's abilities with a sword and knew that neither Ignotus
nor Cadmus would be able to deal with him – not that Sal himself was up
to it. As good as he was, Medrawed had always been better.
In the end, Ignotus had lost a finger and was lying next to Cadmus, both
of them unconsciousness and Sal would have joined them there if he
hadn't had a lot of practice fighting Medrawed. Even with centuries
between their last fight and now, Sal could still predict a lot of
Medrawed's moves.
That didn't mean he was unharmed.
He had lost his knives and was bleeding out of several wounds. It just
meant, that he was still standing.
Not that he would be standing for a lot longer.
Sal had always been a good knife-fighter, but his brother was a natural
and had bested him ever since his brother had been eleven winters old.
So Sal wasn't surprised to see that his brother's long knife was just inches
from his chest.
"One move, Salvazsahar, and I will kill you," Medrawed said, grinning
evilly. "And believe me, I will do it. I won't mind your death at all."
And so Death took the first brother for his own.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he
lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the
dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his
delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her
untimely death, appeared at once before him.
Sal did not react to his brother's threat.
He had known since the first time he had met Medrawed again, that the
boy from the past was long since dead and that the monster who took his
place would have no qualm to kill his own family.
So there was just one thing he could do now: Ask the question he had
wanted to ask since he found out what his brother had done. His brother
would answer. He liked to boast even now.
"Why?" Sal asked his brother, bitterness evident in his voice. "Why did
you do it? You already were the Master of Death – why did you have to
use the forbidden ritual as well?"
"Because I wasn't sure if being Death's master was enough," Medrawed
answered grinning. "And I had to survive! I am the King, after all! I just
need Camelot and the lands that should have been mine by birth will
finally truly belong to me!"
"Yours? Yours?!" Sal repeated disbelievingly. "Is that what you think?
That it will be yours if you're just able to enter Camelot again?"
"Of cour-"
"No, Medrawed! No!" Sal interrupted him heatedly, not caring that the
knife sliced his tunic slightly when he interjected his brother. "Camelot
was never yours! You weren't born Arthur's heir! You simply weren't! The
land is bound to him and his blood-line but you need to have his magic
to make a claim and while you were lucky enough to at least have magic,
you weren't born his heir! You were born of his blood – but blood isn't
enough to make a claim on Camelot!"
"I was his only child! I had every right –"
"You weren't, Medrawed!" Sal interrupted heatedly. "You weren't! Don't
you understand? You have always been the second born to Arthur!"
Medrawed just scoffed.
"That's what you say, but you didn't live it, so you have no idea, little big
brother," he said coolly. "Like you have no idea what I have gone through
in the last centuries!"
"But that's where you're wrong," Sal said bitterly while sparing a glance at
the still unconscious brothers. "I know it because I lived it as well. I
wouldn't lie to you. And even if I don't know how you felt for the last
centuries, I can imagine what it has been like for you."
Medrawed snarled.
"You have absolutely no idea!" he cried furiously. "You have no idea how
it was, Salvazsahar! Waking up in a foreign world with rules you cannot
even think about being able to follow! Waking in a world that has moved
on from your death as if it was nothing as if –!"
"I know what you felt, I understand you – but that does not explain away
your deeds, little brother!" Sal interrupted Medrawed with hard eyes.
"You aren't the first one to wake up in a world you do not know the rules
of! I, too, woke in a world a lot different from the time I knew!"
"That does not count," Medrawed said, shrugging. "You planned to go to
mother to be trained. You planed your trip! That's completely –"
"I definitely did not plan my trip, Medrawed. Don't even think about
deluding yourself about that! The truth is I was gripped and ripped away
from my time without even being told a reason! I had no more
preparation then you did!"
Medrawed snorted.
"You, little big brother, have no idea!" he hissed. "I woke up in a world
which had forgotten about me! In a world where the mighty castle of my
father was nothing more but an academy to house apprentices! They had
customs I have never seen before and they talked in a language I never
heard be –"
"It told you, Medrawed. This. Is. No. Excuse for the crimes. You.
Committed!" Sal hissed, fury tinting his voice with the hissing language
of the snakes. "Don't you dare to try to excuse it! It was your choice that
let to your crimes and not you waking up in a different world!"
Medrawed just shrugged this time.
"Maybe you're right, little big brother," he said. "But then, I was buried in
the earth for about a thousand years, unable to do anything while my
immortality healed my body from the wound I received. If it hadn't been
a with goblin magic infused weapon I would have healed faster but father
had to use one to stab me! You would have gone insane like I have if you
had to endure being buried in the ground for such a long time!"
Sal shuddered. Medrawed was right. He possibly would have gone insane
lying there for a thousand years. But then, he also knew that it had not
only been the goblin magic that had worked against his brother.
"I might have gone insane," he said. "But I would never have become as
twisted as you are. Don't deny it, Medrawed. Whatever you did before
you fought with Arthur, I really don't know exactly what and how much
and I am not sure if I want to know, was part of the reason why it took
you so long to return. Not even talking about you returning from death
when you clearly should have been dead after the wound you had!"
Medrawed shrugged disinterested.
"I somehow had to make sure that I wouldn't die in the fight, so I looked
into it. I found two ways and finally decided to use them both – just to be
sure, you know."
Sal shivered when he heard those words.
"You split your soul," it wasn't a question. There was no other way to
explain Medrawed's insanity – not that being unable to die but also being
unable to move for a thousand years would have helped, but then, Sal
suspected that Medrawed did not remember every day buried. Sal even
suspected that Medrawed might have come back to consciousness shy of
leaving his grave. Medrawed had always been the one to exaggerate and
to lie to gain sympathy from others.
"And if I did – what will you do?" Medrawed said, shrugging uncaringly.
Sal shivered again.
"I still cannot believe you did a ritual mother warned us about!" he said.
He didn't know how often he had said this sentence to Medrawed, but he
just couldn't believe it, even now.
Medrawed shrugged again.
"Mother was weak. She never understood that some things have to be
done to come closer to our Firbolg-inheritance. This ritual is one of them
– after all our ancestors are immortal, so that just tells us we should be
immortal, too."
Sal stared at his brother. Then he sneered.
"Don't try to reason with me, brother. I am a healer. I would not
understand what you are talking about."
Medrawed just shrugged.
"You were always more like mother," he said. "No! You are like my
father. Too blinded by your need to look out for others to understand an
opportunity like that!"
"I think this time I am proud that you think I am like Arthur," Sal
sneered. "I wouldn't even want to be like you!"
"And that's the reason why I am immortal and you just a little, lost boy!"
Sal's sneer just deepened.
"Don't you dare to tell me about immortality," he hissed. "I was living on
this world long before you were born and I will live long after you finally
die!"
Medrawed just laughed.
"There is no way that you lived before I was born because we are in your
time now and mine is long gone!" he said laughing. "And believe me, you
won't outlive me. You don't have the meanings. Look!"
And with that he held out his wand. Sal stared at it. He had seen this
wand before – but not in the hands of his brother when they fought the
last time… so where?
Of course, Sal knew thanks to the legend what want he was looking at,
but that didn't explain the familiarity of the want itself.
Where had he seen it before?
"This is Death's wand," Medrawed said in that moment triumphantly. "I
found this and its other pieces – the stone," he held up a stone with an
engraving on it. "And the cloak," he pointed at the open cloak he was
wearing. "They are the reason why I have still my body. They stop it from
ageing and they healed me! They are the ultimate way to be immortal
forever!"
Sal stared at the artefacts.
"What are they truly?" he whispered, while his senses hummed when he
looked at them. Whatever they were, the magic embodied in them was
foreign and powerful.
He had known the legend, but it was different being so close to them,
feeling their call.
Whatever they were, they weren't wizard-made.
At least not by magic Sal had been in contact with.
"They are the Artefacts of Death," Medrawed said grinning. "I found them
in Egypt. There even is a legend about them: The one true owner of them
will live forever and ever! I am their owner! As long as they are in my
possession I won't die!"
Sal snorted.
"You died on the battlefield with Arthur. You might have been
resurrected later on but you still died on the battlefield first."
Medrawed just shrugged.
"A minor setback I will circumvent with time, I am sure," he said
disinterested. "As long as I have them when I'm dead I will return. And
now, dear brother of mine, it's time to die. After all I don't want you to
squeal my secrets to all your little friends."
And with that the icy steel of a short blade bored itself under Sal's rips in
his lung. Sal gasped for breath. His vision swam but he knew he could
not let Medrawed get away. He knew he had to stop him.
So he did the only thing he could.
He opened his eyes.
Medrawed's dying scream filled the air, then he slowly but surely turned
into stone.
Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she
had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and
suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing,
killed himself so as truly to join her.
In the same moment an Expelliarmus was heard behind Medrawed and
the wand – the Death Stick – he was holding sailed through the air and
vanished out of Sal's view.
A second later Medrawed's skin turned grey.
Sal staggered back, the long knife leaving his body.
As soon as the blade had left his body he lost his footing and fell. The
weapon, as painfully it had been had been the only thing to keep him
standing before.
Black points were flickering in Sal's vision and Sal knew instinctively,
that his brother hadn't missed. The knife had pierced his lung.
Sal was dying.
Again.
What a hassle.
And then a still shaking Antioch was by his side, falling to the ground
next to him.
"Salvazar!" he said and this time Salvazsahar hadn't the energy to correct
him. His vision was slowly but surely degenerating.
Soft, blood-strained hands started to support his upper body and then
another pair of blood-strained hands – Ignatius', Sal recognized when he
saw the missing little finger – carefully parted his robes and lifted his
tunic to look at the wound.
"He won't make it," Ignatius said sighing to Antioch. "The blade entered
his lungs. There is no way for us to heal him."
This just triggered Sal to laugh – not that he could laugh at the moment.
Instead painful wheezing sounds emerged his body.
"Don't… worry," he gasped. "I survive."
Antioch frowned at him.
"Salvazar," he said. "He pierced your lung."
"I know," Sal answered wheezing. "Can't die. Unable."
Antioch's eyes widened.
"You're immortal?" he asked astonished with a slight fear tinting his
voice. Sal managed to shake his head.
"No. Just… can't die," he said.
Antioch frowned but it was Ignotus who stopped him from saying more.
"Alright, Salvazar," he said. "You'll explain if – when you are able. Not
now, later, yes?"
Sal attempted to nod but he wasn't sure that he still had enough control
over his body to do it right. Then another thought occurred to him.
"Antioch," he said, still gasping for air. "Cloak. Stone. Way from Med…
him. Ignotus touching. Not you!"
Antioch frowned down at him.
"You want us to take away the cloak and the stone from the… statue –
but I shouldn't touch them?" he clarified.
"Mustn't," Sal insisted.
"Alright. I won't touch them. Tell us later, yeah?" Sal could hear in
Antioch's voice that he doubted Sal's claim that he wouldn't die. Sal didn't
mind the doubt. He would have doubted it, too, if it was him.
So he said just one word as an answer.
"Good," and with that he let slip himself in unconsciousness.
And so Death took the second brother for his own.
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But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was
never able to find him. It was only when he attained a great age that the
youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to
his son.
When he woke up again, he was lying in a bed, fully covered with a
blanket.
He sighed.
At least they hadn't buried him – yet.
He sighed again, then he carefully raised his hands and uncovered his
face.
His eyes fell on the ceiling. It was a tent-ceiling.
In that moment the entrance of the tent opened and Ignotus stepped in.
He stopped mid-step when he saw that Sal was looking back at him. His
eyes widened.
"So you truly are immortal," he said surprised.
Sal sat up.
"Something akin to that," he answered bitterly. "Tell me, were are the
others?"
Ignotus' gaze darkened.
"They left," he answered. "They didn't believe your claim. If it were for
them, you would have been buried days ago."
Sal frowned.
"So… what are they doing?" he asked hesitatingly. "Are they looking for
the Horcrux?"
Ignotus just shook his head.
"They're studying the artefacts they took from your brother," he answered
sincerely. "They've been at it since you died five days ago."
"And the Horcrux?"
Ignotus shrugged, but his face told Sal everything he needed to know.
"They won't start looking for it again," he hazard a guess. The answer was
a bitter smile.
"I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," Ignotus said finally after a few seconds of
silence.
Sal just shook his head. "I should have suspected something like that," he
answered truthfully. "So, they are studying the artefacts?"
"Or using them," affirmed Ignotus. "Antioch said something of finally
settling a dispute and Cadmus said something about apologising for
having a daughter with another woman – not that he ever acknowledged
that child."
"What about Medrawed?"
"Your brother? He's still stone and we thought it prudent to hide him
away in a warded room in Haughswards. Don't worry, no one will be able
to enter it except of us or you, I made sure of that."
"Thank you."
Ignotus just smiled for a moment, then his face darkened again.
"Not that my brothers truly need access to that room. They're now far too
interested in those artefacts to even consider helping you."
"And you?"
"I've been waiting for you to wake up, Prince Salvazsahar," Ignotus
answered with a smile. "I'll have to check on my wife and son from time
to time, but I'll do everything to help you with finding that soul-piece
you've been looking for."
Ignotus would long since dead when Sal finally would find the place
Medrawed had hidden away his Horcrux. It had been hidden away in
France, and confronting it would be the last nail in Sal's coffin. After all
this time, he finally broke from the strain of being forced to live his life
alone and without any support.
He would never be able to continue on, with the guilt of his brothers dead
weighting on his soul.
And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly,
and, as equals, they departed this life.
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That's it for today. I hope you liked it.
Ebenbild
39. Chapter 38: A Child's Threat
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Sorry for the delay. School started again and I had to put it first, sorry.
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A Child's Threat
sss
Harry thought Hallowe'en night was splendid this year. After his
Occlumency lessons with Snape where he had allowed himself to break
the man – just a little, of course, he needed the man sane later on after
all, he had left the sleeping potions master in his sitting room and gone
to the feast.
The feast had been as good as the last feast at Hogwarts he remembered –
or better. Because last time there hadn't been a very pale Umbridge
sitting at the head table who was just waiting to be hexed.
Not that Harry did any hexing. Why should he? There were other ways to
bother the toad.
"Hey, Gred, Forge," he greeted the Weasley-twins and sat down in front of
them.
"Harrykins," they answered, grinning. "Something to snack before the
feast?"
Harry eyed the sweet they handed him, warily.
"Elephant head?" he asked after probing the sweet with a quick runic
spell. "Sorry, guys, I don't think that grey is my colour."
The twins blinked and exchanged a glance.
Then the right twin – Harry knew for a fact that it was Fred – spoke up.
"Ron's right, you know? You are different from last year."
Harry just smiled at them.
"So I am," he answered, then the smile vanished and he looked at them
with serious eyes. "Does it bother you?"
This time George answered. "Not really," he said. "It's just weird, seeing
you acting all grown-up while our brother's still acting like a toddler like
always."
"Not that you haven't been the more mature one before on occasions,"
Fred added.
"But now you're even scarier than Hermione – and she's a mini-adult
since birth."
Harry suppressed laughter, hearing that.
"Hermione is still very much a child who believes in the adults around
her. She still has a lot to grow until you could consider her an adult."
"Unlike you?" Fred asked.
Harry just grinned.
"Oh, I know exactly how to be a child once in a while," he said. "And like
every child I enjoy some good pranks to lighten up the mood, don't you
think so, too?"
Fred and George looked at each other before flashing a devil's smile his
way.
"What are you thinking of?" they asked together.
"Maybe a new colour-scheme for toads?" Harry suggested.
At the end of the feast, Harry thought that being red and green striped
with yellow polka dots, a swine snout and warts could be a new fashion
trend for toads.
Especially pink-clad toads.
Of course, Umbridge was livid and tried to blame poor innocent Harry –
something that the Deputy Headmistress refused to allow to happen.
Harry was happy with that as well. He had trouble enough to keep in line
when he was in his current detentions with her. Being with her for
another detention could end in a dissected toad.
It would be a pity for his working hours because said toad would be
unusable for potions.
It had been after the students had gone to bed that night, that Harry's
real Hallowe'en finally begun. With the exhausted potion's master out of
the way, Harry had practically free reign to do whatever he wanted in
Hogwarts' halls that night without fearing that anyone more dangerous
than Filch would roam the floors near him. Harry had long ago learned
that McGonagall and the other teachers – except of Snape – just watched
the main halls of the castle. If he did not use those halls, he was in no
danger of being found.
"What are you planning, Harry?" Regulus whispered when Harry finally
joined him in the Chamber of Secrets at midnight.
Harry smiled at the other man.
"Tonight is the night of the dead, Regulus," he answered sincerely.
It was an answer, but a non-answer as well.
"I don't think I understand…"
"It's time to let the dead walk on the earth once more," Harry elaborated.
"You want to create Inferi?!" Regulus asked horrified.
Harry snorted. "Of course not, you idiot!" he huffed. "I'm not stupid
enough to dabble in the Evil Arts just because it's Samhain. There are
other ways to 'resurrect' the dead."
"So what are you –"
"Nothing what I haven't done before for now," Harry answered before
Regulus could even finish his sentence. And with that he stepped to the
wall that hid his Ritual Chamber and opened it. Regulus looked in it and
his eyes widened.
"A ritual?" he whispered fearfully.
Harry smiled gently and a little bit sadly at the other man.
"No, not a ritual," he corrected the younger man. "The ritual. The
Samhain blood-magic ritual."
Regulus shuddered.
"To control your magic?" he asked nervously, remembering when the
other man had first told him about the blood-rites he used on a yearly
basis.
"Yes," Harry answered sadly.
"But… I don't understand what that has to do with resurrecting the dead,"
Regulus asked, fear now clearly in his eyes.
"Everything and nothing," Harry answered.
Regulus sighed.
"You won't tell me, will you?" he asked finally.
"No, not tonight," Harry answered looking at him with a sad smile. That
was all it needed for Regulus to understand that tonight was different
than the years before.
"What changes tonight?" he asked.
Harry sighed.
"I'm going to try seeing if I can connect with the castle wards and find the
missing book on them," Harry answered sincerely. "It's a bit risky, doing
that with a blood-magic ritual for my magic, but even with the guess I
have, I need confirmation before I can get it. I might also try and find the
Horcrux within Hogwarts."
"But… this is dangerous, isn't it?" Regulus asked hesitatingly.
Harry sighed again.
"Yes," he said. "If I loose concentration and because of that my grasp on
my magic, it might even kill me. But I've done that ritual plenty of times
already; I should be fine even with the added tasks."
Then the door of the ritual chamber closed between those two. "See you
tomorrow, Regulus," Harry said.
"Or never again," Regulus added bitterly but silently. For a moment he
still looked at the closed door that shielded the other man, his friend and
father figure, from his sight; then he turned away from the door. "May
fate and luck be with you tonight, because I can't."
And a single tear rolled down his cheek, before he pushed the danger the
other man was facing out of his mind. There were still other things to do.
Regulus had still not searched Minerva McGonagall's quarters and the
Charms corridor for either the Horcrux or the book on the wards of
Hogwarts. Of course there were even more parts of Hogwarts he hadn't
searched, but those two were next on his ever growing list.
"Please stay alive tonight, Salvatio!" No reason to call him Harry if the
other man wasn't around to hear, was there?
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Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, was standing in
front of the prison of Azkaban. The Dementors had turned on the aurors
as soon as Voldemort had come and started to enter the prison.
Tonight would be the first victory for the Dark Side.
It was the perfect night for a new start; after all it had been Hallowe'en
all those years ago when his empire crumpled thanks to a fifteen month
old child. It was just right to rebuild his empire on the same night now –
not that he planed to make his return truly official tonight. He just
planed to return the fear to those pampered creatures that called
themselves wizards.
In that moment another wizard in the black Death Eater's garb apparated
next to him and fell to his knees in front of him.
"The final wards are down, my Lord," the Death Eater said.
"Then it will be time to get my most loyal ones out of here," Voldemort
answered coolly. "Enter in pairs and take down every auror you come
across."
"Yes, my Lord," the Death Eater replied and bowed even lower. Then he
apparate away to where Voldemort's troops had gathered.
Voldemort's snake-like face twisted in an evil smile.
"Let us show magical Britain that there is nothing they can do if
Voldemort decides to make something his," he muttered grinning and
then gave the signal for the attack on Azkaban.
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Harry put down the knife that he had used for the ritual. He opened his
eyes and then slowly reached out to destroy the runic circle around him.
Now was the moment.
The one moment he had dreaded since he understood what he would
have to do tonight.
His last hesitation had been nipped in the butt when he had seen Snape's
memories of Albus Dumbledore refusing aid to Azkaban and the plans of
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry might not be a Gryffindor, but he knew that there was no way he
would make it easy for the man who had wronged him – and keeping the
wards of Hogwarts like they were now, would make it easy for the
wanna-be Dark Lord. Harry knew that Hogwarts would be a target for
Tom Riddle as soon as he had enough confidence to go up against Albus
Dumbledore. The Headmaster might be content to risk the children he
should protect, but Harry wasn't and if Harry had to play a Gryffindor to
stop some of Tom Riddle's ambitious plans, so be it. After all, Harry was
still getting the most of this whole ordeal tonight – even if his sanity
might be at stake for it.
Of course he knew that using blood-magic for the magic, like he was
doing tonight, was tricky. Every ritual to aid the flow of the magic
through the body had to be planned carefully. Not, that the other blood-
magics weren't dangerous but doing blood-magic for your magic was not
only dangerous but the power-rush you felt afterwards – not that you had
more magic afterwards, it was just flowing better – simply was addicting.
There had been thousands of druids in times long past who had given in
to the feeling and had died an extremely painful death just a few days
later. If you gave in, your magic would react to it and it would not stop
to rush through your body anymore. Magic like that would burn you
inside out in the end – a slow and extremely painful death.
Instant insanity and a painful death – and all because of not reigning in your
own magic.
"But what does my son Anastasius like to say? No risk, no fun," Harry
thought to himself and grinned.
He destroyed the runic circle that shielded him from the raving madness
of his own power.
Instantly pain shot through his body, followed by the intoxicating feeling
of absolute power.
He was powerful!
He could do everything!
There was nothing that could stop him, no one that could face him and tell the
tale!
His magic was coursing through his body, consuming him and his mind.
For a moment he felt as if his own power would overwhelm him, then he
took a deep breath and threw out his magic, connecting it to the wards. It
was something that, under normal circumstances wouldn't have been
possible. A living being – no matter how old – shouldn't be able to insert
its own magic in the wards to search for something. The magic of the
wards, even if they were cast by the individual that tried something like
that, were maintained by the magic of the earth itself and because of that
shouldn't be accessible to anyone – no one should be able to see beneath
them and search what they shielded.
But Harry was different.
Unlike normal ward-casters, he had once died for the wards of Hogwarts
– and even if he couldn't actively manipulate or dissemble the wards in
this state, he could at least use them to search within their boundaries for
things connected to them.
It took but moments for him to confirm his suspicion about the where-
about of the ward-book of Hogwarts.
He had been right.
It was exactly where he had thought it would be.
Then his mind turned to the next thing he had been searching – the
Horcrux. What he found instead was something totally different.
One moment he wasn't certain, what he was feeling, then his eyes
widened.
A curse.
A curse on a specific position in the school.
The defence-curse.
And it was not only bound to its caster but also to something else inside
the wards.
The Horcrux?
Before Harry could even think on following the connection to the
Horcrux, something broke his concentration.
Happiness and triumph swamped his mind, destroying the iron-clad
control he had on his still very wild and wonky magic. Instantly another
spark of absolute power shot through his system – just that this time
around he wasn't prepared for it.
The intoxicating feeling of absolute power branded against his mental
shields like a storm flood against a dyke. The first wave was stopped by
his shields, but the second simply overcame them as if they were nothing
but a small nuisance – after all, his Occlumency-walls were built of the
same magic that was suddenly wreaking havoc within his mind and
body.
There was no way to stop it.
He was powerful!
Think!
He could do everything!
Think, Salvazsahar!
Within his mind something was pleading with him to return to his former
state of control, but Harry couldn't, wouldn't listen. It felt so good! So
very good!
He was unstoppable!
Clear your mind!
There was nothing that could stop him!
It's your magic! Take back control!
There was no one that could face him and tell the tale!
His magic was coursing through his body, consuming him, destroying
him. Then it hit the runic connection that was the cause for all this evil.
It was the runic connection he had built once, about twenty years ago
now, to a certain Dark Lord so that he was still able to monitor that man.
It was built to warn him if the Dark Lord was feeling powerful emotions.
He could not truly invade the other mans mind with it, but some images
were still shown to him if they were connected with strong emotions by
Tom Riddle – like the dreams of the corridor in the Ministry of Magic.
But it also was this runic circle that had interrupted his concentration
and made him loose control in the first place.
His magic hit the circle.
Then the runic circle, he had created in his mind connected with the
single rune that bound his mind in a loose way to the Dark Lord's,
swamped him with knowledge.
Images of Azkaban filled his mind and if Harry would have been able to
think clearly, he would have argued with himself that doing what he was
about to do was far to dangerous. But his mind was screaming with the
idea of its own power and the rune was there like a beacon and Harry
couldn't resist.
Not such a temptation.
Not such an opportunity.
He grinned and his eyes lightened up with death.
"Tonight you're mine, Tom Marvolo Riddle," he whispered. "Let's teach
you some fear."
And with that he apparated out of the ritual chamber, out of Hogwarts –
even if by all means it should have been impossible to do so.
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Something was wrong.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, the feared Lord Voldemort, was searching the halls
of Azkaban for the threat he was feeling.
He had just had a talk with the Head of the Dementor's coven of
Azkaban. They had been in the middle of forging a new bond – and then,
suddenly, the air had shifted and something had changed in the
atmosphere.
Something was wrong.
The coven-leader in front of him hesitated, clearly feeling the wrongness
as well.
But even with the feeling of wrongness warning him, Voldemort wasn't
prepared for what would happen next.
Fire.
Red and golden fire suddenly lit the stone-walls. There were no torches
that were lit, no candles. It was the stone itself that suddenly started
burning with fire.
And then the unearthly cry of a phoenix filled the air.
A moment later Voldemort heard the yelling of some of his Death Eaters.
Then silence.
Utter and absolute silence.
The Dementors hesitated and started to gather behind their leader.
The leader instead turned around to face Voldemort and its unearthly
voice, not more than a deadly whisper filled the air. "You dared to come
here, promising us the freedom to feed and to breed – while all the while
working with one of those?!" Fury could be heard in that whispering
voice, fury and fear.
"One of what?" Voldemort asked coolly.
"One of the half-breeds! One of those deadly bastards!" the leader hissed.
The answer was a laugh – but the laugh wasn't coming from Voldemort
but from a boy that vaguely looked like Potter.
Just that the boy in front of him had shoulder-long hair and an unearthly
green shine around him. The boy's eyes were lightened up with a living
Avada Kedavra and the boy's body somehow seemed a little bit see-
through and he was clearly pulsing with magical power.
"I'm not with him, leader of the coven," the boy said while smiling the
grin of a born predator. "But you are right with one thing: I came because
of him."
The coven-leader shrunk back.
"Return to where you come from, child of our blood! Return! We don't
want you here!" The Dementor whispered.
The boy just crooked his head.
"Return? Why?" He asked interested. "After all, you were the one who
was about to break the contract – so why do you try to get me to leave
now, after you put yourself in my merciful hands just moments ago?"
The answer was a wordless hiss from the Dementor.
"Your hands are anything but merciful, child of our soul!" it returned
finally bitterly.
The boy just raised an eyebrow.
"I let you and your coven live, all those years ago," he said. "Don't you
think that that was an act of mercy, considering that you invaded my
land with the wish to conquer?"
The Dementor shuddered.
"Whoever your parents were, child, they were clearly insane," it hissed.
"Or how else can you explain that your Dementor-parent mated with a
Phoenix?"
The answer was another laugh and Voldemort somehow felt a little bit
left out at that.
And Dark Lords definitely didn't like to feel left out.
He turned to the ghostly boy, ready to frighten the child – but Bellatrix
Lestrange was faster.
With a furious hiss she stormed at the boy and tried to tackle him.
She did not even reach him.
The unearthly green shine that surrounded the boy flung out and touched
her midair before she could even try to shield herself from it. For a
moment, she lightened up in a green that was nearly as bright as the
Avada Kedavra; then she was thrown through the air. With a deep thunk
she collided with one of the stone walls of the prison.
She bounced back from the wall and came to rest on the floor between
Voldemort and the boy in front of him.
The boy's eyes were trained on her.
Then he looked up in Voldemort's eyes and raised one eyebrow.
Voldemort stood in front of the boy. His eyes swept to Bella who was
lying like dead on the ground right between them.
He looked up at the boy.
Cold death-green eyes met his red ones.
"Afraid, Tom?" the boy asked, crocking is head and studying him.
Voldemort snorted at this question.
"You're a mere boy – why should I be afraid of someone like you?!"
The answer was a mysterious smile.
"Because I am who I am" the boy answered, then he shrugged. "But I don't
think you have enough respect to even care about who I am…"
"And who are you, boy? Potter maybe?" Voldemort did not know what to
think about the boy in front of him, but even with the unearthly shine
around him, the boy seemed far too young to be any kind of danger to a
Dark Lord.
The boy in front of him laughed at his suggestion.
"Potter?" the brat repeated. "No, I'm not a potter, Tom. I'm far too fond of
being a healer to ever think of training as a potter."
Voldemort growled.
"Harry Potter," he elaborated. He was quite sure that the boy had
misunderstood him deliberately – and he definitely wasn't amused by
that fact.
The answer was a laugh.
"Harry Potter?" he repeated. "So, you're still after a mere babe just
because you were beaten by it one time?"
"Crucio!" Voldemort thought that this was the best way to get the boy to
stop mocking him.
The boy did not even bother to dodge.
The curse hit him head on and fried the Death Eater behind him when it
did not strike the body of the child but went through it as if it was a
ghost.
The boy looked at his hands in interest.
"Seems as if I'm fading," the brat said with interest in its voice. "Never
thought that something like that would be the effect of this ritual gone
wrong…"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
Then the boy looked up again, his green eyes meeting Voldemort's red.
"Harry Potter should be your last concern," the brat dared to say. "He's
not a danger to you in any way or form."
"And you are?" Voldemort hissed.
The boy laughed at that.
"If you cross my plans, I'll vanquish you," he answered the Dark Lord in
soft, hypnotic hisses. "Don't worry, you'll cross me eventually."
Then the boy's magic sparked in an odd way – as if it was fighting the
boy's body itself.
The boy looked at his hands again.
"Seems as if my consciousness is fighting my control over his body –
damn healer's oath," he said grinning. "If it weren't, power would have
been the only thing I would have carved now."
Then he grinned at Voldemort.
"But then, power is the thing you carve – maybe I should at least steal a
little bit from you before I come back to my mind."
Voldemort opened the mouth to utter another curse, but he was too late.
He could just watch when his plan for Azkaban crumpled and the boy
vanished in a bout of flames.
In the next moment the Dark Mark lightened up the sky and Voldemort's
plans of a silent rescue of his followers was reduced to ashes.
If he ever found out who cast the mark, they would be punished severely!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The day after Hallowe'en – and also the day after the raid in Azkaban,
Albus Dumbledore was standing in front of the Wizengamot.
"Do you still believe that He isn't back?" He asked the other Lords and
Ladies of the Wizengamot heatedly. "Yesterday night, twenty aurors
perished in Azkaban and the Dark Mark was cast in the sky above the
castle!"
"So you're telling us, that You-Know-Who has to be back, just because the
Dark Mark was cast?" Fudge said sneering. He had better things to do
than to listen to Albus Dumbledore's senile ramblings. He had been just
about to get information on Oliver Twist from Xenophilius Lovegood. Of
course, the man had refused to cooperate even with the threat of an
auror right next to him – but Cornelius was sure that the man would
carve in soon. The Ministry had the better connections after all and even
with the retainer Xenophilius Lovegood had hired, there was no way for
Cornelius to lose.
And now, instead of working on the real threat, he was sitting in the
Wizengamot meeting, listening to an old man's ramblings.
"He is back! And he has freed his loyal ones from Azkaban!"
"Well, I think it was Sirius Black who helped them to flee. After all, he
knows how to break out of Azkaban – he did it before. It's logical that he
returned now to break out his cousin and her husband and all his other
Death Eater friends," Lucius Malfoy said and Cornelius had to give it to
the man. This truly was the most logical conclusion.
And it seemed that the other members of the Wizengamot mostly thought
that as well, because he could see them nodding and murmuring. Just a
few loyal followers of Dumbledore like the Longbottom matriarch and
some paranoid ones like Alastor Moody looked as if they didn't want to
believe the words of Lucius Malfoy.
"And I also think that that's the end of those rumours, that Black might be
innocent," Cornelius Fudge added and looked at Amelia Bones. Said
woman returned his gaze with icy eyes.
"I fear, that that's where you're wrong, Minister," she said and stood up.
"Because Sirius Black is what I am here for, today."
Cornelius' eyes narrowed.
"What are you talking about, Amelia?" He asked.
The answer was a grim smile.
"You asked me to look into the case of Sirius Black, Minister," she said. "I
am here today to present my findings."
Again there were murmurs all around the room. Albus Dumbledore
frowned. It seemed like the old man hadn't heard about Cornelius'
inquiry beforehand like he normally did.
The next minutes were downright shattering for Cornelius.
Amelia had been thorough. She had evidence. She had memories and she
had an oath from Sirius Black that everything he sent her was true. The
oath had been signed in blood and was because of that as binding as
every other unbreakable vow.
In the end, Amelia Bones's verdict was clear.
Sirius Black was innocent.
"But… but…" Cornelius stuttered. "But Azkaban! The break-out!"
"Wasn't done by Sirius Black," Amelia answered coolly. "Like I said
before. I have proof that he didn't betray the Potters and I have prove
that he didn't kill Peter Pettigrew, the true betrayer. If you want to see
the memories, I'll show you, but like I said, I verified them. There is no
way that Sirius Black could have forged them."
"So you are on Dumbledore's side now. You want to believe his lies that
You-Know-Who is back!" Cornelius concluded sneering. The answer was a
frown from Amelia Bones.
"No," she said and Cornelius relaxed slightly. It seemed that Amelia
hadn't succumbed to Dumbledore's madness. "I just wanted to point out
that it couldn't have been Black who did it, Minister," she said. "I never
said anything about You-Know-Who."
"Well, if it wasn't Black, then maybe it was Pettigrew?" Lucius Malfoy
said. "After all, since Black hasn't killed him, that man is still alive and if
Black wasn't You-Know-Who's right hand man, than at least Pettigrew has
to have a place in his inner circle. Maybe he heard about Madam Bones'
inquiry and panicked? It would be logical to try and free other Death
Eaters so that we don't concentrate on solely him."
"Yes! Yes! If it wasn't Black, than Pettigrew must have done it!" Cornelius'
said. "After all, he has to be a very sly and sneaky Death Eater! He faked
his death after all and blamed it all on Black!"
When Cornelius looked around, he saw that the other Wizengamot
members were nodding. His eyes returned to Amelia and the woman
inclined her head. It seemed as if she thought this possible as well.
"You are wrong!" Albus Dumbledore said in that moment. "I doubt that
Peter Pettigrew could do something like that alone! He isn't resourceful
enough to…"
"But he was resourceful enough to hide away for more than a decade,
while at the same time blaming an innocent man for his murder,"
Theodore Nott Sr. said. "I believe that if someone is able to hide for so
long, than he is also resourceful enough to free some Death Eaters from
Azkaban – especially after he saw that it was possible when the scion of
Black escaped!"
"It was Voldemort! If you don't…" Albus Dumbledore boomed. Cornelius
turned out the rest of his mad ramblings. He wasn't interested in listening
to the madness of a once great man. So Cornelius preferred to think
about a way to get information on Oliver Twist out of Xenophilius
Lovegood in time to stop the brat before he could undermine the
Ministry's credibility even more than he did until now.
"Minister!" it was Amelia Bones who brought Cornelius back to the
present discussion. Albus Dumbledore had gone silent and Amelia was
looking at Cornelius with expectation in her eyes.
"Could you repeat that, Amelia?" he asked.
"Minister, what should we do now after we know the truth about Black?"
she repeated dutifully.
That was indeed a good question.
Cornelius would have preferred to let it be like it was, but he also knew
that at least some of those present remembered that Black should have a
seat in the Wizengamot with them. Adding to that that Lucius Malfoy was
married to Black's cousin and Cornelius couldn't afford to do what he
would have liked.
"We need to contact him. We also need to give him back his rights... and
we will have to apologize to him for his treatment by the former
government body, "Cornelius grimaced at that, but there was no way
around it. "He has to be recompensed and…"
He trailed of, not sure if there was anything else they needed to do.
"What about asking him to submit to St. Mungo's for treatment?" Amelia
Bones suggested. "If he passes the tests about mental health, he will be
released and will be able to take up his duties as Lord Black. Like that we
can be sure that he's safe for everyone else when he's released."
"A good idea, Madam Bones," Cornelius said. "Please contact the press. I
will talk to them later on." And Cornelius would make sure that the world
knew that it had been his predecessors who imprisoned an innocent man
and that Cornelius had been the one to find out and free him.
"Are there any other things that need to be discussed?"
After that, the Wizengamot session ran smoothly as always.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Somewhere else, Xenophilius Lovegood hummed happily while he started
to print the next edition of The Quibbler. He was sure, that the article,
Oliver Twist had written this time would definitely bring some new
trouble for the Wizarding World.
The article itself might not be aimed at the Wizarding World in general –
but it aimed at one of the most important institutions of their world.
There would definitely be a lot of interest in the newly printed article.
Not, that there hadn't been interest in them before. Since the day Xeno
had printed the first article of Oliver Twist his subscribers had increased
tenfold. Xeno even had trouble to print the editions of his newspaper
alone now. He soon would need some help printing to be able to print
enough for his subscribers.
And then there was the interest of the Witch's Weekly in the articles of
Oliver Twist. They had printed one of the first articles in their magazine
and returned to him to ask if they were allowed to print others also.
Of course, Xeno had to discuss this with Oliver Twist first. Now the
Witch's Weekly was also publishing the articles – even if it was two days
later then in The Quibbler.
In that moment someone knocked on Xeno's door and he went to open it.
"Barnabas Cuffe" he greeted the wizard standing in front of his door.
"Xenophilius Lovegood" Barnabas, the editor in chief of the Daily Prophet
returned the greeting. "Well met my friend."
"Well met" Xeno said and winked the wizard in. He showed Barnabas to
his living room and then went to get some tea. Luna always told him that
it was easier to talk with a good cup of tea in front of you and Xeno
followed his daughter's advice. He knew she was smarter then him and
would know things like that.
"So, how may I help you?" he finally asked when he returned with the tea
in his hands.
"I wanted to ask for permission to print the articles of Oliver Twist,"
Barnabas answered.
When Xeno just raised an eyebrow, Barnabas smiled.
"Today a barrister entered the Daily Prophet's" he told the man in front of
him. "Some of our shareholders were not happy about the biased things
we were printing. They combined their share and have overthrown the
grasp of the Ministry on us. Now we have some stipulations for printing.
We have to research seriously and we have to stop printing gossip."
"You sound happy about that" Xeno remarked. Barnabas just smiled.
"It's finally like it used to be before" he answered. "And because of that I
would like to ask for permission to print the articles of Oliver Twist. He
does his research quite well and has not written anything wrong until
now. And he knows how to write. The people are following what he has
been writing since he started at The Quibbler."
"And I wondered why suddenly the people all seem interested in Cackling
Cragglers and Shrinking Bubblers…" Xeno uttered and Barnabas looked
at him bewildered. Xeno just shrugged inwardly and continued to speak:
"Write him a letter and I will forward it. It is Oliver's decision if he wants
his texts printed in the Daily Prophet."
"Do…" Barnabas hesitated. "Do you know who he truly is?"
"No" Xeno answered immediately. "I do not. He contacts me through
Gringotts and he has a Vault there under his pen name. I do not know his
real name. His contract is also handled by Gringotts. If he truly starts
writing for you, he will ask you to do the same. Like that no-one is able
to get information about him through me or those he is also working
with."
"Clever" Barnabas commented. "The Ministry will have a hard time to
trace him."
"They will – when they start searching, that is."
"They will" Barnabas answered. "He might aim at Hogwarts for now but I
am sure that his sharp tongue will not stop by the Minister and his
goons."
"Definitely not" the time Xeno smiled grimly. "And I am just waiting for
the day he is finally turning his eyes to the Ministry."
Barnabas was not shocked when he heard the nice Xeno Lovegood
declare he was waiting for the deconstruction of the Ministry. Everyone
that knew Xeno's history knew that he was at odds with the Ministry
since the day he left them for good. Before that Xeno Lovegood had held
a respected position in the Ministry.
"I do not think you have to wait much longer" Barnabas said.
Xeno just smiled.
"I know" he answered. "I know my friend." And with that he took his cup
of tea to drink. Barnabas just smiled and did the same. There was some
time left until he had to return to work. Just now he had his lunch break
– so why not harbor it at the home of an old friend, a man he knew from
his time at school?
After all there was a letter to write and some serious news to print
afterwards.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Later that day another meeting was held. A meeting that was one out of
six – some of them already concluded, some of them still waiting for the
final verdict.
The room was barely lit and dark shadows chased the light of the candles
along the walls. At one side was an ornamented, oak desk with an
overstuffed, black armchair behind it. On the wall above the chair, a
crest was embodied into the stones. The crest showed a silver serpent
wrapped around a white lily on a light green grounding.
A tall, blond and blue-eyed man stood in front of the desk, his forehead
wet with sweat. His eyes were fixed on the crest that was barely visible in
the shadowy room.
"You know the protocol," another voice said. The voice belonged to a
young man with traditionally braided hair and green, open robes. A silver
basilisk was stitched on the black tunic beneath his robes. "It's your
decision, but you have to make it now."
The sweating man gulped nervously.
"The crest," he said hesitatingly. "It's… it's not a joke, is it?"
"You know the answer to that question," the boy replied and his deathly
green eyes fixated the other man with a cold stare.
"Yes or no, Lord Adrian Greengrass?"
The answer was a scoff.
"You're asking me if I decide to join your Grand Family? The Grand
Family? Shouldn't it be obvious, that I wouldn't say no even if I would
have to work together with Albus Dumbledore himself?" the blond man
snorted.
"I need a clear answer, Lord Greengrass," the young man admonished the
older one softly. "Yes or no?"
"Yes! Yes, of course!"
"Even if I tell you that it's the Weasleys and the Longbottoms you will to
have to work with?"
"Like I said, I even would work with Dumbledore to be able to pin my
name to this crest!"
"No need for that. Dumbledore is definitely no one who will ever be
politically allied with this family."
The answer was a grin from the blond man.
"So the Weasleys finally stopped listening to every word the new Merlin
of the magical world says?" he asked the younger one. "It seems that they
have at least some common sense at last."
The answer was a chuckle from the younger man.
"They also have some decorum, now," he told the Greengrass-Lord.
"Augusta Longbottom insisted on teaching them the proper manners for
the Wizengamot."
"Will wonder never increase?" the other man said while shaking his head.
Then he smiled viciously and bowed to the younger man. "I'm looking
forward to the official forming of our alliance."
The younger man just inclined his head.
"Until then, Lord Greengrass," he told the lord.
The other lord nodded.
"Until then," he replied; then he spoke the activation password of his
port-key and vanished.
Deathly green eyes lit up with unearthly Phoenix-fire.
"Well, Albus Dumbledore," he whispered satisfied. "That's another nail in
your coffin."
Then he leaned back against the table and drew another shuddering
breath. He had hidden the pain he was in from the praying eyes of the
other man but now, that he was alone; he gave in and rubbed his hurting
chest.
A knock on the hidden door made him turn around.
"Enter," he said and a goblin opened the door.
"You should rest, Morganaadth," the goblin said. "It is a wonder that
you're alive, after all, and refusing to rest just aggravates your condition."
The boy smiled a bitter smile.
"At least the experience didn't kill me," he said.
The goblin just sighed. "No, but you were lucky that you are as old as you
are – and that you have been a healer for the most of your life. If you
weren't and if your oath wouldn't have been as old and integrated as it is,
you would have died –"
"Slowly and painfully, I know," the boy interrupted. "Thank you for
caring, Nardog."
The answer was a scoff.
"You are my clan-leader, Morganaadth. Of course I care for you. And now
– go to bed. Rest. I don't want to see you up and about for at least
another twenty-four hours."
"Of course, mother," and with that sarcastic remark, the boy left the room
to do what he had been told.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Tom Marvolo Riddle, known by most solely as 'Lord Voldemort', 'The
Dark Lord' or 'You-Know-Who', sat on his throne in Malfoy manor in
fuming silence.
The raid on Azkaban had not happened as he had planed it. Sure, he had
been able to free his imprisoned, loyal Death Eaters, but the price had
been higher than expected. Instead of returning with an army of
dementors that just waited for his every demand, he returned with a
hissed "Don't come near us ever again!" from their leader. The dementors
had refused the alliance after the child had vanished and there had been
nothing that could change their minds again.
"My Lord," Voldemort looked up, not at all happy with the interruption
by his follower. It was just the presence of the black-clad stranger who
stood right behind the Death Eater that had dared to interrupt him in his
brooding, that stopped him before he could crucio his follower.
The Death Eater gulped. It seemed as if he could see Voldemort's wish to
hurt him in his Lord's eyes.
"M…my L…lord, there… there's someone who wanted to meet you," the
Death Eater stuttered.
The black-clad stranger behind the Death Eater snorted; then he swept
around him, just to stop a few feet in front of Voldemort's throne.
The stranger bowed and Voldemort looked at him curiously.
"It is a pleasure meeting you, descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the Great,"
the stranger said and when he looked up Voldemort could finally place
the pale complexion and dark eyes of the stranger.
A vampire.
The stranger was a vampire.
"The pleasure is mine," Voldemort said coolly. He knew how to act to get
new followers – and being rude definitely wouldn't help him with a
vampire who was obviously trained to act like a lord.
The answer was the shadow of a smile on the vampire's face.
"I am Anastasius Sanguini," it said. "I am here to renew the bond between
my clan and the Lord of Slytherin."
Maybe this day wasn't as bad as Voldemort had thought previously.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today. Sorry, that it took so long. Real life can be a bitch.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
40. Chapter 39: Sniffling Mad-Eye
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Beta-ed by C'mon
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Sniffling Mad-Eye
sss
Potter left Hogwarts.
Potter left Hogwarts.
Potter LEFT Hogwarts – without being stopped, without being guarded
and definitely without any problems!
If Mad Eye had not been in Diagon Alley today, if Mad Eye hadn't had his
magical eye – he would have never seen Potter going through the alley as
if it was normal for a student to visit Diagon Alley on a weekend in the
beginning of November!
What was Potter doing in Diagon Alley?!
Mad Eye did the only reasonable thing to do in his mind: he followed the
boy – a boy who might not be a boy.
"Am I truly right? Is he an imposer?" Mad Eye thought again. It would
explain how Potter had been able to leave school grounds and find his
way to Diagon Alley. If he was an imposer he surly was able to apparate!
Mad Eye just had to confirm and prove it!
There was just one problem with his plan: Potter headed into Gringotts.
Mad Eye followed – just to see Potter open a side-door and enter the
hallway behind it.
For a moment Mad Eye started to follow, then his brain caught up with
him and he stopped.
No one entered the hallways behind any doors of Gringotts but the
goblins or wizards with goblin guards. There was no way Mad Eye would
be able to do so… at least not without being bodily harmed and maybe
killed…
But Potter…
Mad Eye stared at the door Potter had closed behind himself as if it was a
dragon. He just stood there and stared, stared and waited for Potter to be
thrown out – hurt, tortured and maybe dead.
A minute went by, another, five, ten more…
Nothing happened.
Why?!
Mad Eye knew…
Mad Eye had seen what happened if a wizard disregarded the treaty with
the goblins. He knew what happened if you entered their realm without a
proper escort! He had seen it – and it hadn't been pretty at all…
And the goblins would never be unaware of a trespasser like that! They
lived and breathed the same motto as Moody: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!
"May I help you, sir?" Mad Eye blinked and looked down to his knees
where a goblin in full armor was standing, eyeing him warily.
Mad Eye had been so fixated at the door that he had even forgotten his
own life motto of CONSTANT VIGILANCE!
"Er… a boy entered in that door… without a guard… a couple of minutes
ago…" Mad Eye finally said, much too stunned to think over his words
before answering.
It was as if his whole world had ceased to exist like he knew it – and it
was further crashed when the goblin in front of him answered with a
snarl.
"The 'boy' as you call him, wizard, is a highly respected clan-leader. If you
ever disrespect him like that again I will cut out your tongue before I
bare you entrance to Gringotts! It is his every right to enter over there if
he so wishes. And now leave. We don't need wizards prying in our
business!"
Mad Eye gawked at the goblin.
Then he did the only thing he could do: he left Gringotts and decided to
wait outside and trail the boy again.
"At least now I am sure that this truly is an imposer!" Mad Eye snarled to
himself. "There is no way that the Potter boy is able to get enough respect
from the goblins to be recognized as a well-respected clan-leader…!"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Magnus Adam Selwyn was an experienced barrister. He was working for
Fawley&Flint&Selwyn and had seen a lot in his fifty-one years of life,
except that he had never ever seen – he hadn't even dreamt about –
something as unusual as he had been facing for month now, in his whole
life.
Adam Selwyn – he hated the name 'Magnus' with passion – was the first
barrister ever of a goblin clan-leader. Well, a human looking clan-leader
of the goblin nation, but that made it even more special than it was
already – simply because there shouldn't be a human looking goblin clan-
leader. The goblins never got along with wizards; Adam had no idea how
those special circumstances came into being, that ended with a human
looking goblin clan-leader – and Adam wasn't truly sure if he wanted to
know.
It was enough for him to know that he was working for the only human
looking goblin clan-leader in the world.
And he had the biggest coup going that he was able to imagine – not that
he had imagined that when he was called to Gringotts the first time,
about three months ago.
At that time, the circumstances around his new, potential client, had
been a first for him as well.
He had been contacted by a goblin – just to be led to one of the hidden
bureaus of Gringotts that normally were only accessed by a few, carefully
picked wizards, mostly lords or high ranking officials. Adam was neither
so he had never expected to ever see those halls.
Adam did not know what to expect from this meeting.
Well, the goblin that had contacted him had clearly stated he was doing
so for his client and not for himself – but Adam had never heard about a
wizard using a goblin to contact a lawyer before…
In that moment his guide stopped in front of a richly carved double-door
and opened it.
"The lawyer, Nardog," he said.
"Let him in," was the answer and a second later Adam was all but shoved
in the room behind the doors.
The doors closed behind his back like the entrance to a tomb.
Adam frowned.
What now?!
"Sit, Mr. Selwyn," the goblin said and shoved a money bag in Adam's
direction. "For today."
Adam nodded.
He knew that when he was paid for today that even if he did not accept
the final offer, he would be unable to speak about it – as for today, the
goblin in front of him was his client.
"So tell me, Master Goblin, how may I be of service?" he asked, taking the
money.
"We'll see," the goblin answered, eyeing him critically.
"First I need to know some things – and then I will decline or accept you."
Adam nodded.
"That's nothing new," he answered.
"I thought as much," the goblin said. "So, tell me, Mr. Selwyn, are you a
follower of Albus Dumbledore?"
Adam blinked in surprise.
Normally he was asked if he was a Death Eater or other things – but
that?!
He hesitated for a moment.
He did not like Dumbledore very much. He had been a Slytherin in
Hogwarts and the old man had never seemed to be really fair – and of
course the other Slytherins hated him with passion…
"I… no," he finally said, sitting straight. "I do not follow his agenda. I
have too many friends on the other side."
He knew that this would be the end of this job – there was no way he
would be granted another chance. And the reason was simple: everybody
knew the goblins would more likely follow Dumbledore than Voldemort
when they had to choose sides.
"So you are a follower of the Dark Lord?" the goblin asked.
Adam shook his head.
"No," he answered sincerely. "I have too much family on the Light side –
and I don't like his ideals."
One moment the room was silence.
Then the goblin grinned a devilish grin.
"Good," he said. "I will bring you my clan-leader. He will discuss with you
what he wants you to do."
Adam blinked.
Good?!
Clan-leader?!
Adam knew that 'clan-leader' was the term for the goblin Head of House
and also Lord of House. They were exclusive individuals, never seen in
the halls of Gringotts. Adam also knew that clan-leaders were all very
old. You could not become a clan-leader if you were not at least a
hundred years of age.
"Your clan-leader, Master Goblin?" he finally asked.
"Yes, human," the goblin answered. "He was the one asking for one of
you. Be not disrespectful to him, human. It will cost you greatly if you
are."
Adam just nodded. Then he followed the goblin even deeper into the
halls of Gringotts. The decoration got even more pronounced, speaking of
wealth and power. The tapestries showing the battles and wars of the
goblin nation. It was intimidating.
Finally they stopped. Adam blinked. They stood in front of a tapestry, not
in front of one of the richly ornamented doors that he could see in the
distance. The goblin simply pulled the tapestry of a very bloody battle
aside – Adam guessed from what he remembered that it was a tapestry
showing the Great Battle of the North Fields – and exposed a hidden door
behind it. He opened the door.
"Step in and wait here," the goblin said. "The clan-leader will soon be
there. Just remember: he is one of our most honoured leaders – step out
of line and it will be the last thing you ever do." And with that the goblin
left the room, leaving behind an astonished and slightly frightened
barrister.
Adam gulped, then he tried to calm his nerves by taking the time to look
at the room itself.
The furniture and the walls spoke of money. The furniture was old and
hand-crafted; the walls carved marble and behind the still unoccupied
desk hung a crest.
The crest showed a serpent winding itself around a lily. The crest itself
was green, the serpent silver, and the lily white.
It was a simple crest, but Adam had never seen it before…
"Do you like my crest?" a warm, low voice suddenly asked. The voice was
young, yet marred with a slightly foreign lilt to it, as if the speaker had
half-forgotten how to speak English. It wasn't the accent of a foreigner
but of a very old being who had lived through different stages of the
English language.
Adam turned on his heel and stared at the person who had just entered
the room.
The person closed the door.
The first thing Adam registered was that the person in front of him was
human. The second that the human had come alone – the goblin had not
come back even if normally no goblin would let a human wander alone
in their halls.
"Where is your guide?!" Adam asked just to clap his mouth shut in the
next moment. This man could be his client! That was not an introduction he
would like to make to a new client! Where, by Merlin and Morgana, had gone
his Slytherin side, now that he needed it desperately?
The man chuckled.
"I am a clan-leader," he answered warmly. "As I am part of the goblin-
nation I don't need a guide."
"But… but you are human!" Adam wished he would stop channeling a
Gryffindor and voice his thoughts with a filter…
"Not really," the man answered, scrutinizing him. "But I would be called a
wizard today."
Adam just stared at him.
The man – a young man, more a boy then a man – had shoulder-length
black hair; some part of it braided back with Slytherin-green ribbons like
the lords of old had worn. The robes he wore were also cut in an older
style. They were green with a black tunic and black trousers beneath.
Black leather-boots and a silver belt, looking as if it was made of silver
leaves added the final touch to his appearance.
Then Adam remembered the fact that clan-leaders had to be at least a
hundred of age. The boy in front of him didn't look like it, but looks
could be deceiving and the boy's accent spoke of times long past.
Finally Adam decided to drop into a belated bow, introducing himself.
"I am Magnus Adam Selwyn, barrister of Fawley&Flint&Selwyn. Forgive
me if I offended you in any form, my Lord," he wasn't sure if the apology
would be accepted, but it was the least he could do after his Gryffindor
reaction just seconds ago.
The answer was a soft chuckle.
"You are forgiven, child," he said. "Unlike what most of my fellow clan-
leaders think, I'm not interested in killing everyone who offends me."
Adam released a slow, relieved breath.
"Stand up, child, and then sit down," the clan-leader said and Adam did
as he was told. The clan-leader made his way to his desk and leaned
against it. That action brought him in close proximity to Adam who sat in
front of the desk on a visitor's chair.
"If I may ask, who are you?" Adam finally asked, when the silence started
to feel awkward.
The young looking man smiled and bowed slightly.
"Morganaadth, at your service" he said.
"Morganaadth?" Adam was not sure if the name was a first or a last
name. The other smiled again.
"My goblin name," he answered smiling.
Adam blinked at that. He knew for a fact, that there shouldn't be any
human looking clan-leaders – and definitely none that had a goblin
name.
"My Lord, may I ask how –"
"How it is possible for me to exist if there isn't any records of me in the
Ministry?" the other man asked with a raised eyebrow.
Adam inclined his head hesitatingly.
The answer was a soft smile.
"Circumstances," he said. "Let's just say that I predate the Ministry."
Adam's eyes widened at that. He knew for a fact, that the Ministry of
Magic replaced the Wizards' Council in 1707, which meant that the
human looking man in front of him had to be at least three hundred
years old.
He gulped.
"May… may I ask with what I can assist you, my lord?" he finally
managed to say. The clan-leader in front of him, looked at him amused –
at least until Adam managed to ask his question.
"With several things, my dear Mr. Selwyn" the young looking lord
answered. "I do plan to return to the place that is rightfully mine in the
magical world, but there are some… obstacles I have to take care of
before I make my first move."
The deathly green eyes of the clan-leader in front of him pierced him
with a cold and determined stare. Adam felt a cold shiver running down
his spine.
This boy-looking being was no-one you should cross…
"Can you explain further?" he finally asked the young looking Lord.
"Of course" Morganaadth inclined his head. Then he sat down behind the
desk and took out a folder full of paper.
"You could say that, thanks to who I am, I have certain rights… to an
important individual of the magical community."
"I… don't think I understand," Adam replied.
The man in front of him smiled. Then he pulled of the family ring he
wore and turned it so that Adam could see the crest.
Adam's breathing hitched.
He knew that crest.
It was the Potter family crest.
Adam's eyes snapped up to look at the man in front of him.
"How –"
"Like I said, circumstances," the clan-leader replied. "Let's just say that I
have always had the right to wear it."
"But… Harry Potter –"
"Is one of the reasons why you are here," the man replied. "Since you are
a barrister, I don't think that I have to tell you what should have been
done years ago when James and Lily Potter died."
Adam understood instantly.
Since the clan-leader in front of him had the lordship ring of the Potters,
the heir of Potter should have been given to him for caretaking. The lord
of the house always took precedence to everyone else. That it hadn't
happened, could mean only one thing: Harry Potter had been placed
illegally with whoever he was living with at the moment.
"The guardianship –" Adam started to say.
"Stolen by Albus Dumbledore," the clan-leader answered grimly. "Given, I
was out of touch with the British magical world for about six years after
1979, but I should have been contacted when James and Lily Potter died
and I should have had a say in where my… heir would live."
Adam could not fault the man his ire. He would have felt the same if it
had been his heir who was kidnapped – and it had been a kidnapping,
whatever the Ministry and Albus Dumbledore would say. Adam knew
that the Lords of the Wizengamot would see it like that as well, if it ever
was brought to their attention.
"Why did you wait that long to come to me?" Adam finally asked. "Even if
you have not been in touch with the British magical world until Harry
Potter was five, you should have –"
"There was a ward set up that prevented the asking of questions about
where, and in what circumstances, the boy lived. The ward fell just a few
days ago. Since then I have done everything I could to find out what
happened to the heir of Potter."
Adam frowned at that. He knew of wards that could do things like that –
but he also knew that those wards were illegal as long as the individual
they were attached to didn't know of them. There was just the question of
if the boy knew…
But that still didn't change the fact that the boy had been taken from his
rightful guardian and then placed who-knows-where.
"Is there anything else I should know?" Adam asked.
Morganaadth took the folder on his desk and gave it to Adam.
"These are the withdrawing of Harry Potter's vault while he lived with his
Muggle-relatives and while he was at school. In there are also the
account statements that tell you what was done with the money that had
been withdrawn," the young looking man handed over the file and Adam
leafed through it.
"As you can see, Harry's parents financed part of the war against
Voldemort. The money should have been stopped being used like this
after their death, but it wasn't" Morganaadth said.
Adam frowned. The accounts clearly stated, that Albus Dumbledore had
continued to use the Potter's money to help with the aftermath of the
war. Instead of leaving the rest of the meager amount of money for the
child's care and schooling, he had used the money and forgotten to think
about the child that had to live from it.
The money the child's caretaker had been given had not even been
enough to provide for the basic needs of the child. They had just been
able to finance the young boy's schooling from it.
"As you can see, his misuse of Harry's money made him a burden for his
caretakers. As far as I have found out so far, they resented him for it," the
clan-leader declared. "The will of his parents clearly states that any and
all money that is left after their death should solely be used for the
caretaking of Harry and for his inheritance."
Adam opened the next page of the file which showed the will of the
parents.
"I wish to press charges against Albus Dumbledore for neglecting the will
of Lily and James Potter and stealing Harry Potter's money,"
Morganaadth said coolly. "I also wish to press charges for the kidnapping
of an heir, neglecting said heir and misuse of power to 'legally' gain
access to said heir."
"I understand," Adam answered.
"Finally, I also want to press charges against every one that used Harry
Potter's name without my explicit permission," Morganaadth continued
and handed him another folder. "In there are all the firms, authors and
products that have the Potter's heir's name without asking me. I am not
really interested in the money but I do not like it that they use Harry
Potter's name without permission."
Adam took the folder also.
"I guess you will also press charges against the Daily Prophet," he said.
The young lord smiled.
"Something like that," he answered and then continued to fill Adam in.
Now, about three months later, Adam met Morganaadth again in the
depth of Gringotts. This time, the boy-looking man was already there
when Adam was brought into the room.
Adam bowed; the clan-leader inclined his head, and then gestured to the
seat in front of his desk.
Adam sat.
"I have some news for you, my lord," he told the Potter Lord instantly.
"The Daily Prophet is now operating under a new guideline."
"So we finally have had enough shareholders to overthrow the Ministry
control?" Morganaadth asked.
Adam just snorted.
"More than enough," he said. "With the backing of the Longbottom and
Flamel families and the Malfoys the Ministry had no chance to continue
with its drivel. You already had twenty-two percent of the stockings
under the names of Potter, Grim, Evans, Peverell and Emrys, with the
backing of the five percent of Flamel, and the three Percent of
Longbottom you would have had a draw with the ministry. Adding to the
fact that now the Malfoys five percent and the Malfoire's twenty percent
are backing you, the ministry has had no chance at all."
The answer was a satisfied smirk.
"So the Daily Prophet with finally stop printing gossip," Morganaadth said
satisfied. Adam inclined his head.
"I just wonder how you got the Malfoires and Malfoys to cooperate," he
said. The answer was a smile.
"The Malfoires would have always cooperated," Morganaadth said. "Their
shares just had to wait until I was able to purchase Grim, Evans, Peverell
and Emrys."
Adam had the dawning impression that Morganaadth hadn't told him
everything when he took the job. He sighed.
"You were a Slytherin when you went to Hogwarts, weren't you?" he
asked exasperated.
The answer was a laugh.
"Actually, I was sorted into Gryffindor," Morganaadth replied and Adam
groaned.
"Oliver Twist was right," he moaned. "There were Slytherins in Gryffindor
all along…"
The answer was a laugh.
"Just protect my interest and I won't out-Slytherin your Slytherin mind,"
Morganaadth promised.
"And that comes from a Gryffindor," Adam retorted without heat; then he
sobered up. "Fudge tried to intimidate The Quibbler. He threatened
Xenophilius Lovegood with Azkaban if he didn't stop printing Twist and
didn't tell him who Twist is."
The answer was a grim smile.
"It seems that Fudge prefers to work into my hands," Morganaadth said.
"The moment he makes a move against The Quibbler, confront him and
tell him we will sue him if he doesn't keep his nose out of a private
business. James Potter, Xeno Lovegood and Salvatio Malfoire were the
first and only shareholders of The Quibbler. The families didn't change,
even if James Potter is dead now. I'm sure that Fudge won't like what hits
him if he tries to cross those families."
Adam's eyebrow shot up when he heard that.
He had known of the Potter and Lovegood holdings of The Quibbler – but
he hadn't been able to find out the third.
"Malfoire?" he asked.
The answer was a predatory smile.
"My name," was Morganaadth's reply and Adam shivered. He didn't envy
Fudge who had managed to enrage that individual in front of him.
Morganaadth's eyes said it all.
You do not cross Morganaadth – and if Morganaadth's original name was
Salvatio Malfoire, than you would do your damn best to stay away from
him as well.
Fudge would not know what hit him when Morganaadth was finally
ready to strike.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The room Severus Snape was brought to by the goblin was simple. There
were some leather chairs and a desk out of dark wood. The room had no
windows and the walls were covered by the same dark wood the desk
was made of.
The floor was made of stone and candles were the only light in the room.
He shuddered. He still couldn't believe that he had taken the chance and
activated the letter that had been send to him by the unknown head of
house – or at least at that time unknown head of house.
The room was darkly lit and a young man was waiting for him. Said man
leaned against the desk, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for him.
When Severus landed with his portkey, there had been an odd silence in
the room – somehow disconcerting.
Severus had spent all day until then stalking the halls and making
Gryffindor miserable. He had taken far more points from Gryffindor than
they had lost over the last two month from all the teachers combined –
just to come here and stare into a face that, for a moment, looked like
Potter's.
Then reality set in and he could see the differences that he hadn't seen a
second before. The stranger in front of him didn't have glasses and his
face was far more regal than Potter's could ever be. Severus would have
guessed they were the same age, but Potter's eyes – like those of every
student Severus had ever taught – looked innocent and young. The eyes
that now looked back at him were ancient. But they had the same colour,
Severus noted.
For a moment Severus hesitated; then he bowed slowly. He had never
been truly taught how to behave in the situation he was now, but he at
least knew the basics thanks to his seven years in Slytherin.
"My Lord," he greeted, while hoping that this man wasn't as sadistic as
the Dark Lord. Severus' back and limbs still ached from his visit yesterday
morning – the morning after the failed raid at Azkaban. He had been
there for the meeting and had taken the brute of the Dark Lord's ire – just
because he hadn't been there for the raid.
Cool, green eyes assessed him.
"Take a seat. You are trembling," was the cool reply.
Severus felt himself stiffen when he heard that assessment.
How?
He knew for a fact that he had learned to fool even Dumbledore, so how?
"You are my heir, as long as you have neither accepted nor declined your
position in my house, but are in my territory, I maintain the ability as
your lord to measure your health by the feeling your proximity gives me.
I can basically taste how you feel," the last sentence was spoken
sardonically. "Not that I need it."
Severus shivered at that – it was disconcerting that the man seemed to be
able to know even what he was thinking.
"A simple 'legilimens'," the man said. "Your shields are good, very good –
but not good enough for me."
The next thing Severus knew, he had drawn his wand on the stranger.
Before he could utter a word, the wand flew from his hands to the hands
of his opponent.
"Good reflexes," the man commented. "I was not as quick as you at your
age." Then the man tilted his head in thought. "But then, I didn't have a
wand to draw at your age, so maybe I was and simply don't know it."
"Who… who are you?" Severus stared at the man, totally confused. The
man looked like a boy, but treated Severus like a child. Severus could see
the power of the man in those things he had told Severus but at the same
time, the man hadn't made any move that would threaten him in any way
– well, he had taken Severus' wand…
That was the second his wand was returned to him with a snorted
"catch!"
Severus caught his wand and stared at the Potter look-alike – and at the
same time not look-alike – in further confusion.
"Sit before you fall," the man commented and pointed at the seat in front
of the desk he was leaning against.
Severus sat.
"I'm not sure if you have had any formal training in your youth, so, let's
start with this question, before I answer yours. Were you taught how to
act in a meeting to potentially enter a Grand Family?"
Severus sneered.
"No, I wasn't," he finally answered sincerely. Since the other one had told
him that he could read Severus' thoughts and Severus' frantic search for a
hole in his shields had not yet turned up anything, Severus figured that
the man would know anyway, if he lied.
The man just nodded.
"Then I will treat this meeting a little bit more informal," he said. "I am
Salvazsahar. Since I'm here to ask you if you are interested in entering
my Grand Family, I fear I am traditionally not allowed to tell you my last
name – after all you have to decide if you can accept my orders, and not
if the family name is interesting enough for you to say 'yes' anyway."
"Shouldn't you be disguised if you want your identity kept hidden?"
Severus returned with a sneer. The answer was a laugh.
"If I was known in the political area, I would be. Since I am not – why
should I? You won't be able to speak of me anyway when you leave this
room, no matter if you accept or decline," was the answer.
Severus' lips thinned again.
"And how will you keep me from telling about –"
"There's a curse on the portkey that brought you," Salvazsahar said. "It's
basically are runic 'tongue-tie-curse' or 'obliviate' – based on your
decision in here. If you decline, you will forget that you have ever been
invited."
Severus was impressed. He had never heard of such a spell but the cool,
sincere eyes of his opponent told him that he wasn't being lied to.
"I have no interest in serving a third master," Severus finally said.
The answer was a shrug.
"I wouldn't be your master," Salvazsahar said. "I would be your Head of
House."
"I don't see a difference," Severus countered.
The answer was a laugh.
"Unlike those masters you are talking about, I would be responsible for
your wellbeing. I can't hurt you – not that I wanted. I might be able to
order you, but I will also shield you if you need shielding, aid you if you
need aiding and heal you if you need healing."
Severus just scoffed at that tiredly.
He had heard too many empty promises in his life to simply believe this
man in front of him.
"I am already doing everything I can for the war. I am not willing to
submit to a Potter look-alike to do even more," he finally forced out.
"Look for your spy elsewhere!"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, raided Azkaban on Hallowe'en
night – the night between the day before yesterday and yesterday, to be
precisely. The raid didn't go as planned. Instead of returning from
Azkaban with his most faithful Death Eaters and a contract with the
dementor-coven, he only returned with his faithful – some of them in an
even worse condition than they had been while being imprisoned in
Azkaban," Severus could just stare at Salvazsahar. Said man shrugged.
"You were punished yesterday morning after you were called. Riddle used
his ire for his failed mission on you. His army isn't as big now as he
hoped for – that doesn't mean that he gave up on the prophecy in the
Department of Mysteries – well, do you truly think I need a spy in
Riddle's ranks?"
Severus guessed that the other man truly didn't need a spy if he knew all
that already.
"That doesn't mean you don't want me to spy on the Headmaster,"
Severus countered.
"Albus Dumbledore is concerned about Harry Potter. The boy doesn't act
like Dumbledore thinks he should and he asked Mad-Eye Moody to look
into it. There's also the shifts he is delegating the order members to do in
the Department of Mysteries – absolutely barmy, that one. As long as
Riddle doesn't enter the Ministry himself or Harry Potter isn't tricked into
going there, there is no one who can take that prophecy from the shelf.
He's also trying to recruit new members for his Order – do you need
anything else?"
Severus stared at the man in front of him.
"If you know that all that – if you can get all that information without me
– why do you want me to join your family?" Severus finally asked
hesitatingly.
The answer was a shrug.
"You're a child of my adopted son's blood – which makes you my child.
Even if I despised you with all my heart, I still would ask you if you want
to be a part of my family. I still would protect you," Salvazsahar
answered shrugging. "It's the least I can do."
Severus frowned, but the other one wasn't done yet.
"This isn't servitude, Severus," he said. "A Grand Family is for protection.
Of course, it is your choice. Just consider how it will end for you now
when the war finally ends. You will be either dead or imprisoned for life."
"I don't think that the Headmaster –" Severus started to object but the
other one overruled him.
"If you aren't killed by either side for either betrayal or because you
aren't useful anymore and if you survive the battles you will have to fight
for either side, the Headmaster would keep you at Hogwarts even after
the war. He might have influence, but he is old and his influence is
dwindling. He might be able to rescue you from Azkaban but it will be
likely that you would be stuck for the rest of your life as a teacher. After
all, the Wizengamot will be more easily persuaded in letting you go if
you are still somewhere you are monitored. And the Headmaster
wouldn't let you go without a fight because it is nearly impossible to get
at potions master with your salary to work in a school. Is that truly what
you want?"
Severus grimaced.
"And if the Headmaster dies, there's a huge chance that you will end up
in Azkaban, after all there is no one who trusts you now and it's the
Headmaster who kept you out of it the first time around. Without his
help there won't be a lot of people inclined to help you."
Severus imagined Potter as the winner of the war and the one who would
be revered by the other wizards and witches after it. Severus would have
no chance. He would be in prison before he could even utter the word
'spy' – after all, everyone knew that Harry Potter hated him with passion.
Severus grimaced again. He had never seen his future as clearly as he had
done just now. It wasn't a pleasant future. Death seemed the best ending
he could imagine – and that was definitely a depressing thought.
"Like I said, it is your decision," Salvazsahar said softly.
Severus glared.
"And if I join you – what will be expected of me?" he finally asked.
The answer was a smile. "There are a few rules I would like you to follow
if you join – other than that, there's nothing more expected. I don't care
what you do for a living, who you believe in or who you want to marry."
At that Severus grimaced. "I don't plan on marrying, ever," he confessed,
knowing that the other would have read it in his thoughts either way.
"Like I said, that's your decision."
"And what rules will I have to follow if I join?" Severus asked, sure that
he would now find out the trap behind the offer.
"Unity of the Grand Family in public. You may hate each other all you
like when you're in private, but as long as you are in public you stand
behind family." The straight forward answer definitely baffled him. "I also
would expect you submit to a health test. You will be tested for potions
or spells."
Reasonable. Surprisingly reasonable.
"Another non-negotiable rule for the others that still can't do it, would be
to learn to occlude their mind. Since you already can do it, I won't insist
on it this time – but if you want to I can teach you how to strengthen
your shields."
Severus nodded at that. It was reasonable. Occlumency after all helped
against possession, compulsion charms or imperius.
"And lastly, the family comes first. I don't care what you believe. I don't
care if you're light or dark. But I care if you decide to follow another man
like little ducklings, unable to think for yourselves. If you join my family,
your loyalty will be to your family. You might admire someone else –
someone like Albus Dumbledore or whoever – but you won't follow them
blindly. The family comes first. Work with them, admire them for all I
care, but you will always think what your actions will do to the family
name," Salvazsahar said.
"What about –" Severus stopped there but his hand automatically cradled
his left arm. The boyish looking man's eyes darkened.
"I will remove it," he said. "If you want to continue spying for now, I
won't stop you. I can place that… thing… on a bracelet for now so that
you can still be summoned with it and I can teach you an illusion Riddle
wouldn't even think about searching for so that it looks as if that…
thing… is still there. But if you join, it's gone. I don't mind the dark as
long as you don't endanger life. Life is precious. But in my eyes, Tom
Riddle is at fault for the murder of some of our family members. I can't
condone that."
Severus frowned at that.
"Family members?" he asked hesitatingly.
"Gideon and Fabian Prewett," the other man elaborated. "Alice and Frank
Longbottom. Lily –"
At that Severus' eyes sharpened.
"Lily?" he repeated. "As in Lily Evans?!"
The answer was a laugh from Salvazsahar. "Lily LeFay," he corrected
Severus and Severus felt himself deflate a little, at least until Salvazsahar
added. "Evans might have been her official last name in the mundane
world but she has always been a LeFey by blood."
"You're telling me Lily and I were related?" Severus asked sharply.
The answer was a shrug. "Very distantly you were, yes. But then, it would
have been near enough that I would have invited her into the family
anyway."
"What about her boy?" Severus had wanted to stop that question but he
couldn't even if he wanted. Of course, he despised the boy – but on the
other hand the boy's safety was his only goal in life right now. He wanted
the child to live for Lily. No, he needed the child to live for Lily.
"I can neither deny nor confirm those who haven't already joined this
alliance," Salvazsahar finally answered. "Now, Severus Tobias Snape, will
you join this Grand Family?"
And Severus knew that his time asking questions was up. He hesitated
just for a second.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Lucius Malfoy was shivering when he finally entered Gringotts via port
key. His limbs were week and he wasn't in the pristine condition he had
hoped to arrive, but the Dark Lord had interrupted him shortly before he
could leave and Lucius had again felt the man's ire. The man had not
been amused about the newest article in 'The Quibbler'.
"Why, Lucius, didn't you stop this article?" the insane man had wanted to
know. "After the last one you should have understood that this brat can't
be allowed to continue with this drivel! He'll destroy everything we
worked for if he continues!"
The Crucios afterwards hadn't convinced Lucius to do as the Dark Lord
pleased, but had instead cemented his decision.
So Lucius had port-keyed to Gringotts.
In the dark room he landed in, another man had been waiting for him
already. Said man was young with dark hair and… oddly familiar.
"I'm surprised that you came, Lucius," the man said. "After last time and
your unwillingness to even cooperate with me as your head of house I
had guessed you wouldn't accept the invite today."
Lucius' eyes widened.
"My Lord!" he said and then bowed stiffly, suppressing a hiss of pain
while doing so.
"Sit down before you fall down, Lucius," Salvazsahar replied and gestured
to the chair in front of the desk he was leaning on. Sharp eyes ghosted
over Lucius' pale features. "It seems Riddle has decided to dish out the
Cruciatus like Dumbledore dishes out candy."
Lucius grimaced at that comparison.
"I'm not quite sure what to think considering you just compared the
darkest wizard of today's times with our… lightest," he finally settled on
saying. "I think that comparison might be a little bit… extreme, My Lord."
The answer was a careful shrug.
"Nevertheless true, Lucius," he said. And that told Lucius a lot about the
Grand Family he had been offered to enter. No Dumbledore, no Dark
Lord.
It sounded oddly… pleasant.
Lucius settled into the chair in front of the desk.
"I'm listening, My Lord," he said stiffly while following the protocol that
existed for occasions like that. The answer was a smirk and then the
other began to talk. There was no flowery speech like the Dark Lord had
used when he had convinced Lucius to join him, there were no threats.
The Lord in front of him just stated the bare facts. The rules and
conditions for the Grand Family.
Somehow Lucius appreciated that. He was far too hurt and tired to play a
political game right now.
True, the man in front of him was no Dark Lord with enigmatic aura. He
was also no Dumbledore with power oozing from every pore. The man in
front of him was something else instead: he was truthful to Lucius,
genuine – and Lucius suddenly found himself appreciating this character
trait more than he would have thought.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Harry was slowly making his way back to the common room, when he
suddenly was shoved into an empty, dusty classroom to his left. He was
thrown against one of the walls and held there by the throat. Harry
flinched violently. His whole body was still in agony from the nearly
deadly ritual he had done yesterday night and even if he was good at
hiding it, he couldn't hide it fully.
A wand was pressed against his throat.
"Who are you?" a voice growled.
Harry knew that voice. Moody.
The old Auror finally had found a hint that he wasn't who he seemed to
be…
Nothing surprising there, Harry had just waited until the paranoid man
would catch on. There had been no way of hiding the differences from
the man after he had been set onto Harry by the headmaster. There was
just one way to maybe get out of this mess with his skin intact. It was a
bit risky, considering his state of health, but it also was the only way.
Harry stopped moving so that the Auror would not think about using a
curse against him when he answered the question.
"You should use Veritasserum on me," he suggested. "Four drops – just to
make sure."
Moody scrutinized his victim.
He had watched the boy for a long time. Of course he had not known the
boy before but he still could see that something was off. The boy was
nothing like Albus Dumbledore had described him. When Albus had
talked about the boy it had sounded like a rebellious teen but the boy
Moody met wasn't a rebellious teen at all. He might act like one and fool
the others to think he was – but behind the façade was a cunning mind.
"You do not sound very worried, impostor" Moody grunted.
"I am not," the boy said, shrugging. "While my secrets do not hurt me –
they just might hurt you."
Moody looked at the boy with searching eyes.
"And where do you think I will get Veritasserum from?" he asked finally.
"I have some" the boy answered. "It is sufficient, I believe."
Moody just snorted.
"As if you would give me real Veritasserum."
"You are an Auror. You know the effects of it and you have seen it often
enough to tell if someone is faking its effects, I believe," the boy
answered.
Moody just snorted.
"And of course you want me to release you so that you can get it out."
"My wand-holsters are on both of my wrists" the boy answered him
sincerely. "I do have some weapon-holsters on my belt. Just take them."
Moody blinked. Normally he had to persuade his victims to tell him
where their weapons were…
He slowly reached for the boy's wrists and discovered the holsters. He
took them. Four holsters, four wands. After that he reached for the belt
and just took it away together with the weapons on it. On the belt there
were also a lot of vials. Moody recognized the most of them as healing
potions. One of them also was the truth-serum.
When he had the weapons he searched the boy for other, hidden
weapons. He found nothing.
So he finally stepped back, his wand lowered a little bit. While he
watched the boy with his magical eye he looked through the potions the
boy had carried.
On the stopper of the vials were the initials of the potion master
engraved. Moody knew all initials of legitimized potion masters by heart.
He had learned them for his work.
On the stoppers were engraved the golden initials 'SEL'. This surprised
Moody. He knew the engraving. It was an old one and no-one knew when
the potion master had done his mastery. There had never been a date of
death and so the engraving had continued. Sometimes there were people
who had a vial from the mysterious potion master but he had never seen
a potion's equipment solely engraved with these initials. And there was
no way these initials could be falsified. There was a curse on them that
enabled just the potion master they belonged to, to use them. Moody
checked the potions and found them all sealed – so they were the real
deal.
Moody took the Veritasserum and broke the seal with a little bit of
regret. The potions of 'SEL' were some of the best on the market – and
they were rare. It nearly felt like destroying something holy to break one
of their seals…
"Well, open up, lad," he said to the boy who had not moved at all. The
boy sat down on the floor and did as he was told. Moody did not fault the
boy for sitting down. Veritasserum did disable your ability to stay on
your feet and Moody also hadn't missed the slight flinch of the boy when
he was pressed against the wall. The boy was hurt – Moody had no idea
how it happened, but it was nevertheless true.
"Either he has a high pain tolerance, is trained in Occlumency, or isn't
hurt too badly," Moody guessed while he dropped four drops in the open
mouth of the boy. He assumed the last.
The Veritasserum hit the boys tongue. It took just seconds then the boy's
eyes glassed over.
Definitely the best Veritasserum you could get on the market.
"State your name," Moody said.
Harry felt the potion compelling him to tell the truth but it didn't compel
him to say a specific name. It seemed that 'Salvatio Malfoire' was as true
for the truth serum as 'Salvazsahar Emrys', 'Salazar Slytherin' or 'Harry
Potter'. Well, Moody already knew Harry's name. There would be no way
he would get another without a little work! But then, the auror deserved
a little headache for the way he had handled Harry…
"Harryjames Salvatio Amethyst Potter," Harry said, even while drugged
spitting the third name he mentioned. The moment he was rid of
Dumbledore and Voldemort he would rip Sirius Black apart for giving
him a girl's name at birth! Had that mangy mutt been drunk while
naming him?!
But then, Harry had the feeling he knew exactly where that name had
come from…
Moody meanwhile blinked.
That wasn't the answer he had expected to get.
'Harry James Potter' had been one option.
Every other name in history another – at least as long as there was no
'Potter' or 'Harry' to find in it anywhere.
He sighed.
"How old are you?" he finally asked.
"Fifteen," the answer was instant. A real fifteen-year-old portraying
another fifteen-year-old?! Normally fifteen-year-olds were far too prone
to mess things up and the plan – and the ward had been far too
complicated for a mere fifteen-year-old! His opponent must be lying!
Moody picked up the bottle of Veritasserum and read the label.
No, still truth serum.
He sighed and decided a different approach: "When were you born?"
"31st of July, 1980," the boy answered again without hesitation.
Moody again looked at the bottle.
Still Veritasserum…
…
…
Did that mean that boy was Potter?!
"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked again.
This boy couldn't be –
"No," the boy answered and Moody huffed. It seemed that he finally got
somewhere!
"Where is Harry Potter?" Moody asked.
This time there was no answer. The boy just blinked, a sign that the
question couldn't be answered by the other. Moody frowned. It had been
a straight forward question so why couldn't the impostor with the
frightening similar name answer?!
So he had to take another way to find out what the impostor was hiding.
"What are your plans?"
"Going to Gryffindor tower and after that to dinner," that wasn't the
answer Moody had been waiting for. It seemed as if he had been too
unspecific. Answers like that always happened if the questions were too
open.
He frowned inwardly and then asked again: "What are your plans for the
future?"
That should be better…
"Finding my book about Hogwarts. Searching objects. Working.
Travelling. Staying away from thron -"
"Stop!" Moody blinked at that but dismissed the answers he had gotten.
They weren't useful at all! He needed to know about the current plans for
the school!
"What are your current plans concerning school?"
"Finishing my OWLs" – not exactly the answer Moody had been hoping
for…
He groaned.
"Do you give answers like that deliberately?" he asked frustrated.
"Yes," Harry answered, still drugged. "I don't give anything away for free."
"I noticed," Moody growled, then he returned to his first approach. "Tell
me everything you know about what happened with Harry Potter."
This time the answer would turn his world around.
"He was created on Hallowe'en 1981 by Albus Dumbledore and died the
next morning. He was recreated in August 1985 by Petunia Dursley for
school. He died on the 2nd of August this year," the boy in front of
Moody answered. It was then that Moody's world came crashing down.
He knew what that answer meant, he himself had given something
similar to it when he had been asked under the influence of Veritasserum
about 'Mad-Eye Moody'.
Albus Dumbledore had done more than hiding away the child. He had
tried – even if Moody was sure that it wasn't deliberately – to change the
child's name. There was just one thing that Moody had to ask to confirm
his suspicion.
"You found out your true name this summer."
For a second there was silence, then the boy answered. "Yes," he said.
"Albus Dumbledore didn't tell you it," Moody guessed.
"Yes."
"Is that the reason why you are different from what Albus described?"
Moody asked.
This time, surprisingly a small smile started to grace the youth face.
"Partly," the boy said.
"What is the other reason?"
"I am no weapon," the boy answered instantly and his eyes were oddly
clear for Veritasserum. "He has done nothing but meddle his whole life
without ever thinking about the consequences of his actions. It's time that
someone stops him before he destroys us all."
"It's thanks to Albus Dumbledore that a lot of people were rescued!"
"And yet it is thanks to him that the war happened in the first place," the
boy answered. "I'm not naïve. I saw him working on taking down a Dark
Lord. If we continue down his path, there would be thousands and
thousands of dead on our side."
Moody's eyes widened when the boy suddenly stood up. The child's body
was trembling but the boy had ful control over it otherwise.
"I give you the same data I gave Severus Snape. Albus Dumbledore knew
Grindelwald since he was seventeen and knew what that mad man
planned – yet the first time he acted was when he was sixty. I don't
blame him for not fighting. I blame him for keeping his silence. Albus
Dumbledore also 'knew' about Tom Riddle when that boy was still in
school – yet he simply watched again. Do you see a pattern? Think about
it."
With that the boy coughed and turned away from Moody. He still wasn't
fast enough for Moody not to see the blood on the child's lips.
Moody's eyes narrowed.
"What happened to you, Potter?" he asked.
The boy turned half-way back from putting back on his holsters and belt
and smiled a faint smile.
"Just a minor hurt considering what I endured while attending Hogwarts
from year one to four," he answered. "Definitely less deadly than basilisk-
venom cursing through my body."
Moody growled.
"That's not an answer, Potter," Moody said. The boy shrugged.
"It's part of the price I paid to destroy Riddle," he answered. "The odds
are well that I won't die from – for now at least."
An odd feeling of concern followed that statement and for a moment,
Moody wasn't sure what to reply.
"You… you shouldn't even joke about your death, lad," he finally
declared.
The answer was a smile full of bloody teeth. "Why not? At least like that I
would die to my terms and not at the biding of… our… most beloved…
headmaster." The last words he said slowly, as if he was considering each
carefully. "I have an odd feeling that that's one of the things the
Headmaster definitely planned for me, but if you don't believe me – ask
the Headmaster himself. Ask him who his little weapon is going to be.
Ask him if he truly raised me as a pig for slaughter."
Then he bowed.
"I'm on my way now, Lord Moody," he said. "Have a nice day." And with
that he left the classroom.
Moody's eyes followed him while Moody's mind repeated everything
Albus Dumbledore had ever said about Harry Potter.
The lad was right. Albus had long since planned Potter's course of action.
Albus himself had called the child 'weapon'. Albus always insisted that
Harry would be the one to finish off the Dark Lord.
Moody felt sickened to the core.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Hermione had struggled with her apology – not, because she couldn't see
Harry's point of view, but because she felt guilty for acting the way she
did in the first place. Harry always had been her best friend – losing him
because of her own actions had been hard, but she had experienced it
before. Being admonished by him before he stopped talking to her had
been new and his words had definitely driven home his point.
So she stopped next to Harry at the table in the common room the
evening two days after Hallowe'en. She knew that Harry had just come
back from who-knew-where but this time around she wouldn't pry.
"Harry," she said tentatively. "I… I wanted to talk to you. Do… do you
have some time for me?"
The answer was a sigh, then Harry sat down his quill and looked up.
"Have a seat, please," he said and Hermione sat, still fidgeting.
"I… I'm sorry!" she blurted out. "Truly, Harry, I'm so sorry! I should have
talked to you! You were right! And I –"
"Just tell me: Why did you do it?" Harry interrupted her coolly and
Hermione slumped.
"I…" Hermione stopped and huffed frustrated. "It seemed the right thing
to do at that time!" she finally explained. "You didn't behave like you did
normally and I feared that something had happened and well…
Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards of our time –"
"That doesn't explain why you went behind my back and talked to him,"
Harry commented and he was right. It explained nothing.
"Well… I… he…" Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Then she sighed. "I
was sure you wouldn't listen – like you didn't listen when I expressed my
concern about the Firebolt."
Harry tilted his head.
"You never tried to explain that to me either," he said and leaned back in
his chair. Hermione saw him wince when he did so and her eyes
narrowed, then her focus snapped back to the discussion.
"You wouldn't have listened. You just saw the Firebolt," she said. Harry
raised an eyebrow.
"So you think I, who was forced to endure death threats because of
people not listening to me since I was eleven, wouldn't have believed you
if you told me my life was at stake?" he snorted amused. "Hermione, do
you truly think I crave the danger I was in every year?"
Hermione blushed, embarrassed.
"No," she said. After that silence reigned between them.
"I'm sorry," she finally repeated and Harry inclined his head.
"I forgive you, " he finally said. "But I won't forget. If you ever dare to do
something like that again, don't expect me to be so lenient again."
Hermione hesitated, then she nodded.
"Thank you," she said before hesitating again. "What… what happened to
you?"
Harry just raised an eyebrow.
"I'm quite sure that you have lost the right to pry the moment you went
to the headmaster to tattle on me." He answered and returned to his
homework.
Hermione pressed her lips together but finally nodded.
"Sorry," she said again. "Er… may I join you?"
Harry shrugged, wincing at the gesture.
"Do as you please," he answered and Hermione pulled out her own
homework.
She still watched her best friend while she worked. He was moving stiffly
and it looked sometimes as if he was in pain, but his words had told her
that he wouldn't answer her question – something that hurt and also
concerned her greatly, but before she could do something else rash,
Neville and Ron joined them at the table.
Both of the other boys pulled out their homework and started to work on
it. It was them complaining about Umbridge and asking Harry about this
or that in the defence curriculum they should have learned, that finally
sparked her idea.
For a moment she still hesitated – she had been accepted back just now,
after all – but then she plunged ahead anyway. "Harry, have you ever
thought about teaching the other students defence? I mean, you are very
good in it and with Voldemort back we need to practice as much as we
can!"
Harry just raised an eyebrow. "And your suggestion is…?"
"We should form a defence club behind Umbridge's back!" she answered
enthusiastically. "Let's ask the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and the rest of
the Gryffindors we know and trust to join!" And maybe, so she thought, it
would help Harry to overcome his trauma of Cedric's death and the
dementors in the summer…
Harry frowned. "I've already a very full schedule, Hermione," he said.
"But this is important, Harry!" Hermione insisted. "We need to be able to
defend us when Voldemort returns to the open and considering that the
Ministry tries to stifle our knowledge someone else will have to teach us
– and you can do it, I am sure!"
Harry sighed and leaned back again with a wince. Hermione saw
Neville's eyes narrow at that, but the other boy said nothing.
"Please, Harry, at least consider it!" she pleaded.
"It would be a good idea," Ron murmured at that moment. "I would
definitely feel safer if I knew that I know how to defend myself."
Neville nodded.
"I mean, we're trying to learn what we should have learned by ourselves
but it would be a lot easier if there was a group to learn with."
At that, Harry sighed again.
"Alright," he said. "I will consider it."
And Hermione smiled, not knowing that she had played into Harry's
hands by her suggestion. It wasn't what he had originally planned, but it
would work better this way.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today. Sorry that it took so long. Still busy as hell.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
41. Chapter 40: 1385AD Breaking
apart
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Beta-ed by C'mon. Thanks for your hard work. xD
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Year 1385 AD
Breaking apart
sss
The door opened.
"Who are you?"
The man who had been spoken to, started. He had been concentrating on
the thing in his arms and nearly had forgotten that he had knocked on
the door in front of him.
"Who I am isn't important," the man said while looking up to meet
startling green eyes with his warm brown ones. "It is why I am here, that
is the important part."
The other man's eyes narrowed, but he complied nevertheless with the
silent demand.
"Then why are you here?" he asked.
"I'm here because I know you can help me," the first man answered. "I
heard that you have been looking for something discretely for some years
now…"
The other man's eyes widened and his eyes snapped to the thing in the
stranger's arms. Then his expression closed off.
"I'm not sure if you know –"
"I know exactly what you're looking for," the first man intercepted.
"So… what's the catch?"
"Hopefully," the first man said, his expression darkening. "There is no
catch."
He had risked too much to lose now, after all – his sanity, but more
importantly the sanity of the one person he still considered something
akin to a brother, even after all those years apart…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
There is always a limit for every person. If that limit is overstepped, the
person will break. No one in the entire world can bear everything thrown
at them without being broken by one thing or the other.
The moment Sal destroyed the Horcrux of his brother, Sal reached his
limit. And when the statue of his brother, far away in Hogwarts shattered
and his ashes added to the wind, Sal's soul shattered as well.
He had killed his brother.
A child's laughter filling his head, originating in one of his memories.
He had killed his brother.
A child's eyes, filled with love, looking at him from a moment long ago
lost in time.
He had KILLED his brother.
A single tear escaped his eyes. How could he?! The answer came in the
coldness of his own voice – a memory from a time long gone.
"I had other responsibilities than watching him lead his life," he had said.
Other responsibilities. As if his brother had been nothing but a burden.
Could he have stopped it? If he had listened… if he had stayed at his
brother's side – could he have saved him?
"You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother," Antioch had
said. "I would never have gotten away with such a behaviour."
"You're just like father," Medrawed had hissed. "You do nothing but cast me
away for others!"
And his brother was right. Others had always come first. Strangers he had
aided. His brother instead – he had killed.
"A healer cannot fight," a voice from another life-time ago told him
softly. His own voice.
"And you want to fight?"
"No. I want to protect."
And protected he had, always and always. Everyone without exception.
And yet, the greatest exception of all.
"I should have protected my brother," he whispered while staring at the
shards of the Horcrux in his hands, blind to the snow storm that had
started to rage in the wilderness of the French forest where he sat,
unprotected, on the ground. "I should have protected my brother!"
Instead he had killed him.
"You act as if you think this is easy for me to do!" Sal heard his own past
voice exclaim. "I once swore to protect the innocents! I never thought that this
oath would mean that I once would be forced to go against my own little
brother! I love you, Medrawed! If the circumstances would have been just the
slightest bit different – if you just hadn't gone against everything I stand for – I
would have chosen you! But as it is, I can't. Not with the knowledge of what
you have done!"
And he had turned away from his brother again – just for others.
Strangers.
"You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother. I would never
have gotten away with such a behaviour."
"So you will protect those who cannot protect themselves from those
who try to maim them?"
"I will" – and then he had killed his brother.
Killed him, deliberately.
Killed him in cold blood.
"You're just like father! You do nothing but cast me away for others!"
"And you will use all your skills to aid whomever needs help?"
He had sworn and he had kept his oath. Always and always. He had been
a guardian to those who needed it – a child's laughter in his head. Guardian
for all, but his brother.
He had been a healer – "So you prefer murdering him just to stop him." A
healer to all, but his brother.
A protector – "There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if
he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same." A protector
to all, but his brother.
A saint in the eyes of many – and yet, he had killed his brother. His own
baby brother. And his mind kept playing all those times he had interacted
with the child he had killed today.
"I had other responsibilities than watching him lead his life," he had said
instead. Other responsibilities.
"You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother. I would never
have gotten away with such a behaviour."
"You're just like father! You do nothing but cast me away for others!"
"Even if you will have to aid your enemy?"
Oh, how he wished, he would have had to aid his enemy! Anything
would have been better than what he had done. But he had forsworn
himself. He had forsworn evil – but not the darkness. But his brother? His
brother!
"I might love you, Medrawd, but the oath I took as a guardian forces me to
work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now. I am
sorry."
"So you prefer murdering him just to stop him."
"There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my
own child – I would nevertheless say the same."
As if his brother was nothing to him.
"Even if you must kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of
others?"
He had said 'yes' to that as well – and he had damned himself with it.
Even if you must kill someone – his brother's blood on his hands. His
brother's soul destroyed. His brother's body nothing but ashes.
To ensure the safety of others…
How had he managed it? How had he managed to do as he had sworn
when it had been his brother's life at stake? How had he been able to
sacrifice his brother's life for something as shallow as 'the safety of
others'?!
Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotus.
Children – all three of them.
Antioch sailing through the air and landing on the ground with a
sickening thunk. Another curse and Antioch started to scream in agony.
A child's laughter filling his head, originating in one of his memories – even if
you must kill someone…
A rune-based shield that rescued Cadmus and Ignotus from the deadly
curses that were shot at them. In the end, Ignotus had lost a finger and
was lying next to Cadmus, both of them unconsciousness.
A child's eyes, filled with love, looking at him from a moment long ago lost in
time – "Even if you must kill someone to ensure the safety of others?"
The icy steel of a short blade in his lung.
Tainted, somehow unhealthy… perverted magic surrounding his brother.
Maniac cackles.
Not his brother. Not his brother!
"Even if it will bring you harm?"
"Yes." His voice had been so sure that time. So sure that he could bear it.
But he had had no idea, what it meant to be harmed back then.
"So you prefer murdering him just to stop him."
"There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my
own child – I would nevertheless say the same."
And he had done it.
Mercilessly.
Stoneheartedly.
He opened his eyes.
Medrawed's dying scream filled the air, then he slowly but surely turned into
stone.
Another tear slit down his pale cheek and his hands loosened on the
tainted and shattered thing that was once the Horcrux of his brother.
"I might love you, Medrawd, but the oath I took as a guardian forces me to
work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now. I am
sorry."
Merciless.
Stonehearted.
Unwilling to lift a finger to rescue his brother.
And with that the frail grasp Sal still had on his broken mind and magic
slipped. Instantly white flames of magic burned the wood of the forest
surrounding him. Fire hot with his self-loathing. Fire icy with his hate,
directed at no one but himself. The snow of the storm melted under its
pressure.
Healer.
Guardian.
Protector.
Nothing mattered.
There was just one thing he was. A murderer. His brother's murderer.
And with that the flames surrounding him finally found their goal and
burned him alive. At least he could judge himself now with the same
magic that had just moments ago ended the life of his baby brother. Sal
did not hope for mercy – he had not earned it in any way or form.
The agony of his burning flesh was the least he deserved.
"Then I bless you child. You are a Healer, you are a Warrior, you are a
Guardian. You have finished your apprenticeship and you have chosen
your path. May you heal others, may you judge their hearts. May you
guide others, may you protect them from harm. Today, I name you a
Guardian Healer – born to protect, born to judge, born to heal. So mot
it be."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Far away at Hogwarts, a vampire stumbled to his feet. He had been
hiding in the farthest corner of the library, hoping that he would have
some peace and quiet there.
Why, oh, why had he had to promise his overbearing great-grandparents
to visit regularly when they met the last time around?!
He had planned to hide away in the library from them for at least the
majority of the day.
But something had happened.
Something bad.
And so he stumbled to his feet and then hurried out of the library.
He had nearly reached the entrance door, when two arms slung around
him and stopped his run.
"Don't," his great-grandfather's voice said, burdened with sorrow. "There
is nothing we can do."
Anastasius grabbed his great-grandfather's hands to free himself, but the
older males grip was like iron.
"Great-Grandfather – please!" And he could hear desperation and the
same kind of sorrow in his voice that his great-grandfather's carried as
well.
"There is nothing we can do, childe. Nothing!" Was the choked and
sorrowful answer. And then he could feel his great-grandfather burying
his head in Anastasius' neck.
That was the moment his great-grandmother reached the entrance hall.
Her face was pale and she was looking as human as his great-grandfather
and himself at the moment.
Tear streaks adorned her cheeks and when she saw them, she came
straight to them, her arms surrounding both of them without another
word.
"Why?" this time there was a mourning tone in Anastasius' voice. "Why?!"
"Because we are all doomed to fall one day," his great-grandfather
answered. "And today was your father's day."
Anastasius shook his head.
"He's immortal. He can't die! He can't –"
"There are other ways for us immortal to die but death," his great-
grandmother whispered while drawing him closer. "And he has the blood
of a basilisk. Our deaths are always the most gruesome."
"No!" this time Anastasius was able to shake of his great-grandfathers
hands – but his great-grandmother still stood in his way, keeping him
from hurrying to where his body told him his father once had been. "No!"
"I'm sorry, childe. I'm sorry!"
"No! He is a phoenix-born! A phoenix-born! He doesn't lose himself to
insanity like the basilisk does! He is a phoenix-born!"
His great-grandmother just shook her head in sorrow.
"He has my gaze. He has my venom. He speaks my language," she said
and her voice was filled with bitterness and regret. "The only thing he has
of the phoenix are his tears. Phoenix-born he might be – but the basilisk
is stronger in his blood."
"No!" Again, the hands of his great-grandfather embraced him. "Nooo!"
And then, like a wounded, devitalised animal, he fell to his knees while
tears leaked from his eyes.
"No, please! I need him still! He can't be gone! He can't! He wouldn't
leave me!" he pleaded. His great-grandfather had sunken to the knees as
well, still hugging Anastasius desperately.
"He was over a thousand years old, already," his great-grandmother said
softly while she crouched down in front of him. "And unlike your great-
grandfather and I, he has no one who belonged just to him. He is alone."
"But… what about me?"
The answer was a bitter-sweet smile.
"You are an adult, Anastasius. You don't need him anymore. Your brother
is long dead and your father's friends as well. A thousand years, child, are
a long time – even for immortal like us," his great-grandmother said
softly. "If it weren't for me, your great-grandfather might have given
himself to the eternal flames already. If it wasn't for him, I would have
long since gone insane. Even now, I can feel my sanity fading. One day I
won't be able to hold on anymore and I will forget that I once was a
sentient being. Dying would be preferable to wasting away as a creature
who can't remember its life and loved ones anymore."
"But Padre…"
"Whatever happened, his will to continue on, broke. He is fading, now,"
his great-grandfather said.
Anastasius choked on his tears.
"Fading?"
"Not gone, as of yet," his great-grandfather answered. "But long since
without our reach. Forgive me, childe, but there's no one here who can
bring him back. The only one who will be able to stop him from fading,
is himself. We're part of the immortal Firbolg. Part of our curse is to be
never allowed to ask him to decide differently."
"I'm not," Anastasius said, again fighting against his great-grandparents
grasp. "My people die after about eight hundred years. We're not part of
you – so I can ask!"
"You drank his blood for the most of your childhood, childe," his great-
grandmother said. "You might not be originally part of us immortals but
there is a reason why a vampire normally isn't able to consume another
Firbolg's blood – and why a young vampire nevertheless does. Vampire-
children are unable to grow without the model the blood it consumes
provides. You might not be one of us, but your body is modelled after
your father's – and he has a natural life-span of about two thousand
years. So you, in a way, still belong to us – and that takes your right of
objection."
"I'm not immortal! I –"
"Your father isn't as well," his great-grandfather whispered. "But that still
doesn't change the fact, that we can't force him to stay alive. It is his
decision, and his alone. He choose to fade. Let him go. To force him to
live on, broken as he is, would be far crueller."
And this time, Anastasius couldn't object. He knew that after some time,
a Firbolg was set in his ways. If that Firbolg mentally broke, there was
almost no way to fix him ever again.
Anastasius loved his father dearly – and that was something he didn't
want his father to be forced to suffer for eternity.
So he simply broke down and cried in the end.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Somewhere else in Britain, another man looked up when the soil of Great
Britain shuddered under the pain of its magical ruler. The man was a
very old man. His hair was grey and his eyes darkened by the weight of
his nearly seven hundred years on earth, and yet, there was still a chance
for the man to live for another two or three hundred years.
"It's time," a voice whispered in his mind – a voice that he had heard
since the day his father died. "You have my permission to reintroduce
yourself."
Again, the soil shuddered at the pain of its magical ruler.
The old man closed his eyes when he was assaulted by the agony of a
being he hadn't seen since he had been a young man himself. He knew
what he should do, what he had to do. He knew of the other's suffering
and the pain the other had endured for long before even he was born and
he knew that it would be mercy to let the other die, and yet…
"It's still not your time, Salazar," he whispered, his own, tired eyes seeing
the future clearly for the first and maybe the last time in his life. "It's still
not your time…"
It was the pureblood, the grim, in his blood that told him. The grim was
Death's servant. It always knew if it was time to die for somebody the old
man had met or was tied to through bonds of family or friendship.
"Not yet, not for a very long time."
The old man stood.
"Grandfather?" a young boy asked, looking up at him startled. The boy
had been playing with his father's cloak while the old man had watched
him smiling before the world shifted.
"Your grandfather has to go away for some time, James," the old man
said. "Be a good boy and tell your father that I have left, will you?"
"Yes, Grandfather," the boy answered. Of course, he wasn't truly the
grandfather of the child. More likely his great-great-great-something
grandfather. Somewhere on the way he had stopped to count and simply
had insisted on being called 'grandfather'. It had been easier that way,
especially considering that his children's and children's children's span of
life had shortened until they barely lived for a hundred and fifty years.
But that was the curse of a pureblood-born like him. They might not live
as long as their own parents, but their span of life was far longer than
that of the average mixed-born or mundane. Even his son, a pureblood-
born himself, had died some two hundred years ago and his family had
long since forgotten how old he himself truly was. This had been freedom
and a curse at the same time.
"Don't wait for me, James," the old man said, ruffled the boy's hair and
then stepped out of the house. He looked up into the sky, then he closed
his eyes and reached for the inheritance he had gained through his
parents.
The thunderbird in his blood cried.
The grim howled.
And he took their power and twisted it to fit his needs and like the grim –
death omen that it was – his body dissolved into molecules. The wind
that the thunderbird had summoned took them up and left with them,
just to spit them out into the snow-storm in the middle of a forest in
France.
The place that he had landed in, was burning hot with self-loathing and
icy with hatred.
White flames were consuming not only the trees themselves but also the
one who had called them in his agony.
"It's still not your time, Salvazsahar," the man said and green eyes
snapped to his own. Their eyes met. Warm brown eyes met desperate
killing-green.
"Peverell?" The other's voice was nothing but a whispered pleading for
familiarity.
The old man smiled tiredly.
"Long time no see, Salazar," he said softly and then stepped into the
flames. The flames withdrew from him, not willing to hurt him since
their master was not willing to destroy another one of his loved ones any
time soon.
"How?" Salvazsahar whispered. "You should be dead!"
"Not yet," the old man said dismissively. "If R'ena wouldn't have fallen ill,
she would be still alive as well. We are pureblood-born after all – or
Firbolg-born as you call it."
The answer was a shudder.
"If you're still alive then why –"
"Why did I never contact you?" the old man finished before answering the
question as well. "Because I was an idiot and thought that you would
suffer even more if you had to watch me growing old and die while you
still never aged a day."
A lie, but those were the words that had been whispered to him by the
wind.
The answer was a startled laugh, dry and filled with flames as it was.
"And I thought that I at least concealed that fact from you," Salvazsahar
said while tears started to flow. The tears were burning with white flames
and their ashes left his cheeks painted black.
It was then, that the old man – Peverell, husband of Helga – reached him
and knelt down in front of him.
"I'm sorry for that, Salazar," the old man said tiredly. "I shouldn't have left
you alone in your suffering."
And he shouldn't have – he should have done what he thought was right,
not what he was told to do. But Peverell had known his place on earth
since he was a toddler. He was an instrument – and he had always been
willing to submit himself to the one who loosely held his lashes.
Salvazsahar just shook his head.
"There's nothing you could have done. There's nothing you can do. The
deeds are done and I destroyed the one that was once as dear to me as
my own son just because a foolish vow I once made, years ago," he
answered and new tears slit down his cheeks. "I deserve to burn for
eternity for what I have done."
"You're mortal. You're imperfect, Salvazsahar. I think you have forgotten
that, even if you have lived for a longer time than even I, even if you
have seen and done even more than I ever have or will do, in the end you
still don't know everything. You will err on your way, you will choose the
wrong path, you will hurt and be hurt, fail and be failed, and you will
suffer for it. And maybe you're right and the decision you made right
now was a mistake. But maybe you weren't and in the end it wasn't your
fault that whatever happened, happened –"
Salvazsahar scoffed at that and the white flames started to burn with new
found vengeance.
"It was my decision. It was my fault," he said.
"And I think your mind's far too broken to see things clearly. You're set in
your ways, unable to change and unable to see that you're not an
almighty god," Peverell said while smiling sadly. "And yet, staying alive
with a shattered mind like you are now will just lead you onto the path
of no return. You will fall from the edge into the darkness if I let you be
–"
"I won't stay alive. I don't want to be alive anymore. Darkness can't claim
me if I die," Salvazsahar hissed and the white flames surrounding them
reacted to his ire.
"It's not your time," Peverell said. "Not yet, not for a long time. I won't let
you suffer insanity for the rest of your life."
The answer was a bitter smile.
"So what will you do? Try to reason with me that I didn't kill my
brother?" Salvazsahar held up the broken Horcrux. "Look at it, the last
thing that kept my brother alive! It was I that destroyed it. It was my
hands that have done the deed. Can you truly tell me with the evidence
still in my hands, that I wasn't the one who killed my brother?"
Peverell looked down at the locket in Salvazsahar's hands.
Then Peverell's eyes searched for the deadly green of the man in front of
him while he mentally reached out to touch the other man's mind. The
barriers of the other ones mind were down, letting him in, showing him
everything.
It was more, more than Peverell had ever expected to see. It was a life
that had started with suffering and that had, even in the better parts,
always held a note of suffering. And for the first time, Peverell wondered
why the man in front of him hadn't broken centuries ago.
The answer was a bitter one.
Myrddin, Sal's father, had predicted it centuries ago.
"You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still
should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have led
to your existence." He had said. "So your body might be in stasis until you
return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind,
but not in body until then."
And the man had been right – and wrong as well.
Peverell could see the truth in the broken man before him, a man who
was now set in his way of life and at the same time still struggling with
himself.
And it wasn't the obvious struggle with right and wrong that was
problematic, but the true struggle of someone with centuries of
experience and knowledge, forced to live with the chaotic, teenage brain
of a barely fifteen year old. It didn't fit. A fifteen-year-old's brain was still
nothing like an adult one's. Peverell knew. He might have never studied
it, but then, he had been a teacher for a time and had lived longer than
anyone he knew except of Salazar. He had seen the difference in thinking
between an adult and a fifteen-year-old.
"That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."
How right Myrddin Emrys had been. How wrong he had been as well.
The man in front of him had definitely grown in mind, but with the brain
of a child, even after centuries of living, he was still affected by its
structure.
"A cursed life," Peverell concluded bitterly. "Cursed with the knowledge
and experience of an old man while at the same time having the brain
and body of a child. A child's desire but an adult's life since basically
birth. The abilities of an adult but the unsteady magic of a child after its
first maturity."
Oh, Peverell had to give it to Salvazsahar. The man in front of him knew
exactly how to hide his disadvantages. Peverell guessed that Salvazsahar
had learned to suppress or circumvent his teenage brain and magic by
sheer will and necessity. The man in front of him definitely had matured
at least in soul. But at the same time, unlike true children, the man had
to fight his way into adulthood, simply because, unlike with other
children, Sal's body and brain refused to age with his mind – a fact, that,
so Peverell gathered, had not fully been overcome by the man in front of
him.
"Well, one step forward, two steps back," Peverell mused drily, quite
aware of the fact, that Sal's opinions on the world had been set for
centuries now – even if it had taken longer to set them than it would
have taken if Sal was normal. But Peverell was also aware that the man's
brain was not structured for such a set path just yet – the only reason
why there was still hope to rescue that broken man in front of him.
Peverell's hands surrounded Salvazsahar's and closed them around the
locket in his hands.
"You haven't killed your brother," Peverell said. "It might seem like it for
now, but the only thing you have given him in the end was the peace he
never found in life. You might have acted wrongly it trying to do so, I
won't be able to judge that, but in the end there was no salvation for him
except of the one you provided."
Salvazsahar just shook his head and the flames surrounding them again
started to lick at his features.
Peverell knew that he had no time to make Salvazsahar believe his
claims, so he let it be.
Instead he did the only thing he could do.
He embraced the man in front of him while calling up his own heritage
as a Firbolg-born. Powers, not used by him in centuries, flared and
surrounded the body he held protectively in his arms. For a moment the
magic of the other Firbolg-born fought his, while trying to stop him but
unlike Sal's magic which – even if the other man had honed it far longer
than Peverell – was still that of a child after its first maturity, Peverell
commanded the magic of an adult. And even with the finely honed skills
Salvazsahar had perfected over the centuries – skills that would gain him
advantages in battle and healing that no other man had – Salvazsahar's
magic had no chance to win in a fight solely based on strength, because
even with Salvazsahar's ability to use the tiniest bit of his magic to do
feasts that others thought impossible without powerful magic, his less
mature magic lacked the strength of the magic of a mature Firbolg-born
like Peverell.
Salvazsahar's magic faltered under the onslaught of his friend's and
Peverell could see his magic surrounding the other man's, reining it in
and forcing it to compel to its wishes. The white flames vanished and
when Peverell looked down at the other man again, he could see betrayal
in his eyes.
Peverell smiled.
"I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," he said while pronouncing the other one's name
carefully. "But it isn't your time yet. You might hate me for it later on,
rightfully so, but if you ever need me and I'm still around, come and find
me. I betrayed you once, I won't do it again."
And with that he fought the other one's magic into submission.
If there had been an oblivate-spell, maybe Peverell would have used that
instead, but since the spell wouldn't be around for another century or
two, Peverell did something else. He returned into the still willingly open
mind of the man in front of him and used the abilities given to him by
birth. The storm of the thunderbird found entrance into the other man's
mind and surrounded every knowledge, every experience the man in
front of him once held. Peverell forced himself to continue until the
recognition and awareness of those green, green eyes in front of him
dimmed and finally vanished.
Peverell gritted his teeth at that.
It hurt.
It hurt to destroy the man he had held as dear as he had held Godric, his
sister and his wife.
"One step forward," he whispered to himself while the grim in his blood
took hold of the other man's now unguarded magic and used it to work
his biding. "And two steps back."
When Peverell finally was done, he held a baby in his hands – a true
baby, without any knowledge of its past or the future to come.
Peverell knew that it wouldn't be forever. He knew that his magic was
only able to provide a breather for the baby that was once a man, but it
was the best he could do. You couldn't heal the broken mind of a Firbolg
– but Peverell had an advantage towards most of the Firbolg: his magic,
the magic of the grim, had always been meant to interfere with life.
Adding to that the ability of the Phoenix to be reborn that Peverell had
borrowed from his victim and he guessed that there was at least a chance
now to stop one of the men he held dear, a man he had hurt by trying to
protect him, from fading until nothing was left but insanity.
Now he just needed to find someone who had nothing to do with
Salvazsahar's past and who was willing to raise the child. Peverell knew
that there was a high chance of Salvazsahar's memories being triggered if
the man was surrounded by known faces.
He took the locket that Sal's tiny hands still clung to even in sleep and
looked at it contemplating. In the end, he simply repaired it and then
changed the pattern of the emerald's on it to resemble an 'S'.
He couldn't bear to throw something away that had caused all this
suffering to the man that Peverell had known as head-strong and kind.
"Maybe it will give you something to hold on," he decided. "Maybe it'll be
a good luck charm for this new chance at life."
And maybe Peverell would be able to find another family for the child in
his arms – a family that would raise the boy to act differently than he did
now. Peverell knew that his abilities would only be able to affect the
other man's body and soul for the first fifteen years of his life – those
years that the other man's body and brain had already matured once. It
was the grim in his blood and the duty of one of Death's servants that
gave him the ability to rewind the life of the man who was now the baby
in his hands.
"Tell me, my Lord, does his suffering please you so much that you force
me to prolong it?" he asked the wind while clasping the locket around the
child's neck.
The answer was a laugh and a soft caress of his locks.
"Nay, Peverell, child," the wind whispered. "But it's not his time yet. He
can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."
And Peverell closed his eyes and refused to answer.
In front of his inner eye he saw his grandson James playing with the
cloak of his father.
He saw his estranged, unacknowledged grandson who belonged to the
Gaunt family, sitting in the Wizard's Council, waving his hand through
the air – on his finger a ring with a black stone with gold engraving.
He saw the blood-shed of the wand that spread throughout the European
Countries.
"The artefacts that destroyed his brother were my grandfather's and yet
they came out of their encounter with him unaffected while the one who
stopped the doom that follows them lies broken in my arms," he said
bitterly. "I should have been there for him. I should have interfered with
his brother and his greed for power."
"Grim," the wind said and Peverell stiffened. "His fate has long since been
decided."
Like Peverell's had been, long since before his birth.
Like King Arthur Pendragon's had been.
Like even Medrawd's might have been.
Peverell inclined his head.
"He needs a family," he finally said. "Maybe…"
Oh, yes, maybe that family would do the trick…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"No catch?" the man on the door asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No catch," Peverell confirmed, shifting the child in his grasp. "A fifteen
month old child, no family left, magical. That was what you were hoping
for, wasn't it?"
The man on the door stiffened.
"Why would I need a child? I have seven of my own," he said.
Peverell smiled.
"But, as far as I could find out, your best friend doesn't. Since he refused
to adopt one of your own children, you started to look for an orphan.
Believe me, the one who send me was thorough in his investigation."
The other man shifted.
"What do you want for the child?" he finally asked coolly.
Peverell just smiled.
"A good home," he said. "As long as the child is well cared for neither I
nor the one who send me will ask for anything else… except –"
And the man's eyes darkened at that.
"-except to be allowed to see the child again just before he reaches his
fifteenth year of life. I want to explain to him why I choose to do what I
did."
This time there was clear surprise seen in the eyes of the other man, then
his expression darkened again.
"So you want him to know that he's adopted," he said coolly and Peverell
smiled.
"He needs to know," he said. "I hid his heritage for the time being, but the
moment he turns fifteen he will regain it – blood adoption or not."
The man blinked in surprise at that.
"A pureblood child?" he asked.
Peverell hesitated.
"Yes," he finally confirmed and the man leaned forward to get a better
look at the child in front of him.
"Will he be able to use a wizard's magic?"
"There should be no problem," Peverell answered.
As an answer the man took the child and cradled it to his chest.
"I think his parents won't object to your conditions," he said. "Come on in.
I will contact them."
And with that, the door behind them closed again.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for now. Sorry, I couldn't resist to end here. xD
Anyway, I have a question: Do you prefer a look into Sal's childhood when
he has still no memories of his past or do you want me to skip it until he's
regaining his memories?
Also: he won't gain any new abilities from this part of the story – just to stop
the rumours from spreading. xD
To those who want complain that he's a child again I want to point out that a)
this time he's an amnesiac, so he won't remember anything that happened to
him. b) It's – at least in my opinion – far easier to get a family to agree to take
in a child than an amnesiac man (not that he is truly a man as a fifteen-year-
old boy) and tell them to treat it like family. c) I think the adoption in this
part is necessary because even back then there might have been some people
who couldn't have children and who would take in and adopt it as their own.
And growing up differently will teach Sal a different kind of outlook in life
that he hasn't even tried to pursue before because the influence of his first
upbringing.
I also hope that some things got a little bit clearer concerning Sal, since there
seemed to be some confusion about his age or why he isn't acting as mature as
some of you think he should. I planned this damn chapter for ages but Peverell
always refused to comply with my wishes. And then, when I planned to hide
him for a few more chapters he's suddenly back in action and finally doing
what he should have been doing long ago! Stupid Peverell… xD
Well, at least my plot is back on track now even if I'm not quite sure if I truly
like how the chapter turned out in the end…
I hope you liked the (this time) short chapter anyway…
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
42. Chapter 41: 1398 The Best
Laid Plans
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Well, I counted the reviews and a lot were for at least some flashbacks, so I
tried to include them in my story. I hope I did it well enough for now.
Sorry that it took some time, but since I couldn't decide how to continue
myself I waited a little to see a trend before starting to write this chapter.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Year 1398 AD
The Best Laid Plans
sss
Even the best laid plans can go awry.
And there had been a lot of plans.
Fifteen years of freedom.
Fifteen years to raise a child.
Fifteen years to recover from guilt.
Fifteen years for a being to learn a new way of life.
But even the best laid plans could go awry – and whatever Peverell had
planed, whatever the new parents and godparents of the child had
planed, whatever would have been best for the child itself, in the end, it
didn't happen.
Oh, Peverell gave up the child in his arms to a young and desperate
couple. The husband of the couple had been the heir to a very important
and influential French magical family. He and his wife had been unable
to have children and in the end the husband's father had set an
ultimatum: if they wouldn't have a child within the next two years, the
marriage would be dissolved – something that the couple didn't want to
happen because unlike others they had been happy enough to fall in love
after marriage.
So they begged a friend to help them – and that friend was the one to be
contacted by Peverell.
The child was adopted by the couple by blood-adoption to ensure that it
truly was theirs before they returned to their home in France – and since
they officially had stayed at a cousin's in Britain for the last year to
escape the pressure of their parents and parents-in-law they simply could
claim it as their own child, born by the wife herself.
The parents were happy.
The grandparents were happy.
The child had a family.
And Peverell had vanished from their lives to return to where he came
from.
It should have been the end of their interactions for the next fifteen years
– but it wasn't.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Excuse me; is this the home of Salvatio Malfoire?" The man at the door
eyed the stranger warily. The stranger was a grown, emaciated man with
pale skin, black hair and blood-shot eyes.
"Who wants to know that?" the man finally said. The man himself had red
locks and unearthly green eyes in the colour of the killing curse that
would be invented soon.
"I am Anastasius Sanguini," the stranger said. "I am a teacher at
Hogwarts, the school that your son's going to."
The other man just raised an eyebrow at that.
"He's not my son," he said. "He's my nephew and godson. I'm truly
surprised that there's a vampire teaching at Hogwarts."
The answer was a grin full of fangs.
"I know that it's not really common to see my species outside of a coven,
but… well… you could say that I am… different," the vampire said.
"Don't worry; I don't use the children as snacks or anything idiotic like
that. The most rumours you've heard about vampires normally are vastly
exaggerated."
"Are they, now," the man said while his cool green eyes evaluated the
being in front of him. In that moment, another voice from within the
house could be heard.
"Nicholas?" the female voice asked. "Who's at the door?"
The man didn't even turn to answer.
"A teacher of your son's school, Cathérine," he said. "Did you know that
Salvatio's school has vampires as teachers?"
The answer was a snort, then a short female with light blond hair and
forest green eyes stepped next to the man.
When she saw Anastasius, she smiled.
"I guess you are Professor Sanguini?" she said. "My son has been talking
about your class for some time now. I think he adores you."
The vampire sighed at that.
"I… well, I thought that as well, Madame Malfoire," he said. "But…
well… may I come in? What I have to talk to you about shouldn't be
talked about at the front door."
Cathérine Malfoire inclined her head at that and then stepped back. The
man, Nicholas, followed her lead and then gestured the vampire in.
Together with their guest, they returned to the sitting room and then
with an invite to sit down towards the vampire they sat as well. Inside
the room already were two other people. A man with black hair and cool
grey eyes and a woman with the same blond hair like Cathérine's.
"My husband, Lord Henri Malfoire and my sister Perenelle, Nick's wife,"
Cathérine said before introducing the vampire to her husband and sister.
"He's Salvatio's professor at Hogwarts," she said. "Professor Sanguini."
The vampire bowed.
"Anastasius Sanguini, at your service," he said and then sat down.
A moment later one of the house elves brought some wine.
"May we ask why a teacher of my son has come to us while the school is
in session?" Lord Henri Malfoire, asked coolly and sat up a little bit to fix
the vampire with a stare.
The vampire sighed.
"It's… complicated," he said hesitatingly. "May I first inquire if
something… happened at home before he returned to school?"
And while the other adults exchanged confused looks, Nicholas didn't
dare to look up from his fingers. He was sure that the guilt was written in
his face…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire had always been a curious child. From the
day his parents had laid eyes on him, he had always been different.
While other children loved to listen to stories, Salvatio preferred
textbooks. While other children started to get bored at political functions,
Salvatio stayed and listened. While other children expressed a wish to
play, Salvatio preferred to learn.
The child had an inquisitive mind and his parents and godparents soon
learned that answering one question would just lead to another three to
answer as well. They also learned that keeping their child away from
knowledge would just make it more determinated to unearth it.
In the end, it was the father – Henri Malfoire – who gave in and started
to teach the child politics just to keep it away from other secrets that it
shouldn't know yet.
"Henri, he's but a five year old! Don't you think it's… well… a little to
early to teach a five year old how to circumvent laws or how to use them
for his benefits?" the godfather asked the father concerned when he
found out about the new training his godson received.
The answer was a sigh.
"It's either that or watch how long he'll take to find out about his
adoption," Henri answered and rubbed his forehead warily. "I love him,
Nicholas. I love him as if he was my own son –"
"He is, Henri –"
"-from birth, I mean," Henri corrected himself and then turned to the
door of his study to ensure that it was still closed, locked and spelled.
"Like I said, I love him. But he's far too young to understand the
circumstances that lead to his identity. Do you truly think that I can tell a
barely five year old that his true parents died around his birth and that
his true uncle couldn't take him because of circumstances? I can't talk
about blood-adoption to a barely five year old!"
"So you're teaching him about politics," the godfather asked with a raised
eyebrow and Henri inclined his head.
"So I'm teaching him about politics," he said. "That should occupy him for
a while…"
It did – for about two years. Then they were back to square one.
Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child – but how curious
Nicholas wouldn't learn until the boy had been home from his second
year in Hogwarts for about a month and a half.
Nicholas himself was an inventor and alchemist. A lot of inventions in
magic were made by him. A lot of discoveries in alchemy were made by
him. A lot of new potions and spell were of his creation.
That day, Nicholas' wife Perenelle had wanted to visit her parents.
Cathérine and Henri also decided to go. Nicholas instead had stayed
behind to look after Salvatio who was currently ill in bed.
"Don't worry," he said when his wife and his sister-in-law and her
husband left, "I will look after Salvatio."
"And no new potions until we're back, Nick!" his wife returned. "Who
knows, you would even blow up the house if there isn't one of us near
you to stop you!"
Nicholas had suppressed laughter at that.
"You know that I would never do that, love," he had answered and then
kissed her good-bye. "See you later!"
Now, a few months later, Nicholas wished that he would have listened to
his wife back then.
He didn't.
And he paid for it.
Tenfold.
So instead of doing something else, Nicholas had started a new potion in
his lab that day. It was an experimental one and as such, relatively
unstable. But Nicholas was an experienced potion's master and had done
many great tasks with potions and alchemy. He even was in the process
to create a true Philosopher's stone.
The potion Nicholas planed to create, was something to reduce fever. He
had done his calculations over the last seven months and had looked up
everything he could find about the ingredients he decided to use.
The potion formula he invented was sound, as far as Nicholas could tell,
so he saw no reason to not brew the new potion right now…
Before he started, he had gone to his nephew's room.
The child had been ill with fever for the last four days and whatever
Cathérine and Perenelle did – they both were experienced as healers – it
didn't help. The child still burned as if it was fighting something
constantly.
It wasn't the first time Salvatio had suffered under a fever like that. Since
the child had turned nine, it had bouts of fever at least once a year and
no one could tell what was wrong with the child.
In the end, Nicholas had started to invent the potion he wanted to start
brewing that day.
"Salvatio?" he whispered into the darkened room and the child's tired
eyes snapped up to look at him.
"Oncle… Nick?" it asked.
"I'm going to try the potion idea that I've been working on," Nicholas
said. He hadn't told the child that the potion was for it. If he had done
something wrong, at least the child wouldn't feel low because of it. "If
you need me, I'm in the lab."
"A'right," the child mumbled as an answer and then closed its eyes again.
Nicholas stepped next to the bed to measure the child's fever. The child
leaned into his touch, desperate for the chill of Nicholas' hand.
The fever was still far too high.
Not good. Not good at all.
Nicholas just hoped that his potion would cure it. So in the end he tucked
in the child and then kissed it on the forehead before he left, closing the
door behind him softly.
Back in his lab, Nicholas started on his newly invented potion.
The formula was easy and quite straight forward. The calculations
Nicholas had done all showed a low probability for accidents.
So when Nicholas added the next ingredient, a biting carrot, he expected
nothing to happen.
The potion was stable, the calculations sound and the ingredients
shouldn't react too badly with each other. He was sure that he knew
exactly how the ingredients would react together and it should not have
been dangerous.
However, he was wrong.
Instead of a slightly bubbling potion, the cauldron suddenly exploded,
throwing him in the wall behind him, burning and poisoning him.
Nicholas wanted to scream in agony, but had no air to do so. His lungs
burned. His legs were in an odd ankle and he couldn't even move his
hands. His mind was fuzzy and even blinking didn't reduce the slow
blackening of his vision. And while he was lying there on the ground he
suddenly knew that this time there would be no-one who would come to
his rescue. Cathérine and Henri and Perenelle had already left. The only
ones at home were Nicholas himself and Salavtio who was sleeping off
his fever.
He was all by himself.
He would die today – and as if he had called them, suddenly memories of
his life invaded his fading consciousness.
It was said that at the end, you would see your life flashing by in front of
your eyes – and Nicholas did. It was shambled and not in the proper
order, but he saw his life nonetheless.
And it started with the first time he had ever seen his nephew…
xXxXxXxXx
"The child – what happened to its parents?" he had asked the stranger who
was still cradling the baby.
"They died," the man answered instantly. "And I'm unable to care for him. I'm
far too old to run after a young boy like him."
Nicholas guessed that the man meant it. The man's hair was white and his
eyes were oddly milky, showing an eye illness old people often had.
"Is there truly no-one else to claim the child?" Nicholas asked nervously. He
didn't want to get up his friends' hopes just to find out that there was someone
else still.
"The parents are dead; the… uncle can't care for him. The grandparents are
too old. It was a mutual decision. You don't have to fear about losing him
again."
And Nicholas had called his sister-in-law and her husband, his friend.
The first time Cathérine got to hold her son, was the first time Nicholas saw
her smile in five years.
"What's his name?" she asked the stranger.
The man just smiled.
"We called him Sal," he said. "But whatever you chose will be fine. He's young
enough not to mind a change in name."
"We should leave 'Sal' nevertheless," Cathérine replied. "I think it wouldn't be
right for him to lose the last connection he still has with his birth-parents."
In the end they decided on Salvatio.
"Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire," Cathérine said. And neither Nicholas nor Henri
had the heart to tell her that the child might later on hate to be named after a
stone…
xXxXxXxXx
That had been nearly thirteen years ago. Thirteen years of laughter – and
now Nicholas would bring new tragedy to the family by dying…
That was the moment the door to Nicholas lab flew open and Salvatio
entered stumbling. For a moment, the child stopped, its eyes widened.
Then panic crossed its face and it stumbled towards him, clearly unsteady
on its feet.
"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio cried, speeding up to reach the lethal injured man
that was his uncle and godfather. "Oncle Nick!"
Salvatio reached him and fell next to him on his knees.
Nicholas could see the horror on the child's face and tried instantly to
distract the young boy from his beaten, gruesome looking body.
"It… will be… alright, Salvatio," he pressed out. "Don't… worry… too
much."
Dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes, but those desperate and
fearful green eyes in front of him made him fight the darkness.
Instead another memory creped in his mind…
xXxXxXxXx
Salvatio had been seven, when they finally had told him that he was adopted.
The child hadn't taken it well and had run away.
It had been Nicholas who found it.
"Salvatio," he said, while leaning onto the tree his nephew had vanished into.
"Don't you think that running away might be the wrong reaction?"
The answer was a tear-filled scoff.
"Don't care," the child said. "It's not as if I'm wanted."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow at that.
"How did you come to that absurd conclusion?" he asked. The answer was a
little shock.
"Because if they truly would have wanted me, they wouldn't have brought it
up," the child answered sobbing. "Until now, they never talked about it with
me. I thought that meant that they saw me as theirs…"
Nicholas sighed at that.
"Obviously we weren't able to even keep this secret from you," he said, and
then he shook his head. "Your parents would have never told you if it weren't
for your heritage."
At that, Salvatio had looked up.
"What do you mean?" and Nicholas sighed and started to explain about the
condition that had come with the child.
"They didn't want to wait to tell you until you had to find out because they
feared you would feel betrayed. At the same time they wanted you to be old
enough to understand their arguments when they told you. It is obvious now
that we should have talked to you years ago…"
xXxXxXxXx
"Oncle Nick!" And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in.
He tried to smile at the panicking boy, but instead felt darkness creeping
near.
"Not… your… fault" he rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love… er…"
He lost consciousness.
The last thing he saw were his nephew's eyes, lighting up in unearthly
green fire.
"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" then the darkness found him.
xXxXxXxXx
"Papa! Papa! Look! I've got a letter from a school in Britain!"
"May I see it, mon fils?" and Nicholas stepped next to Henri to look at the
letter as well.
"Nicholas," Henri said, but the other man had already taken the open letter to
read it over again.
"It's from Hogwarts, the British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Nicholas
said. "It's inviting Salvatio to join."
Henri looked at him confused.
"But why?" he asked. "Salvatio is living in France!"
"I guess, he was born in Britain," Nicholas said. "My parents had to go to
Beauxbatons themselves to enrol me there. I didn't get a letter since I wasn't
born in France."
"If papa finds out –"
"-then you tell him that Cathérine and you were still in Britain when Salvatio
was born. You were visiting your cousin at that time after all and you came
home with the child after staying at our home for about two weeks – far longer
than you planed. It's easy to pretend that you were still in Britain back then.
That is, if you want your child to go to Scotland for its education…" Nicholas
replied. "Salvatio knows that he's adopted. Maybe he wants to at least feel a
little close to the parents he lost before he could remember them…"
xXxXxXxXx
Beauxbatons' yearly Yule ball was as dull as every year – at least until
sixteen-year-old Nicholas laid eyes on a girl he had never acknowledged
before. She was wearing a yellow summer dress with red flowers on it. Her
pale blond hair had also red flowers woven in it and her forest green eyes were
twinkling like the stars.
"Mademoiselle Delacourt!" he said. "What a stunning dress you are wearing
today!"
She laughed at that.
"Stunning enough to root you on the floor, Monsieur Flamel?" she asked at
that, her eyes twinkling even more. "Or are you still able to ask me for a
dance?"
xXxXxXxXx
"Ah, Lord Malfoire, it's nice to see you again. Have you thought about my
petition for the Magenmagot? With your vote, we would surely win."
"A legislation to register pureblood-born is not exactly what I want to support,
Lord –"
"You should think about it, Lord Malfoire. After all, who knows what
repercussions could come out of it if you decide to not vote for –"
"Père?" And Henri Malfoire had turned to look at his innocent looking six-
year-old son.
"Not now, Salvatio," he said softly.
The boy just looked at him confused for a moment, then turned to the other
Lord.
"Milord," he said. "Are you talking about the bribes that you pay the Head of
the Aurors to keep your head out of prison when you talk about
repercussions?"
And when the other lord paled, the innocent looking child continued. "Or is it
about the illegal gambling you join every Thursday night?"
And Nicholas stood in the back and suppressed laughter at that. The boy was
six! A six-year-old devil. How by Merldin and Morgana had that little devil
sniffed out that information?
"Er… never mind, Lord Malfoire," the lord finally said. "I guess I will have to
do without your help…"
And Nicholas burst out laughing, just silenced by the quick spell of his wife
aimed at him.
xXxXxXxXx
"You know, when you ever – EVER – touch me again I will –" eighteen-year-
old Nicholas Flamel tried in vain to not listen to his wife. Currently she had
started on all the curses she would bestow upon him if he ever dared to enter
her bed again.
"Don't worry," one of the two midwives whispered. "She'll calm down later. It's
often like that in birth –"
"Good… to know," Nicholas answered and then swallowed when his wife
found a new idea to get her revenge on him…
He wondered if his hand would survive that night…
xXxXxXxXx
"Bonjour!" Lafayette, the best wandmaker in Paris, said when they entered.
"Madam and Monsieur Malfoire, how may I help you today?"
"We're here to get a wand for our son, Monsieur Lafayette" Henri answered,
pushing nine-year-old Salvatio softly to the counter.
The wand-maker looked at the boy.
"He does not look like he's eleven" Lafayette finally said.
"He isn't" Henri answered while letting Nicholas and Perenelle enter. "He is
nine."
"So why are you coming to me now?" Lafayette asked surprised. "There's still
time."
"Normally there would be" Nicholas answered. "But Salvatio does know too
much about magic and we cannot continue his study without a wand."
Lafayette raised an eyebrow.
"Normally parents do not teach their children a lot of magic until they reach
the eleventh year of their life" he said, scrutinizing Nicholas and the others.
"He's a genius" Henri answered sighing. "He learned to read when he was
barely three and I fear he does now know my library better than me."
"So he just read things?"
"No. He followed us around and asked question after question until we started
to teach him what we know." Cathérine answered. "You are not telling us we
should have stomped our son's thirst of knowledge?!"
"No" this time the wand-maker was studying the boy in front of the counter.
Salvatio just stared back.
"How do you chose which wand does fit which wizard? Do you just let them
swing the wands or do you test their bloods for their affinity?"
Nicholas could see the surprise in the eyes of the wand-maker when Salvatio
asked his questions. Nicholas himself just shook his head. He had long ago
given up on trying to understand how the youth came up with his questions.
"I use their blood" the wand-maker finally answered looking curious. "You're
definitely not a normal young man, are you, young Malfoire?"
The boy just shrugged.
"I like to know things" he answered.
"Well then… would you give me some drops of your blood to test it?" the
wand-maker asked.
"How many?" the boy answered, looking at the wand-maker with hooded eyes.
"Just two – there is nothing else I can do with them except of testing your
affinity." The wand-maker answered smiling at the boy. Salvatio scrutinized
him for a moment, then he nodded and extended his hand.
"You can have them" he said but he watched the wand-maker the whole time
after he had spent the two drops. Nicholas found it amusing.
"You should not have told him about blood-magic and the Dark Arts,
Nicholas" Perenelle scolded him quietly while watching Salvatio being
measured.
"He asked and I saw no reason not to tell him" Nicholas defended himself.
"Well, the reason should be obvious" Henri said chuckling. "And I wondered
why Salvatio was looking at the wand-maker as if he was the new Dark Lord."
Nicholas shrugged.
"Maybe I should have waited a few years," he answered. "But I saw no reason
to at the time Salvatio asked. I did not think that he would make an enemy
out of the wand-maker when he asks for his blood…"
In the end, they ended up with a new wand for the child and a warning: "Holy
is an unusual wood for a wand" the wand-maker said. "But combined with the
pureness of unicorn-blood and the darkness of grim-hair – something like that
implies a greatness and a pureness of the soul I have not seen before. Watch
out for him – he will change our world more than once until he dies…"
xXxXxXxXx
"You could adopt one of our children. Neither Perenelle nor I would mind if
you –"
"No, Nicholas. Both, Cathérine and I know how much you love your seven
children. We won't take one of them from you just because we can't have an
own."
"You wouldn't take it. Perenelle and I would still see it every day. It would just
have four parents instead of two!"
"No, Nicholas, no! Please! We simply can't –"
"-Then at least give me the right to search for a child you can take in without
feeling guilty!"
"Alright. That, I can accept…"
…
…
…
"Salvatio –"
xXxXxXxXx
Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child. He had always been
inquisitive and had absorbed knowledge like a sponge from the moment
he was given to his parents. Nothing had been safe from him. If there was
a secret, he found it. If there was trouble, he landed in the middle of it
and pulled himself out again before his parents could even think about
helping him.
Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child – but whatever he
had learn, how different he was, nothing could prepare him for the day
he found his uncle dying in his lab.
Salvatio had been feeling ill that day. It was the fever he had had ever for
at least once a year since his ninth birthday.
This time, his parents and Aunt Perenelle hadn't been able to stay at
home, so in the end, only Oncle Nicholas had stayed to watch over him.
It didn't truly matter to Salvatio. He had slept anyway, so he didn't mind
his parents leaving too much. At least he didn't until he heard the
explosion in the lab and came there to make sure that his Oncle was
alright.
He wasn't, and it had torn Salvatio's heart when he had seen the extent of
his Oncle's injuries and had heard his Oncle's words, trying to relieve him
from a guilt that hadn't settled yet on Salvatio's narrow shoulders.
"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio pleaded, "Oncle Nick! Oncle Nick!" But the man's
eyes had been unfocused and his breathing laboured. Something in
Salvatio told him that his Oncle wouldn't survive those injuries.
Something in Salvatio told him that he had to act, to safe the man in
front of him – but whatever told him these facts, whatever called to him,
he couldn't grasp it. It was as if it was removed from his reach by an
unbreakable wall.
A wall Salvatio couldn't breach.
A wall Salvatio didn't want to even try to breach because he instinctively
knew that behind that wall, nothing but pain was hidden.
Then his Oncle's eyes unfocused even more, for a moment, they shut. And
Salvatio's hands grabbed at the shirt of his Oncle as if he could hold him,
as if he could rescue him if he just held on strong enough on the bloody
fabric.
Then Oncle Nicholas smiled.
"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio repeated his pleading.
And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in. Again, his Oncle's
lips twitched as if he wanted to smile reassuringly.
"Not… your… fault" his Oncle rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love…
er…"
His Oncle's eyes closed. And suddenly, Salvatio was totally aware of the
blood that not only drenched his godfather's and his own clothing, but
that also had started to tint the floor red. A red puddle slowly but surely
spread over the stone-floor, mixing with the greens and browns of the
exploded potion and surrounding the bits and pieces of metal from the
destroyed cauldron.
"Please, no, no, no!" Salvatio mumbled, his hands over his godfather's
body, unable to touch him in fear of hurting him, but also unable to stay
still and do nothing while something in his mind told him that Salvatio
should be able to help – somehow, somehow…
But there was no way – and there was no-one he could call. Yes, his
parents were noble. Yes, they had servants and even two house-elves, but
the servants were home and the house-elves had gone with their masters
and would be unable to hear the call from that far away.
Salvatio was alone and his godfather's blood was slowly soaking his
garments.
It was when he saw his godfather's eyes flickering once, before the figure
in front of him seemed to loose even the tiny rest of its life, that suddenly
another, foreign part of him rose and filled him – still imprisoned behind
impenetrable walls but there nonetheless.
His eyes lightened up in unearthly green fire.
"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" he hissed, his fists tightening until
his nails drew his own blood.
Salvatio couldn't tell, who he had lost, but he knew, he knew as sure as he
knew his name that he had lost someone – and he wouldn't lose Nick.
One of Salvatio's bloodied fists loosened and reached up to his neck
where a locket lay – a locket he had worn since the day he had been
brought to his family.
His fist closed around that piece of jewellery as if to pray to it.
Then he ripped it from his neck, throwing it away from him and watched
it meet the opposite wall where it fell to the ground.
Salvatio hadn't thought about that gesture, he had simply done it, not
caring, that the chain had left his neck bloodied or that the locket had
opened when it met the wall.
Instead he turned back to his Oncle, his hands again hovering over the
man while he prayed, he prayed to whoever would listen that somehow
his godfather wouldn't die.
"You can't die, Oncle Nick! Not you, too!" he whispered. Then his hands
finally stopped hovering and instead ripped open his Oncle's shirt so that
he could see the damage.
Salvatio knew instantly, that even his mother or Tante Perenelle would
be unable to save his godfather from dying. Salvatio had watched both
ladies often enough when they induced into the healing arts to know that
even their knowledge wouldn't be enough to safe the dying man in front
of him – and yet, there was something in Salvatio that told him that his
godfather could be saved, if Salvatio just would listen…
But Salvatio was a twelve-year-old child. Whatever he knew, he didn't
know enough – by Morgana, no one Salvatio knew would know enough
to rescue the man in front of him!
"You know, you could help him if you truly tried, Salvazsahar," a voice
suddenly said and Salvatio turned wide-eyed towards the speaker. No one
was there, just a shadow at the wall, flickering in the light of the still
burning fire.
Salvatio turned back towards his godfather his hands again hovering, this
time over the wounds.
"If you swear yourself to me, like your ancestors did, I would even help
you," the voice said again and again Salvatio's head snapped towards the
place where he had heard the voice from. There was nothing but the
slightly moving door.
"If you truly want it – you are now strong enough to circumvent the
barrier. It has lost a lot of its strength already," this time Salvatio thought
that he even might have seen something – but when he focused on the
place, there was still nothing there.
"It's your decision…"
Before Salvatio could even think about looking at the place where the
voice had come from this time around, his Oncle's breathing stopped.
"No, no, no! No!" Salvatio cried. "No!"
And in an automatic gesture he reached for his Oncle's forehead, his
fingers dancing, drawing runes in a known and yet so foreign pattern.
Then he drew runes on his own forehead, before carving both of them
into the flesh and activating them.
It all happened within seconds.
The magic of the activation cursed through his body and for a moment
Salvatio's sight blackened. Then it returned in full colour – somehow
feeling more intense than any other time before.
And his Oncle drew a rattling breath.
"You won't die on me, Oncle," the words were harsh and the barrier in
Salvatio's mind wavered.
But something was wrong.
Something was different.
Salvatio's magic didn't flow like it ever did before.
Something had changed – something necessary had changed…
"Blood-magic," Salvatio whispered to himself. "I haven't done my blood-
magic…"
And yet, that creature behind the barrier knew that there was no way to
stop the ritual now – if they died doing it or not. The moment the runes
were activated, Salvatio had thrown his life on the line.
But it didn't matter. Somehow it didn't matter that he had done so.
"You have a choice. Remember and rescue his life and yours or live
forever in regret," the voice whispered again, but this time, Salvatio
wasn't sure if the voice hadn't come from within him, hadn't been a part
of him.
And suddenly Salvatio knew that whatever he had to remember –
whatever pain was hidden away, pounding against the barrier in his
mind – he had to remember, because he would never forgive himself if he
could have rescued his godfather and hadn't done it because he had been
afraid of a little bit of pain.
And with that thought, with that decision, the walls in his mind
shattered, giving access to the memories lost behind…
xXxXxXxXx
"So… I will stay fifteen – forever?!" Salvatio heard himself ask a man he knew
as atr, father.
"I am not sure" his father answered. "But I have made up a theory."
"A theory?"
"You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still
should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have lead
to your existence." His father elaborated. "So your body might be in stasis until
you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in
mind, but not in body until then."
"But… what is with dying?"
"My theory suspects, that you won't be able to die until you are back in your
own time. You are timeless until you reach the day you left you own time.
After that you should age normally."
"So I will be fifteen for the next thousand or two thousand years?!"
xXxXxXxXx
"He was stricken with horror when I told him" Salvatio's memory self told a
knight – Sir Lancelot, his mind supplied. "He wanted to see my arm trice
before he was sure that the Basilisk-venom had not killed me!"
"The story was true?" the knight asked half-horrified half-awed.
"It bid me" Salvatio had said casually. "It was a phoenix that healed me."
"I am surprised that your father did not insist that you would never leave his
side again," the knight said. "How many winters did you count when this
happened? Two? Three? As big as the scar is you must have been no more
then a toddler!"
A memory of his twelve-year-old self slaying the basilisk.
xXxXxXxXx
"I taught you healing for ten years – and now you don't want to finalize the
last step in your profession?" Morgana had said.
"A healer cannot fight" Salvatio heard himself answer.
"And you want to fight?"
"No, I want to protect."
xXxXxXxXx
"The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic. Rituals and potions
were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-magic wasn't evil, it just
was a way to gain control over your gift." Salvatio heard himself tell one of his
best friends – Godric had been his name.
"But it's seen as evil now – so why didn't you stop?" said man objected.
"Because I can't," Salvatio had answered sincerely.
"What do you mean 'you can't'?"
"Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" then Salvatio had changed his
explanation. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric. The first rituals a druid
does are those to shield their body from the following rituals. After that comes
the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the blood-wakening, you could stop
after shielding yourself from other rituals. But after the blood-wakening you
have to keep doing blood-magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on
your magic and finally on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you
stopped."
"Oh," Godric had said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would
go crazy if you didn't, right?"
"Yes. But there is always a setback in every kind of magic you practice."
xXxXxXxXx
"Huh? But… I didn't! Why should I call you a monster?!" Salvatio heard
Godric's confused voice and he could feel a taste of his hurt and furious
feelings of that time.
"I don't know," Salvatio had answered. "All I know is that you did! You called
me a monster to my face. You called my father, my grandparents and my son
a monster to my face! And you ask me why I would be furious with you?!"
"I would never…! This whole discussion was about purebloods and pure-
blooded children in Haugh's Wards! That discussion wasn't about you or your
family!"
"Well, news-flash, Godric! I am a pureblood! My father was a pureblood! My
grandparents were! My son is! I might be a mixed born pureblood but a
pureblood nonetheless! I never thought you would think of me as a creature
unable to behave human!"
xXxXxXxXx
"Mother was weak. She never understood that some things have to be done to
come closer to our Firbolg-inheritance. This ritual is one of them – after all our
ancestors are immortal, so that just tells us we should be immortal, too."
Medrawd, his beloved baby brother had said, and Salvatio's response had been
harsh at that time.
"Don't try to reason with me, brother. I am a healer. I would not understand
what you are talking about."
"You were always more like mother," his brother had answered unconcerned.
"No! You are like my father. Too blinded by your need to look out for others
to understand an opportunity like that!"
"I think this time I am proud that you think I am like Arthur. I wouldn't even
want to be like you!"
xXxXxXxXx
"I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," Salvatio heard Peverell say in his memory. "But it
isn't your time yet. You might hate me for it later on, rightfully so, but if you
ever need me and I'm still around, come and find me. I betrayed you once, I
won't do it again."
And then words came to him that he hadn't heard back then, but that he
remembered now.
"Tell me, my Lord, does his suffering please you so much that you force me to
prolong it?" Peverell had asked in a desperate tone of voice.
The answer was a laugh.
"Nay, Peverell, child," the wind had whispered. "But it's not his time yet. He
can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."
It was the same voice that had spoken to Salvatio just moments ago…
"It's your decision, child," the voice said in that moment. "You know my
price. If you will serve me like your ancestors served me, I will help you
to rescue your godfather…"
And Salvazsahar looked up at the shadowy figure that was hardly seen in
the light of the fire.
Then his eyes travelled back to the man in front of him – a man that was
just still alive because of the magic that bound him to Salvazsahar. It was
an unstable connection, a risky one. Salvazsahar could feel the
connection's instability like he could feel the instability of his own mind.
Still, he had to do it, he had to try.
With experienced hands he started to paint the ritual circle on the floor.
Then he placed the nearly dead man in the middle and activated the
runes.
Again, Salvazsahar's magic stuttered before it stabilized, its instability
together with his still suffering mind was drawing on his sanity and the
clarity of his thoughts.
Salvazsahar shook his head and focused.
He picked up one of the knives that Nicholas normally used for potion
ingredients, made sure that it was safe to use and then cut open the other
man's body to reach the organs.
For a moment dizziness overcame him and his mind slipped.
Not good, he needed to focus!
But it was hard, so hard without the stability of his own magic. It was
odd, the moment he remembered, the moment his magic turned wonky.
But then, Salvazsahar had been ill at least once a year with fever since
his ninth birthday – a clear sign of his slowly unhinging blood-magic.
If he had woken like planned by Peverell, the other man would have
been able to guide Salvazsahar through the wakening and like that he
might have been able to stabilize Salvazsahar until he had renewed his
blood-magic.
Like it was now, Salvazsahar had just himself to rely on – and a patient
he had to heal or he would forever regret it…
So he focused on the task with all his might.
But it was hard, and after a time, it slowly but surely started to
impossible.
When Salvazsahar had not even finished the healing of the organs of the
other man, his hand nearly slipped when his mind suddenly drifted away
into nothingness for a moment.
"You know that you won't be able to safe him like that," the voice
whispered again while Salvazsahar tried with all his might to return his
focus on the task, to clear his thoughts and his mind and concentrate
again.
He couldn't.
The fog that had started to invade his mind had strengthened and he
couldn't even see his work anymore, nevertheless think about the next
step.
"No, no, no! No! Please, not now!" he whispered, knowing without a
doubt that he had to safe the man, but also knowing that he wouldn't be
able to do it…
"Just one word, Salvazsahar," the voice said and its sound mixed with
memories of other sounds. Colours started to dance in Salvazsahar's
vision. Memories blurred, past and present slowly but surely melted
together and Salvazsahar knew – knew without a doubt – that if he didn't
get a grip of his mind right now, he would lose himself to insanity.
It was like back then, thirteen years ago when Peverell had rescued him,
and at the same time it was nothing like it at all. While back then it had
been a deliberate step towards insanity and the all consuming
nothingness of the after-life, this time it wasn't wanted but fought. And
Salvazsahar was losing said fight.
But he couldn't lose another person he loved. He couldn't lose the man
who had taken the place of an uncle, of a godfather, of someone trusted
and loved in his life.
"Please, I'll do everything!" he pleaded. "Please, just don't die on me!"
And like a sledge hammer something rammed into his soul, anchoring it
to life and sanity.
It felt like downing.
It felt like being stabbed all over again.
Burning pain filled his body and his mind screamed when it was flooded
with the same white flames that Salvazsahar had called to end his life
just thirteen years ago.
Salvazsahar gasped and closed his eyes for a moment when his vision
finally cleared and returned to normal.
Then tears leaked out of his eyes, dropping onto the wounds of his uncle,
healing them slowly and surely like only phoenix tears could.
Salvazsahar's hands also worked with renewed strength until the last
grave wound was healed and the man in front of him was as good as
new.
Only when Salvazsahar was sure that his patient would live, he raised his
face to the ceiling and spoke.
"Why did you even ask?" he said. "As far as I know I belonged to you
already from birth. Why did you even ask for my promise when you
already had me in your clutches?"
"Because without your answer today, you wouldn't have belonged to me
from birth," the voice answered.
"So you already knew my answer. You already knew that I would lose my
last safe-haven today, my last chance of peace in the eternal arms of
death…"
"Don't worry, " the voice answered softly. "You don't belong to me fully,
yet. And you won't remember your promise until it is time."
And with that, wind caressed Salvazsahar's hair, and to the crying child,
the once dying man woke up to new life.
xXxXxXxXx
The next, Nicholas could remember was agony. All filling agony, cursing
through his body, binding his soul and fogging his mind.
And then it was gone and peace filled him.
Nicholas opened his eyes again, seeing his nephew sitting beside him,
weeping.
"Salvatio" he said softly and the boy looked down from the ceiling, his
eyes focusing on his Oncle, tears still in his eyes.
"You stopped breathing for a moment," the boy said flustered. "I thought I
lost you!"
Nicholas blinked at that and then sat up. His body still ached but the all-
consuming pain was gone. Carefully he touched his chest and legs, sure
that his rips had been broken as well as his bones in his legs.
Nothing.
No open chest, no broken rips or bones.
Not even blood, except of the blood which still marred his formally white
tunic.
"I… I thought I could not rescue you!" the boy next to him cried and
flung himself in Nicholas unsteady arms. "I fought! I fought! But it was…
too much… way too much blood… and I didn't remember! I didn't
remember!"
The boy hick-upped, clutching Nicholas' tunic like a life-line.
"Shh" Nicholas said, still feeling slightly ill. "Shh, it's all right, child, it's
all right."
And just then he finally was able to comprehend the boy's words.
I thought I could not rescue you… Way too much blood…
"You healed me?!" Nicholas asked astonished, looking down at the boy in
his arms. He knew his wounds had been lethal and not even Cathérine
with all her knowledge would have been able to safe him this time.
"Y…Yes" the boy stuttered, still weeping.
"I had to… you were dying, Oncle Nick."
"I know I was," Nicholas answered while trying to wrap his head around
the fact that his thirteen year old nephew had healed him.
"How…?" he finally asked and the boy pointed at ground around him.
Written with white crayon there were runes, hundreds of runes.
Nicholas shuddered.
"Dark Magic?!" he asked, not sure if he should really be angry at his
nephew. "You used Dark Magic to rescue me?!"
The boy, his head still buried in Nicholas breast, shook it fiercely.
"No!" He cried. "No!"
"But it was a ritual," Nicholas stated, while starting to feel better and
better, as if each tear which fell on him, took away the pain.
"Yes" the boy whispered.
"A ritual to bring back the death?" Nicholas asked carefully but fearfully.
"No" the boy shook his head again. "A ritual to heal. But it did not help
much. You were still dying."
New tears fell on Nicholas.
A ritual to heal… Nicholas never ever had heard about something like
that before. Where had the boy learned it from?!
"I was still dying?" he finally asked. The head, still buried in his chest,
nodded. Nicholas decided to let the ritual go until the boy was less upset.
"So how did you rescue me?" he asked instead.
A tear-strained face looked up to him, the eyes puffy and red.
"I... I don't know… I cried. I cried and you healed," the boy answered.
"And now I can't stop crying."
Nicholas blinked at these words, but wiped away the tears still rolling
down the boy's cheeks. He wanted to asked, how crying should have
healed him, but in that moment he found the answer himself. The boys
tears soaked in his skin and a faint glow emitted where they had been.
Nicholas felt his fingers getting more agile, healthier.
He stared at the boy who clung to him and back at his fingers. A sudden
suspicion filling his mind.
Again he wiped away the boy's tears, this time holding his hand so that
the dim light of the fire could enlighten them.
They glowed in the colours of the rainbow, twinkled like little stars.
Nicholas was a potion master, he knew this glimmering.
Phoenix tears.
And then he remembered the stranger's answer to his question from way
back then.
"A pureblood child?" Nicholas had asked and the stranger had hesitated a
moment before answering: "Yes."
A child with phoenix tears.
And suddenly Nicholas etched for answers he couldn't get from the child.
xXxXxXxXx
"I don't think that something has happened to Salvatio over the holidays,"
Cathérine said in that moment. "Yes, he was a little bit different in the
last part of the summer, a little bit more withdrawn and cautious maybe,
but I don't remember an event that happened that could have changed
him. I simply thought that he was growing up…"
"Something has changed within your son over the summer," the vampire
Professor replied to that. "Whatever happened, he isn't the same
anymore."
"What do you mean, Professor?" Nicholas asked and the Professor
hesitated.
"He… treats me different," the Professor finally settled on.
"You mean Salvatio suddenly shows prejudice towards you?" Henri
Malfoire asked frowning, but the vampire professor shook his head.
"No… no prejudice… just… different," he seemed uncomfortable with his
answer. Nicholas was quite sure that the vampire could elaborate further
but didn't want to for whatever reason.
"I was just concerned that something might have happened that could
have affected him," the vampire finally settled on. "If there truly was no
event, then I guess he truly is just growing up and he will grow out of his
current behaviour quite soon…"
"If he's doing something wrong, we can talk to –" Cathérine started to say,
but the vampire interrupted her with a soft smile.
"That isn't necessary, for now, I think," he said. "Give him some time to
grow up. I promise that I will talk to you if the changes are intolerable. I
just came to make sure that nothing else happened…"
In the end, the vampire left again, leaving an uncomfortable Nicholas
alone with three other, baffled persons. And for a moment, just for a
moment, Nicholas actually thought about telling the others what
happened. Then he remembered his own promise to himself that he
wouldn't say a word until he knew the full story – and that story he had
yet to unravel.
xXxXxXxXx
Meanwhile a vampire walked away from a manor with a gleam in his
eyes.
"I guess that there is someone else to visit tonight," Anastasius Sanguini
murmured. "And I hope for Peverell's sake that he has a very good
explanation for hiding my own father from his family for nearly thirteen
years…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for now. Sorry, I couldn't resist to end here. xD
I hope you liked the chapter anyway…
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
43. Chapter 42: Twisting All
Around
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Twisting All Around
sss
Cornelius Fudge was seething.
"What do you mean that if I ever dare to threaten Xenophilius Lovegood
again I will get sued?" he cried. The man in front of him just looked at
him unruffled.
"Exactly what I said," he answered the red-faced Minister. "My clients
don't like that you tried to interfere with a private business. If you ever
dare to do so again, we will go to court – and believe me, Minister, it
won't end favourable for you."
Cornelius hissed wordlessly at that.
"I have every right to stop a liar from spreading his lies throughout the
population!" he finally spluttered. "And if The Quibbler doesn't give up
Oliver Twist I will make sure that that rag is shut down!"
"Like I said before, Minister, if you ever dare to come near Xenophilius
Lovegood again, if you ever dare to threaten him again – it will be the
last thing you will ever do," Magus Adam Selwyn, lawyer of
Morganaadth, said coolly. "Have a good day, Minister."
And with that the lawyer turned and left, leaving seething Fudge.
The minister gripped the magazine in his hands tighter, crumpling it
slightly.
"We will see how long you will stand behind that Oliver Twist when I
officially proclaim him a liar and disturber of peace!" he whispered. Of
course, he couldn't use the Daily Prophet to do so anymore since that
newspaper was now also printing Twist's article – but there were always
other ways.
"You will regret ever writing a single line, Twist," Fudge said, and with
that he threw the magazine across the room. It landed open, showing of
the article that Fudge despised more than anything else in the moment:
xXxXx
The Ministry's gamble
"Sirius Black is innocent!" with that unbelievable statement, the Wizengamot
meeting ended yesterday. Truly? Innocent?! I know, I pointed out the
probability of that, months ago – but to find out that Sirius Black, famed
mass-murderer, betrayer of the Potters, and right hand man of the Dark Lord
Tom Riddle never had a trial, still blows my mind.
Of course, you'll now say: "But you've already talked about Lord Black!" My
answer to that will be simple: Of course I have talked about said man before –
but back then it was mere speculation, contrary to now, when said
speculations were finally confirmed. What hasn't been confirmed so far instead
was the reason why it happened in the first place.
Fact is: Everyone – Death Eater and Imperius-victim – back then got a trial…
except, that is, Lord Sirius Black. Fact is as well that Sirius Black was hailed
as the right hand man of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, betrayer to the Potters,
and mass-murderer. One should think that at least two of those 'titles' would
have put Black on the top of the list of those who will get a trial – best by
shoving Veritasserum down his throat before bringing him into court, just to
ensure the truth, of course.
Instead he was quietly chucked away into Azkaban. Now, forget for a moment
that the Lord Black was innocent. Imagine that he wasn't. Do you know the
consequences?
The consequences would have been a man in Azkaban who would have known
exactly what Riddle was working on, who worked for him – marked and
unmarked followers – who was imperiused, who was imprisoned somewhere or
killed, who was still on the hit-list of his Death Eaters, etc. If Sirius Black truly
had been the right hand man, like he was hailed back then, shouldn't we
accuse the Ministry of not doing their duty? They had, as they thought back
then, a truly valuable prisoner in their care – and they did nothing!
The Longbottoms were attacked two days after Blacks imprisonment – do you
truly think that if Black would have been the right hand man of Voldemort he
wouldn't have known of the plan to attack this family?! The Bones' died four
days after, the McKinnons six – all deaths that could have been averted if the
Ministry truly would have believed their claim of Black's allegiance. And yet,
he was never questioned – as if the Ministry never cared about its own subjects
back then.
Of course, you might say: "But that was back then! We've got another Minister
now!" And I will have to answer you: "Yes, we do – but does that make him
any better than the last?"
Fact is: This Minister tried as well to discredit an innocent Lord – Lord Potter,
our saviour – by accusing him of staged charges. Fact is as well that he
dismisses the death of a young boy, Cedric Diggory, as unimportant even if the
murderer was never caught. Better yet, the Minister refuses to even ask the
only witness of Cedric Diggory's death for a statement. Instead he is trying to
discredit young Lords and innocent journalists.
And do you know the consequences of that?
The consequence is that there's a murder on the loose in the Wizarding World,
and yet, there is no one even looking into it. Just on Hallowe'en Azkaban
prison was broken into and known Death Eaters vanished. The Minster's first
reaction to that? Accusing Black – a man who was then proven innocent. So
the Minister simply went on to his next target: Accusing the man who
incriminated Black, Peter Pettigrew. And yet, even after finding out through
the evidence that Lord Black provided, the Minister is still unwilling to even
listen to our very own Saviour, Lord Potter, who told him that Pettigrew was
the one killing Cedric Diggory back then in summer. Isn't it finally time to get
together the evidence for the murder of an innocent seventeen year old? Isn't it
time to listen to the only survivor of what might have been an ordeal? Or do
you want to live with an unknown mass-murderer on the loose?
The ministry has locked away a man they thought to be the right hand man of
a Dark Lord without a trial once – are they willing to disregard what
knowledge they can gain through Lord Potter's memories about that new
threat, simply because one man is afraid that Lord Potter might have evidence
that he doesn't want to be true?
Think about the Bones, the Longbottoms, and the McKinnons. They all might
have lived if the ministry would have truly believed their claim of Lord Black
being the right hand man of Tom Riddle and using the knowledge he
supposedly had. If they just had questioned the man, maybe then Pettigrew
could have been found early and maybe then the true right hand man of Tom
Riddle would have given away the knowledge of those attacks before they
happened. We're now in a similar situation like back then. Lord Potter knows
the killer. Lord Potter has seen him – and yet, the ministry refuses to even view
his memories.
What if the murderer will murder again? Will you just watch on? Will you just
wait until you are the one on his target list? Just remember: There's someone
who can identify the ones who killed Cedric Diggory. Are you willing to be
responsible for further deaths because you disregarded the evidence you have?
The previous government is already partly at fault for the deaths of three
families – if you don't force the current one to act, can you be sure that it
won't be responsible for even more dead because of inaction in the end?
I, for my part, don't want to know. And so I plead with the Minister, with the
government, and everyone else who is willing to listen to give Lord Potter the
right to speak up about Cedric Diggory's death.
It's a simple case of viewing evidence – and yet, maybe it's the only hope for
potential future victims. If the Minister refuses, I will hold him responsible for
every future dead who's killed by the murderer who killed Cedric Diggory
thanks to the Minister's inaction. So I plead with the Ministry: Give Lord
Potter the right to finally speak up!
And maybe, if we're lucky, no other family will have to lose a child because
the murderer is caught before he or they can do more harm than they already
have…
Oliver Twist
xXxXx
Harry put down the newspaper he had been reading. He was quite happy
with the pre-arranged article he had send Xeno. Harry had known, thanks
to Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom, that Sirius' case would be
viewed by the Wizengamot, soon. So Harry had pre-written the article
since Amelia had told Augusta that there was no way that Sirius wouldn't
get free. Harry was quite proud of the article. It fit wonderfully into his
plans. Now he had just to put something else in motion – and if he had to
risk being tattled on for that one again, well, so be it…
His gaze wandered to his best female friend. Hermione was working on
her homework. She was scribbling frantically and Harry looked at her
sheet of parchment with interest. He read her work thoroughly, just to
read it again afterwards. After he had read it the third time he finally
decided to speak up – after all, what better time than now?
"Uh…Hermione?"
"What do you want, Harry?" Hermione asked, a little bit peeved that
Harry would bother her while she was doing her homework.
"What are you writing there?" Harry asked, still looking at her paper.
"My homework for Ancient Runes, Harry," she answered crisply.
Harry still did not stop looking. His eyes were traveling through her lines
as if he was reading them.
"I don't understand it," Harry said, making sure to sound troubled. "Are
you sure you are doing it right?"
"It's Ancient Runes, Harry," Hermione said coolly. "Of course you don't
understand it. I am writing Runes."
"Yeah, wrongly," Harry answered shortly, still letting his eyes wander.
"Your sentence does not make any sense."
"How would you know that?!"
"Look at it!" The boy answered. "Whatever you want to say – you don't
say it at all! Your whole text is full of grammar errors!"
"As if you would know!" Hermione snorted. Ron instead laughed.
"Don't annoy her too much, Harry," he howled laughing. "She might stop
helping us in our classes!"
"I don't need help in my classes, Ron," Harry answered shrugging. "And
she has written a lot of rubbish!"
"Harry!" Hermione stared at him angrily.
"No! Look, Hermione!" Harry retorted. "And those druids the runes used are
permanently differ from our use today – what the hell are you trying to say
with this sentence?!"
Hermione blinked. Of course she had heard Brezhoneg before. Her
teacher had spoken it when she read out the runes. But Harry's accent
was different. When Professor Babbling was reading the runes her
wording was halting and she had to think about every word she was
pronouncing carefully.
Sometimes Professor Babbling even gave them two or three possible
pronunciations – simply because they had no way knowing how the
druids had really pronounced their words.
Harry instead had been reading her sentence as if it was plain English.
Not hawed, not searching for words… just reading.
"Harry, what…?" She stopped, unsure what she really wanted to say.
"What?" Harry asked as if nothing special had happened. "Still not
convinced?"
This question finally let Hermione find her voice again.
"You… you have been reading runes, Harry!" She cried, still unable to
comprehend what just happened.
"Yes…" Harry said slowly, now looking at her as if she was a wild tiger
ready to strike.
"No-one is reading runes like that anymore!" Hermione tried to tell him.
"You shouldn't be able… Professor Babbling is one of the best at Ancient
Runes – and she still has to think about every word she is reading! How
can you read it as if it was plain English?!"
Harry blinked at that and stared at her text again, then at her and finally
again at her text. Then he shrugged.
"That doesn't matter, Hermione," Harry answered, shaking his head.
"Your use of runes is way more important! How do you want to use them
in magic when you are writing like that?!"
It took a moment to understand his question, and then Hermione looked
at him with complete confusion in her eyes.
"Harry, you can't use runes for magic," she said. "They are useful to
understand old texts – but they aren't used for any kind of magic."
When she finished her sentence, Harry sighed.
"Why, by wind and fire, do you think that runes can't be used in magic?!"
He said, shaking his head again. Hermione opened her mouth to reply…
she wasn't even sure what she wanted to say herself – just to be stopped
by Harry who continued as if nothing happened.
"Well… let's fix your text and maybe later I will show you…" he finally
said, adjusting her text so that he could read it better.
"This sentence I read before, what do you want to say?" He asked.
Hermione stared at him, still astonished by his words, but she answered
anyway.
"I wanted to write: And thus, the runes the druids used, are absolutely
different than the ones we use today." She answered.
"So you mixed up ehwaz and eihwaz again," Harry said.
"Huh?"
"Ehwaz," he pointed at the rune in her text. "This has to be eihwaz. When
you're writing the wrong rune here, the meaning changes and the 'thus'
you want to write will change in 'those' – which you definitely don't want
to write here."
"Huh?" Hermione looked down on her text, utterly flabbergasted.
"That can't be right, Harry," she finally said. "I am sure this word is
pronounced like written with ehwaz."
"It is," Harry answered shrugging. "It's still written with eihwaz, though.
It's just one of the exceptions."
"Exceptions? What exceptions?!" Hermione asked, now staring at Harry as
if he was crazy. "There are no exceptions!"
"Does your class have something like a dictionary?" Harry asked sighing.
"Of course!" Hermione answered peeved.
"Then look it up."
She stared at him for another three minutes, and then she took out her
runes-book and looked up the word. And there it stood in cold print –
written with eihwaz.
"How…?!"
"I told you it was written with eihwaz," Harry just said, shrugging. "That's
because it was once pronounced with it. So, let's change your sentence.
Write: And thus, the runes the druids used are absolutely different than the
ones we use today."
Hermione blinked again when he dictated her the sentence.
Finally she grabbed her quill again to write down what Harry had been
dictating her.
"Stop!" Harry said when she wrote the first rune.
"Really, Hermione! You can't write runes like that! You will ruin your
spell work!"
Hermione stared confused at her text while Ron now looked absolutely
flabbergasted from one of his friends to the other.
"What am I doing wrong now, Harry?" Hermione finally asked.
"Your runes are sluggish," Harry answered, shaking his head. "You have
to write them neat to use them for spell work."
"I am writing neat!" Hermione said coolly.
"No. You cannot change their outlining," Harry answered persistent.
"They all have to fit in a square."
"What are you talking about, Harry?!"
The boy sighed and claimed the quill in Hermione's hand with his left.
And then he wrote down the sentence beneath her own writing.
Hermione starred at the sentence.
She had to give it to Harry. When she compared her writing and his, hers
was definitely sloppy and childlike. With Harry, every letter he used
seemed to use the same space the others did – there was no difference,
even if the letter itself consisted just of a few strokes.
"Wow, that's really, really neat, Harry," Hermione said, still looking at the
written sentence. Harry just shrugged.
"It's the way it has to be, when you want to use them for magic," he
answered. "You should learn to write them properly like that."
Hermione still stared at the parchment in front of her.
"I doubt I will be able to write like that, Harry," she finally said.
"Then use something to help you, like… like the Muggle-math notebooks
or something like that."
"Harry – even if I don't write as neat as you do, I don't have to. You just
use runes for old texts, they have no other use and so I don't have to…"
Harry sighed at that and took out his wand. Before Hermione could even
finish her sentence, he drew a few runes in the air with it. The runes
flashed, and suddenly the noise of the common room vanished. It was as
if they suddenly were alone in the full room.
"Neat," Ron said. "What spell did you use, Harry?"
"No spell, Ron," Harry answered, stowing away his wand. "Runes."
Hermione gawked at him. Her gaze flew through the common room and
the missing noise and returned to the wizard who did this.
"How?" She asked.
"I told you, you can use runes for magic," Harry answered shrugging. "It's
a simple ward – something old family houses have. There is no
equivalent in normal spell work."
"But… but…" Hermione stuttered. "But why didn't Professor Babblings
tell us?!"
"Because using runes like that can be deadly if you do it wrong," Harry
answered, suddenly serious. "Spells you can easily reverse – runes you
can't. You have to disable their hold on you or you will never be able to
escape them. If you write them sloppy or wrongly you will suffer for it –
die for it if your spell work was a more complex one."
"Stop! What about the runes you used here?!" Ron asked suddenly
fearfully. "You know… you know how to reverse them, do you?! I don't
want to be deaf forever!"
"You're not deaf," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "I just silenced this
area. When you walk two feet this way…" he pointed to the crowed area
of the room. "…you will be able to hear all of them again. The runes are
not keeping you here, so the worst that could happen would be having a
prank-plotting area in the middle of the common room. Nothing grave.
And don't worry. I know how to un-spell the area again. I also did
nothing wrong because I can write runes and I know my grammar – so no
danger here."
"Neat," was Ron's reply, while he stood up and walked two feet to his
right until he left the silenced area and returned. "Absolutely neat – can
you teach me, Harry?!"
"I don't think I can," Harry answered. "You need a lot of knowledge
beforehand to even try to cast anything simple. You do not learn it over
night."
"Well, you seem to have just done that," Hermione said, looking at him
strangely. "When exactly did you learn this?!"
Harry grinned and shrugged.
"A long time ago," he answered. "A really long, long time ago."
For a moment, Hermione hesitated and Harry could again see the
suspicion in her eyes. He returned her gaze evenly, his eyes promising
her that if she even dared to go to Dumbledore with this, it would be the
last time ever that she would be able to call herself 'friend'. Hermione's
eyes widened, then she snorted.
"Very funny, Harry," she said, choosing to ignore the unexplainably of
Harry's talent. "And now tell me who taught you this stuff to prank me."
At that Harry sighed.
"No one," he answered seriously. "I did not learn anything to prank you –
I am in fact not pranking you at all. I thought you might want to have
help."
Hermione stared at him with unbelieving eyes.
"Look – if you don't trust me, why don't you let me help you and
afterwards go to someone else so that he or she can look it over," Harry
suggested. "I am sure you know some older Gryffindors or even
Ravenclaws that have taken Ancient Runes as well. They can tell you if
my suggestions really sound totally wrong. Or go directly to the Professor
if you don't trust their judgement. I don't mind this time around."
For a moment it looked as if Hermione did not want to do something like
that, but then she nodded.
"Okay, help me. But if it's wrong then do never bother me again, deal?"
"Deal," Harry answered shrugging. He did not need to help her at all, but
it was the perfect opportunity to set up his stage and he also had decided
to try to kit the friendship with her a little bit. He knew that he did not
involve her or Ron like the younger Harry had used to, so he had
searched for a way to still be friends with them – even if they weren't his
closest friends anymore…
Now he had just to wait until Hermione would show it to someone else –
and Harry was pretty sure that she would go to the professor of Ancient
Runes with it and not to some other student. Of course, she might even
go to Dumbledore but Harry was sure that she wouldn't risk it for now.
She was still collecting evidence about his changes – and maybe, just
maybe, she would be able to accept that he was different without going
to Dumbledore first. If she couldn't, Harry wasn't sure if her friendship
was still worth it to hold on. He couldn't live with friends who spied on
him for one of his enemies after all…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
A day later, Professor Bathsheda Babbling had an interesting visitor after
lunch.
"Miss. Granger," she greeted the young girl when said girl entered her
office. "How may I help you?"
"Well…" the girl hesitated.
"Don't worry, just tell me," Bathsheda said and finally the girl stepped
forward and showed her an essay.
"Could you look through it and tell me if the grammar is right,
professor?" the girl asked and Bathsheda raised one of her eyebrows.
"You know I cannot…"
"No! It's just that you know most when it comes to ancient runes and
while I was writing the essay for this class someone saw it and corrected
my grammar but… but I don't know if I can trust his advice because I…
well, because I thought he knows nothing about ancient runes…"
Bathsheda frowned when she heard the girl's explanation but still took
the essay. The first thing she noted was that the style of the essay was
completely different. While Hermione Granger did know her runes she
still wrote in a style a young child would use. The grammar in this essay
was more complex and more correct then anything Bathsheda had ever
seen produced by a student.
"Do you have something that is written by this mystical person?"
Bathsheda finally asked the girl. Hermione Granger turned to her
schoolbag and started to look through it. Finally she handed Bathsheda
another parchment, this time written by someone completely different.
Bathsheda could see the difference without even trying to. While
Hermione Granger did write neat – the person who had written the
sentences on the other parchment did write even neater. Hermione
Granger's letters looked like something produced by a child when you
compared them both.
"He told me that I write like a baby," Hermione Granger declared in that
moment. "He also told me that I would be unable to ever use those runes
in magic when I don't learn to write neat."
Bathsheda blinked and looked at the girl in front of her.
"I would like to meet this mysterious person," she said finally.
"So… so the grammar is correct?" the girl asked hesitating.
Bathsheda snorted. "More than correct. I would say absolutely perfect,
not even a master can write like that. That's the style used in books that
are centuries old. I never thought a student would ever be good enough
to even come near something like that. Normally it takes decades to write
neat and grammatically good enough to write like your friend. When he's
really as good as it looks like I really need to speak with him. Someone
with so much talent should pursuer ancient runes."
Hermione Granger starred at her.
"He is really that good?" she asked astonished.
Bathsheda nodded.
"He could be a Rune Master in no time," she answered. "Whoever your
friend is – I cannot belief he did not elect the subject in third year!"
The girl in front of her blinked.
"How do you know…?"
"I am sure I would have found him long ago if he had taken my class,"
Bathsheda answered. "Would you be so kind and tell him to come to me?"
"I… I will," the girl stuttered. Then she hesitated before she added, "thank
you for checking my essay." And with that the girl left. Bathsheda's gaze
followed her, while she tried to figure out who in this whole school knew
so much in runes that it equaled her own knowledge – or even surpassed
it…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Bathsheda got her answer just a few hours later. She was sitting in her
office, trying to translate a text she had found in the library some weeks
ago.
The text was old and written in runes and Brezhoneg. It was about
transfigurations and Bathsheda was sure that it had information in it that
Minerva McGonagall would steal for. The only problem Bathsheda had,
was that the text was too complex for her to understand it fully.
She had translated the most of it but there were a lot of text passages she
simply wasn't sure about. She sighed and put down the book again to
close her eyes. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to translate the
text fully.
In that moment the door to her office opened. Bathsheda looked up just
to see Harry Potter coming in and closing the door softly behind him.
A warm red glow indicated a ward of some kind that fell into place when
he closed the door.
"What…?" she started, but was interrupted by the boy himself.
"You wanted to see me, Professor," he said neutrally.
"Uh… I did?" she said, a little bit stumped.
"You asked Hermione Granger to send for me a few hours ago," the boy
answered softly.
It took a moment to catch up for Bathsheda.
"So you are this mysterious person who has a better grasp for ancient
runes than any other student I ever saw."
The boy shrugged and stepped forward to her desk.
Bathsheda smiled at him when she saw his interest in the book before her
on the desk.
"I try to translate it for your Head of House," she told him. The boy said
nothing but he turned the book in front of her to look at it. Bathsheda
saw his eyes travel through the lines faster than her own could.
"Permanent transfiguration – a complicated subject you are translating
there, Professor," the boy said.
"You can tell?" Bathsheda asked surprised. The boy in front of her
snorted.
"I am able to read, Professor," he answered.
"But that's a really complicated text in runes…" Bathsheda said surprised.
The boy just shrugged and turned her translation to also look through it.
"You have made some mistakes in there," the boy said.
Bathsheda looked at him startled and turned the texts so that she could
read them.
"I do not think so…"
"Oh, but you have," the boy said. "Let me explain…"
The next half an hour Bathsheda learned more about Ancient Runes than
she had ever before. The things the boy mentioned were startling but at
the same time fitting. Suddenly the text she had been trying to
comprehend for the last three weeks made absolute sense to her.
While the boy spoke, she took hastily written notes, promising herself
that she would write them better later. The boy frowned when he saw
her writing down her runes.
"You are also not writing neat," the boy said.
Bathsheda blinked at him in surprise and looked down on her notes.
"I just need to know what you said later," she told him. "There is no need
to write neat."
The boy frowned again, clearly not agreeing in opinion but he said
nothing and just continued.
Finally he stopped.
"You should try to translate the book with this information. I think that
might be enough to understand everything," he declared.
Bathsheda looked down on her notes and back up to him.
"How do you know all that…?" she asked. "There is no-one that knows…"
"Family Magick," the boy answered. "I am not allowed to tell you."
Family Magick.
Bathsheda was sure that the Family Magicks the boy was talking about
weren't the runes itself but the comprehending he had for them. She had
heard a lot about Family Magick before. Her family, the Babbling Family,
and all the other traditional families had a kind of Family Magick.
Normally it was a special ability that the family-members were born
with.
She had heard about a lot of abilities that counted to Family Magicks.
Because of that she knew of the fire-ability that once travelled through
the line of Pendragon – or that's what the legends and myths of the
Pendragon-line talked about. She knew that the Potter family had the
ability to guide energy. Still, there were abilities not every family
displayed. Some abilities were kept hidden – maybe like the ability that
enabled the young Potter in front of her to understand the runes and the
language they were written in so easily.
And it was this thought that led her to another idea.
"So you have the ability to understand texts like that easily?" she asked
the boy.
Harry Potter nodded.
"Have you ever tried it with another language then Brezhoneg? Or with
different runes?" this time the boy shrugged.
"Why should I?" he asked innocently.
"Well, I have an old, worn, black, leather book with faded green writing
on it," the she answered. "I do not understand it and I have not found a
way to translate it until now."
"And you wish for me to take a look at it," the boy concluded.
Bathsheda stared at Harry Potter. And there she had heard some of the
other teachers complain that he did not pick up on things fast enough...
Instead of answering, she stood up and opened one of her cupboards.
There the book she had lend from the library was stored in. Bathsheda
had wanted to try to translate it but she had to stop at the first page. The
writing of the book was extremely neat but the language used was no
language known by her. She guessed it was an old dialect that had been
forgotten long ago. To her dismay she had not found a starting point to
understand it until now.
"I fear you also might not be able…" Bathsheda started, but stopped when
Harry Potter took the book from her hands and started to leaf through it.
He finally opened the book fully on one page, his finger traveling through
the lines.
Bathsheda held her breath. It would not be so easy – would it?!
"Are… are you able to understand…?" Bathsheda asked the boy. Harry
Potter looked up and in her eyes.
"I think I am," he answered. "But I must look at it more closely to be sure.
Would you mind if I take it and try to translate it?"
Bathsheda stared at the boy in front of her. Several questions were filling
her mind. How was he able to read what even she was unable to?! How
could he understand runes without learning them before?! She knew he
had been raised by his Muggle Aunt so there was no way he had learned
to read runes at home – so how…?!
Was it really just the Family Magick?!
But before she could even utter one sentence, the boy's eyes pierced into
her own. Something shifted in her mind and she started to forget what
was so special about the book in the young boy's hands before her.
"May I take it?" He asked her and she found herself nodding the positive.
"Thank you."
And with that the boy left the room, leaving behind Bathsheda, who was
still unable to comprehend, what exactly had happened. After all, the
book the boy had taken was nothing special at all – so why bothering to
ask her for it? It had been old, worn and strained, and some pages had
gone missing. She had found it today between her other books and had
thought to throw it away. And she would have put it in the waste bin if
he wouldn't have taken it before…
So why had he even bothered to ask for it?!
Bathsheda would never know that her memory had been shifted that day
so that the book was nothing special anymore in her mind at all…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That night, Harry and Regulus met in the Chamber of Secrets.
"Alright, I've got the book," Harry said. "I'll soon be able to work around
the current wards to add my own ward for the Horcrux detection to
them."
"So you didn't find its whereabouts in the castle when you did the ritual?"
Reg asked concerned. Harry shook his head.
"Tommy interfered," he said, and Regulus blinked confused.
"Tommy?"
"Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord," Harry answered. "I don't
think that he actually ever grew up enough to be a Tom, so I usually call
him Tommy in my head…"
Reg raised an eyebrow at that.
"You're awfully interested in talking today," he remarked and Harry
shrugged.
"I'm dying. I have the right to have some fun before I kick the bucket," he
answered and immediately there was concern in Reg's eyes to see.
"What do you mean: 'You are dying?'!" he asked, his face rapidly losing
colour. Harry just smiled at him.
"There's always a price to pay," Harry said. "The ritual on Hallowe'en
basically went wrong – the consequences to something like that are
always death or losing one's mind. Since I'm actually quite depended on
my mind, I'm quite happy that I got the first consequences to deal with."
"And you choose to tell me that I'll lose you quite soon just like that?
Without further warning in a single sentence?" Reg exclaimed in
disbelieve. Harry just rolled his eyes.
"You and I know that you're just here with me because I'm about to kill
off Tom. If I wouldn't, you wouldn't be there."
"You basically raised me from the moment you pulled me out of that
lake! You are the one who's responsible that I'm a half-way decent human
being now! Do you truly believe that I wouldn't care about you if you
weren't about to kill the Dark Lord?"
Harry thought about that for a moment. Then he shrugged. "No," he said.
"But it doesn't matter either way."
"You're dying and –"
"And I still have some time until it's truly something to be concerned
about. I guess my death is at least half a year away – so may we return to
more pressing matters now?"
Reg opened his mouth at that, but then just closed it.
"Alright," he gave in. "What do you think is more important than you
dying?"
"I had a stint into Tommy's mind while I scared away the Dementors that
he wanted to recruit," Harry answered. "I might not have found the
location of the Hogwarts Horcrux – but I have a good guess about
another one now…"
"And how did that happen?" Reg wanted to know and Harry grinned.
"Seems that even as a half insane ghost-like being I'm still capable of
doing something usable," he said smirking. "When I used the rune
connection I built between him and me to pull me to him, I got a short
glance not only in his emotions and current plans, but into his past as
well. Truly, if I had known how usable that damn rune-connection could
be, I would have done a more thorough one than I did back then…"
"If you could do it – why didn't you?" Reg asked surprised and Harry
grimaced.
"Because, truthfully, I'm quite happy that I can stay out of his mind for
the most parts. I needed the connection to him to ensure that I have some
warning before he acts and to manipulate him to some kind – but the
connection can go both ways, and I definitely don't want to find a Dark
Lord in my mind. My knowledge of the Dark Arts would make him to a
nearly unstoppable opponent if he ever had access to it. I wouldn't risk
it."
"Better so," Reg said gulping.
"My thoughts exactly," Harry said gravely. "Still – doesn't change my wish
that it would be different, sometimes… Now, back to the knowledge I
gained thanks to my involuntary visit at the Azkaban raid."
"So… what did you find out?" Reg asked sighing.
"I need some information about Tom Riddle's family, his Wizarding
family, the Gaunts," Harry answered. "If I understood it right then he has
hidden one of his Horcruxes at the old home of the Gaunt family."
"So you want me to collect that information?" Reg asked with a raised
eyebrow.
"Well, I can't leave here," Harry said shrugging.
"And I'm dead," Reg commented.
Harry grinned at that.
"Even more the reason for you to do it," he said. "There's no way that
anybody will recognize you when you break into the Ministry –"
"And I thought that Augusta Longbottom was helping you now," Reg said
sneering. "She's part of the Wizengamot. Can't you send her?"
"Well, I originally planned to send her to retrieve the information – but
you seemed quite eager to do it yourself…" he answered grinning. "I
wouldn't dare to object if you wish to do something more than to be my
messenger to Augusta."
Reg snorted at that.
"So you send a dead man as a messenger?"
Harry shrugged at that.
"Dobby and Winky can't do it. I need someone who can do some research
in the Muggle world, if we have to. Augusta knows nothing about the
Muggle world and Dobby and Winky can't enter it without being obvious,
I can't go since I'm a student here – so you're the only one left."
"Great!" Regulus exclaimed. "Just great! I've been 'dead' for over fifteen
years – I am happy to be 'dead'! And now you send me to one of the
members of the Wizengamot to work with! What about me being a happy
'dead'? I don't want to 'live' again!"
Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Don't complain, Reg. You knew for at least six years that you would
return to the 'living' again sometime in the future. Your brother's free
now, meaning that he might need someone to have his back when he
takes on his true place as Lord Black. You're the only one who can
support him, so it would be good for you to return slowly to the 'living'
now."
"My brother hasn't even shown any interest in his lordship until now!"
Reg said.
Harry just shrugged, but said nothing, so Reg continued agitated: "You
and I know that he despises his family! He wouldn't even think about
taking on the lordship of house Black now that he's free!"
"He wouldn't," Harry answered nodding. "And that's the reason why you
have to meet Augusta and work with her. You have to build at least a
working relationship, at best an alliance with her. Sirius won't be able to
get out of his duties when Augusta presses for him to acknowledge the
alliance. Not even Sirius is idiotic enough to refuse to acknowledge
Augusta if she tells him that your families are allies."
"But Sirius is already free – I can't build any alliances with Augusta now
that Black has a lord again –"
"But that's it," Harry said, grinning. "Black doesn't have a lord yet. Like
you said, Sirius refuses to be lord. As long as he refuses, his heir has still
the right to build alliances. And since I'm now allied with Augusta, she
won't take long to express an interest of alliance with you – especially if I
am the one to send you to her in the first place. It's only logical, after all,
to be allied with the allies of your allies."
For a moment, Reg remained silent. Then he sighed.
"And you decided to wait to do that until now – why?"
"Because I still needed a reason to start an alliance – and that reason was
just provided by Tom a few days ago," Harry grinned at that.
"The Horcrux's search outside of Hogwarts!" Regulus said, surprise in his
voice.
"The Horcrux's search outside of Hogwarts," Harry repeated content, and
Regulus closed his eyes and groaned.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Moody sat down silently. All around him the rest of the Order of the
Phoenix was talking among themselves while they waited for their leader
to arrive.
The only one who wasn't even interested in conversation was Alastor
Moody.
He was thinking.
In his mind the words of Harry Potter – no, Harryjames Potter – repeated
all over again.
Albus Dumbledore could have stopped Grindelwald before the man even
would have truly started – by simply opening his mouth.
Albus Dumbledore could have stopped Voldemort before he even turned
dark if he just had decided to act instead of watching.
But those weren't the worst parts.
"He calls you his right hand man, one of his closest friends," Harryjames
had said. "And yet, you were locked into your own trunk without him
even noticing the difference for a whole year."
When Moody had been freed, he had originally never blamed Albus
Dumbledore. Now instead, this sureness had ceased to exist.
Albus had known him for over sixty years. They had worked together,
travelled together – and yet Albus had noticed nothing strange over the
last year?!
"Or he noticed it and decided to use it to his benefits, never even thinking
about your predicament," a voice that sounded suspiciously like
Harryjames' whispered in his head. "He's manipulative. You know that.
You've adored that in the past. Do you truly think that he wouldn't have
used the opportunity if it had presented itself to him?"
Moody figured that the most horrible part of those thoughts wasn't that
Albus was a manipulative bastard – Moody had suspected that for years.
No, the most horrible part was that Moody finally knew that Albus
Dumbledore would do everything to reach his ultimate goal – and if it
meant to damn a fifteen-year-old boy and his right hand man, so be it.
Moody wasn't sure if he could accept that.
In that moment, Albus entered and Moody forced his thoughts to return
to the present. It was time to talk about guard-duties and possible plans
of the dark lord.
"I wonder why we have never included Harryjames Potter into these
meetings," Moody mused. "They are about him, after all. Shouldn't he at
least know about the danger he's in and what we do to stop it from
reaching him?"
But maybe those thoughts were just fueled by the desperate need for
another Slytherin – Snape definitely didn't count in Moody's eyes – in this
ocean of Gryffindors the Order consisted of.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Tom Riddle, by the Wizarding World mostly known as 'Lord Voldemort',
was currently in a bad mood. The reason was his new ally, Anastasius
Sanguini, Head of Cruoris Coven of the vampires.
"So, that's what you're doing all day long? Sitting around and waiting for
nothing?" The vampire said with interest in his voice before looking
around the ball room they were currently inhabiting. The room was
empty except of them and two other Death Eaters. Even Lucius Malfoy,
the Head of the family whose manor they were currently using, had
found a way to be anywhere but at the Dark Lord's side. Not that other
Death Eaters could fault him for that. Their Lord had been in a fool mood
since the raid on Azkaban and the refusal of the Dementors to join their
alliance.
Since then, Tom Riddle had used his days to search ancient tomes for the
odd occurrence he had witnessed in Azkaban. He had long since rebutted
that the appearance had anything to do with his nemesis Potter – after
all, every Death Eater with a child at Hogwarts could affirm that the boy
was firstly, still at Hogwarts, and secondly, very much alive – and had
since then tried to find out what had scared away one of his best possible
allies in this coming war.
Until now, he hadn't found an answer to that at all…
"Isn't it a bit… dreary… to sit here all day watching an empty room?" the
vampire asked in that moment. His voice ripped Tom Riddle out of his
musing and the dark lord looked up irritated. The vampire's face wasn't
even an inch away from his own face, studying him closely.
Voldemort snarled, whipped out his wand and aimed it at his opponent.
"Crucio!"
The spell flew through the room, hitting one of his two Death Eaters
instead of the vampire he had been aiming at. The vampire himself had
sidestepped the curse without even breaking a sweat.
Now, he was watching the Death Eater who had been hit writhing on the
floor in agony.
Then he turned back to look at the dark lord.
"Don't you think that it's a bit counterproductive to torture your allies
without a reason? It might make it a little bit harder to gather new ones
if your treatment of your current ones comes out into the open," the
vampire commented, his eyes still glued in fascination on the twitching
form of the Death Eater.
The other Death Eater looked at the one on the floor and then fled the
room.
Voldemort instead roared with agitations after listening to the vampire's
comment.
"No need to go berserk on me," the vampire said, turning his eyes back
towards the dark lord. "I was just saying…"
Voldemort took aim at the vampire again.
"Crucio!"
This time, he hit the candelabra.
The vampire's gaze followed the spell and both, dark lord and vampire,
watched the candelabra first swinging dangerously before crashing to the
floor.
"I'm also not too sure if your allies take it too kindly if you are that
careless with their property," Anastasius commented dryly.
The dark lord turned his furious red eyes towards the loud mouthed
vampire. His wand again took aim.
The vampire watched it warily.
"You sure you want to do another spell?" he asked. "What if you bring
down the manor around us this time around? You don't seem too good at
aiming, after all…"
The furious roar this time around could be heard all over the manor and
its grounds.
Lucius Malfoy shivered in his study. Since that damn vampire had joined
their ranks, the dark lord had been even more often in a dark mood.
Sometimes, Lucius dearly regretted the day Anastasius Sanguini had
joined the Death Eaters. Sometimes Lucius regretted that he himself had
joined. And sometimes he regretted dearly that he had offered his home
to house the dark lord…
In this moment, another crash could be heard from the hall.
"I told you, your aim is off," the vampire could be heard. "Or did you
actually want to hit your Death Eater so that he crashes into the antique
crockery? I doubt that neither your host nor your target will be happy
with the outcome you had here…"
Yes, there were definitely days that made Lucius regret every decision he
had ever made concerning the dark lord. And today was one of these
days.
"Luckily, it's one of the last ones," Lucius thought. He didn't want to
replace his whole manor – and if Anastasius Sanguini wouldn't stop to irk
the dark lord soon, it was more than likely that that was the final
outcome for whoever would be unfortunate to house those two in the
future…
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Harry was walking down to dinner when he saw the fifth year Slytherins
coming from the dungeons.
"Perfect," he said to himself, before wandering over to them to intercept
before they reached the Great Hall. He had not been planning the whole
thing until now, but he guessed that he could get started on it today
without any problems. And if Hermione complained – well, it had been
her who had asked him to do it in the first place. She couldn't fault him
for actually taking his new task seriously, could she?
Harry guessed she couldn't, so he was safe. With that thought he pulled
out his wand and wrote some runes into the air. A second later they
flashed golden and vanished. That took Harry as his cue to approach the
fifth year Slytherins.
"I know this is not the usual way for Gryffindors to act," Harry started,
looking at the Slytherins in front of him. "But I also know that you are
also suffering under the teaching methods of the new Defense Against the
Dark Arts teacher. So I will ask you anyway."
"Ask us what?" Malfoy asked. It was clear that the blond heir was still the
spokesman of the fifth year Slytherins like he had been since first year.
"I'm here to ask you to join the defence association me and my friends are
forming. It could be beneficial for you as well, considering that you like
us have to pass OWL's at the end of the year," Harry answered.
Malfoy sneered at that.
"And why would we need to join your… defence association?" he asked
unimpressed.
"Because, if you like it or not, you will have trouble passing your defence
OWL if you don't get some training in actually casting the spells you
should be learning this year. The defence association could help you with
that, if you join."
"And why should we even think about joining something a Gryffindor has
initiated?" Another Slytherin, Theodore Nott asked with a raised
eyebrow.
Harry just shrugged.
"Because I offered and you are Slytherins, meaning you take an
advantage if you get it," he answered. "I'm currently the best in defence
of year five. It would be… totally un-Slytherin to not even think about
my offer."
At that, Theodore Nott and some others snorted.
"You truly think that you can keep it from Umbridge?" Blaise Zabini
asked. "You truly think that it will stay a secret if you ask people in the
corridors of Hogwarts willy-nilly?"
"Why not?" Harry answered grinning. "It's not as if I haven't been able to
keep things from the teachers before while still talking out here in the
open…"
Theodore Nott just shook his head at that.
"Recklessness," he said and others nodded at that.
That was the moment, Malfoy decided to re-enter the conversation.
"And how will you stop us from talking about your plans to Umbridge,
now that we know of them?" He said. Harry just smiled.
"I don't need to stop you," he answered. "You were already stopped before
I even talked to you."
Malfoy snorted.
"Sure thing, Potter," he said disbelieving.
"So you don't believe me," Harry said, then he shrugged. "Well, we'll see
who's right in the end. Just think about my offer, will you?"
And with that he turned away from them with the intention to enter the
Great Hall. It was Malfoy's voice that stopped him in his tracks.
"Whatever you try to do, Potter, it will not succeed. Just leave it be –
when you don't you might regret it!" He hissed.
Harry just raised an eyebrow at the boy in front of him.
"Regret what?" He asked and turned back towards the Slytherins.
"Regret your try to turn us against the Dark Lord!" Malfoy answered.
"And don't you dare to tell me that that wasn't your intention from the
start!"
Harry just shrugged.
"Not truly," he said and Malfoy snorted. So Harry raised an eyebrow and
looked at the boy in front of him.
"Don't tell me that you truly want to follow 'The Dark Lord'?" He asked
incredulously.
"Of course!" Malfoy hissed. "Why shouldn't we?" The other Slytherins
meanwhile looked at each other with hesitation in their eyes.
Harry acted as if he hadn't seen it and focused on Malfoy instead. It
seemed like it was time for a little teaching...
"Then you want to be a bigoted idiot who is licking the boots of a half-
blood?" He asked the boy in front of him. "And I thought you are a
Slytherin."
"I am a Slytherin!" Malfoy hissed and Harry saw the other Slytherins from
higher years beside him turning to them. They clearly had started to
listen. Harry smirked inwardly. Perfect.
"You are?" He asked, seemingly astonished. "And I thought a true
Slytherin is clever, cunning and ambitious. What is ambitious about
being a boot-licker? What is clever about following a mere mud-blood
blindly in your demise? What is cunning about letting you be branded
like a cow or a slave? No! You don't sound like a Slytherin to me. You
sound like a coward."
As an answer Malfoy hurled a borderline dark spell at him. Harry just
smirked and reached with his bare hand for the magic. The spell changed
its direction and started to dance together with Harry's fingers. Then
Harry took the light into his hand and it vanished without a trace.
The Slytherins around him stared at him.
"A Slytherin knows to use every situation for his advantage. He knows
when to show his strength and when to hide it," Harry said softly. "He
would never start a fight against someone he does know nothing about."
And with that Harry rose his other hand. Golden runes glowed on the
floor and in the next second Malfoy was imprisoned in a golden cage out
of light.
The Malfoy-heir stared at him, the fear clearly visible in his eyes. Harry
just looked at him for a moment, then he banished the light-cage and left
the boy unharmed.
"What…?" Malfoy asked clearly baffled about Harry's actions.
"A Slytherin knows when it's time to humiliate his opponent and when it's
time to leave it be," Harry said. "You are clearly a strong wizard, Draco
Malfoy. As a Slytherin, I know that having you on my side would be
more advantageous then having you as an opponent. Think about it. I
even might teach you some tricks like those I showed you today."
And with that Harry turned and left the Slytherins stand where they
were.
Malfoy stared after him.
"You are no Slytherin!" He finally cried just before Harry could vanish
around a corner. Harry stopped and turned. Then he smirked.
"But I am," he answered smiling widely. "I would have been sorted into
Slytherin if I hadn't begged the Sorting Hat not to."
"But… why?" another Slytherin asked with huge eyes.
Harry smirked.
"Because no one would ever suspect to find a snake in a lion's fur," and
with that he vanished around the corner.
Only time would tell if his little stunt had changed his standing in the
eyes of Slytherin. Harry was quite sure that it had. The Slytherins would
come to his defence association – if it was for his words or the display of
his power, Harry would see. The most important thing was their
involvement, and that was something that he had ensured today...
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Cornelius Fudge took a deep breath, then he opened the meeting of the
Wizengamot. He had asked for the meeting just a few days ago and
unlike normally, he had insisted on the Wizarding Wireless to join them.
"Today, I'm here to speak to you about a grievous matter," he said.
"Unfortunately I've become aware of an approaching threat to our ways
of life. A threat which will destroy everything we love if we don't stop it
now when it's still easily stoppable!"
He could see that he now had the attention of every member of the
Wizengamot as well as the attention of the reporter of the Wizarding
Wireless. Fudge was quite sure that he had the attention of the rest of the
Wizarding World as well.
"I am talking about a liar and a disturbance for our peaceful ways of life!"
he continued. "I'm talking about someone who's trying to bring the public
to go against their government! If we don't do something soon, this man,
this disturber of peace, will bring down our society with all the lies he's
sprouting!"
This time he could see the concerned gazes that were exchanged between
the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot.
"I am talking about someone who is able to deceive the common man
with sweet sounding words and false promises! A man who doesn't mind
to use even the most reputable business to reach his shady goals," he
continued while basking in the attention. "I am talking about Oliver
Twist."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today. Sorry it took so long, college, you know.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
44. Chapter 43: Ready To Kill
Target Two
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
I'm sorry it took so long. I was in Japan on holiday and because of that unable
to write for some time.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Ready To Kill Target Two?
sss
"Albus, I need to talk to you," Moody said sighing after their usual
meeting of the Order of the Phoenix ended.
"Of course, my friend," Albus Dumbledore answered, but Moody still
waited until the kitchen in Grimmauld Place was empty before even
thinking about continuing.
"Well, my friend, what troubles you?" Moody frowned at that inwardly.
Did Dumbledore truly think of him as a friend – or was he just a weapon,
ready for use? Until now, Moody had never distrusted Dumbledore's
friendship, but there were some questionable things in the past now that
couldn't be explained with a laugh and a wink. And unlike before,
Harryjames Potter had opened Moody's eyes for them…
"There are some… rumours, I want to talk about," Moody finally said and
the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes creased to exist.
"Rumours?" he asked, sounding a little bit concerned. "New ones?"
"Yes," Moody sighed.
"Well – what did the Ministry come up this time around?" Dumbledore
said resigned and Moody felt nearly bad for starting with the words he
had – but then, it was the easiest explanation.
"There are rumours about you joining the fight with Grindelwald late," he
said anyway, watching Dumbledore's face closely. "Rumours that you
refused to do anything before he was at the height of his power."
At that, Dumbledore's cheerful face twisted into a grimace before
smoothing out again.
"It seems that the Malfoy family is at its peak again," he said sighing and
Moody frowned.
Malfoy?
Why Malfoy?
"Why do you think it's the Malfoys, Albus?" he asked half-confused and
half-afraid that Harryjames Potter had gained that information from an
unreliable source.
"Because it's always them and the Blacks accusing me of having done
nothing in the war with Grindelwald," Dumbledore answered.
Moody raised an eyebrow at that.
"The Malfoy family and the Blacks accuse you of Grindelwald's reign?" He
asked disbelieving.
Dumbledore just sighed.
"It's actually more the Malfoire family and not their British branch,"
Dumbledore corrected. "But in the end – yes, they and the Blacks do. It's
not even truly explainable. We've worked well together the day we
brought down Grindelwald. Your father would have told you the same if
he had survived that day."
Moody frowned at that.
He himself had been a ten year old child back then – a child who had
adored Albus Dumbledore because his mother and father seemed to do
the same. Of course he had heard about the battle in which his father had
died. Moody had wanted to be exactly like his dad back then and because
of that had done everything to be not seen as a child but a friend by
Albus Dumbledore like his father had been…
And yet, it hadn't been Albus who had told his mother about his father's
death.
"I've never found out how my father died that day," Moody said nearly
silently, averting his eyes to hide the truth from Albus all-knowing stare,
and Albus smiled at him a sad smile at that.
"He died a hero, my friend," Albus Dumbledore said.
"I'm sorry, he died protecting me while I was trying to get my cousin to safety,"
the tired voice of a dirty and grim man in rags echoed through Moody's
mind – a voice he remembered from when he was ten. It had been the
worst day in his life back then – and yet, it had shown him exactly what
a man his father had been. "We had planed ahead… but there were
complications and…"
"It didn't go as planed," another tired and haggard man said when the first
one couldn't say anything anymore. "I was too late to shield him. In the end,
it's my fault that he died."
"But he knew that we had to stop Grindelwald," Dumbledore continued.
"In the end, he died willingly for the Greater Good."
Alastor Moody had known Albus Dumbledore for his whole life. He knew
that his mother and father had loved the man as a good friend – one of
their best friends. And yet, Alastor Moody remembered the day he heard
about his father's death as the day Albus Dumbledore, hero and defeater
of Grindelwald, hadn't been there to comfort his mum.
"He's a busy man right now," his mother had said with a shaky voice. "He
must be exhausted." And Alastor had believed her because Albus
Dumbledore had always been a good friend of his parents, a good man,
and Alastor had hero-worshiped him long before the day he defeated
Grindelwald.
And yet, there had been two men on their doorstep the same day his
father died – ragged, dead on their feet and yet determinated to tell his
mother what had happened to her husband – and now, fifty years later
Moody wondered suddenly why Albus Dumbledore hadn't come that day
when the heir of House Black had found the time to do so…
"The wizarding world was rejoicing that day," Dumbledore mused, lost in
his memory. "It was a great day for wizarding Europe. I'm sure your
father would have loved to see that his sacrifice ensured our victory…"
"And yet you don't even know how he died," Moody thought to himself
and his respect of Albus Dumbledore fell a little bit more. "You have no
idea how the man you called one of your best friends actually died."
Moody would have wanted to know if it had been his…
"I still don't understand how the Blacks and Malfoires think that you
could have done more that day," Moody grumbled.
Albus Dumbledore sighed.
"The Head of Malfoire back then… was a very… driven man," he said.
"He was allied with the Blacks and some others like the Princes. There
were also some other wizard families from all over Europe part of his
group like the Delacours from France and the Aichingers from Germany.
He and his allies entered the battle with Grindelwald unprepared and
never forgave me for saving them." Albus Dumbledore shook his head
sadly. "They were just minutes from total annihilation, yet refused to see
it even after we saved them. Pride, I guess."
Then Albus smiled at Moody again.
"Don't worry about those rumours," he said. "Like I said, the Malfoires
hold a grudge. I'm quite sure it will blow over within a few days. It's old
news, after all."
Moody nodded.
"Alright, Albus," he said. "Whatever you say."
With that, he left.
"Delacours, huh?" he thought to himself. He knew the old head of
Delacours. The man had also been a good friend of his father and like
with Dumbledore, Moody had basically grown up with the man. "Seems
that I have to ask the old man what he has to say to the battle of
Grindelwald…"
And unlike ever before, Moody was ready to listen to the old man and his
ramblings about 'Sal Sanctuary' and 'Mad Marius' – two names Moody
had heard in the past from the old man's lips but never truly taken for
truth…
"I'll also have to talk to Potter," Moody mused. "I need to know where he
got that information…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The Leaky Cauldron was full of people. They all were discussing in
hushed voices the Minister's speech.
"D'you truly think tha' the minister was righ'?" one of the regulars said in
that moment. "Twist – a disturber of peace?"
Another man snorted at that.
"Na. We all know that the Minister's always been talking a lot of
humbug," he answered the regular.
"Can't believe he's goin' against a lad," an old witch said harshly. "He
should be ashamed of himself!"
"He should!" others agreed darkly.
"Can't imagine where he got that liar bit from," Tom, the owner of the
Leaky Cauldron added. "I verified a lot of his articles. No lie there."
"Yeah – and didn' th' Ministry jus' now say tha' tha' fellow Twist was
talkin' 'bout an' askin' 'bout his missin' trial, ya know, Black, was actually
innocen'?" another man said frowning. "They basic'ly proofed tha' boy
righ' an' now he's called a liar?!"
Tom sighed at that.
"An' that article 'bout Riddle, ye know, that interestin' one," another witch
said, her eyes lighting up with delight. "I even went an' looked into it –
he's righ'! Ye know! Righ'! Can't imagine he's lied with the others if he did
his research in that one!"
In that moment, Xeno Lovegood entered.
"I've got a special edition, Tom," he said. "Twist asked me to do it after
yesterday's Wizarding Wireless speech of the Minister."
Immediately the whole room turned to Lovegood.
"Well – where is it?" one of them asked when Xeno unpacked his bag not
fast enough for the waiting crowed.
Xeno blinked a little bit confused at the man who had asked him before
turning to Tom.
"The usual number of Quibblers?" he asked.
Tom looked at the shark-eyes of the men and women behind Xeno which
where watching said man like predators their pray.
"Er… how many you've got in your bag there, Xeno?" he asked a little bit
nervously when the shark-eyes of the crowd lit up in an unholy light,
their gaze fixed on the newspapers in unsuspecting Xeno's hands.
Said man looked at him confused.
"About the treble of what I normally give you," he said.
Tom's gaze trailed to the predators behind Xeno. He gulped.
"Give them all to me," he said, nearly begging. "I'm sure I'll be able to sell
them somehow…"
The gaze of the unholy shark-eyes met his.
Tom gulped again.
"I'm sure I will…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Just a day after the Slytherin incident, Hermione found Harry in the
common room, writing on a parchment. To his left sat an oddly old
looking book. But that book was closed and Harry was writing.
"What are you doing, Harry?" Harry looked up just to see Hermione
standing behind him.
"I am planning," he answered unconcerned.
Hermione frowned.
"Planning?"
"You told me yourself that we need someone else to teach us Defense
Against the Dark Arts," Harry answered. "You even tried to rope me in
teaching you."
"Yes, but…"
"Well, I decided that I will do the teaching," Harry interrupted her.
Hermione stared at him, and then she squealed and hugged him.
"I knew you would come around!" she cried happily.
"Yes… 'Mione… breath," Harry coughed while he desperately tried to get
some air in his lungs.
"Oh, sorry!" Hermione exclaimed and let him go. Instead she turned to his
papers.
"So… what are you planning exactly?"
"Lessons," Harry answered. "And a way to communicate."
"Well, the last one I could help you with," Hermione said and then
explained to him everything about the coins she had been preparing.
Harry was impressed.
"So, what lessons are you planning to teach?" Hermione asked.
Harry just shrugged.
"I thought about some basics first," he answered. "Shields and disarming
mostly. Maybe a simple ward or two. After that some light curses like
stunning and so on. You know, fourth year and upwards stuff. I have also
some deadly ones on my list for later."
"Deadly?!" Hermione stared at him. "Harry – you are teaching defense…"
"And sometime you can only defend someone by killing another one,"
Harry answered. "I am not willing to teach those children that there will
never be a time when they might have to kill – because with Riddle out
there, there might be a time when they have to kill to survive. When I
teach them I will not stop teaching them stuff just because someone
thinks they should not learn it."
"But killing…" Hermione hesitated. "Isn't… isn't that part of the Dark
Arts?"
Harry shrugged. He was not willing to tell Hermione that a lot of spells
he had chosen for his lessons would have been libeled dark today – if
they were remembered, that is. Harry knew from experience that there
was no real dark or light magic – there was just magic. And he wasn't
willing to let anyone be in danger because he stopped teaching at a
barrier the law had built because of stupidly.
"They're no nasty ones," he said. "And I chose them as a last resort for the
others. I don't want them to learn killing – I want them to learn
surviving. And sometimes you cannot survive without killing your enemy
first."
"But still…"
"Hermione!" he stopped her before she could protest. "This is something
that has to be. I cannot teach them stunners and let it be. They will die if
there is no way for them to absolutely stop Death Eaters. I will not teach
them spells to maim or something like that – and I know the ones I am
teaching them could kill! The thing that they could but don't have to. I
plan on teaching them spells to harm a person so that said person will
not stand up again! This is not trying to teach them killing – this is trying
to teach them surviving!"
"But Dumbledore…"
"…might have good intentions but definitely is not right about this,
Hermione. As cruel as it sounds: the lives of the helpless come first. I will
not teach anyone to kill unnecessarily, but I also don't want them to
hesitate. Those that cannot protect themselves have to come first – and
Death Eaters are last. That's war. I will not tell them otherwise."
"But, Harry – Dumbledore says that Death Eaters could regret…"
"They could," Harry answered irritated with the girl. "But I am not
interested in someone that maybe will regret. My first goal is to stop
Death Eaters from killing or maiming other students. If they have to die
to be stopped – so may it be."
"That… that sounds cruel," Hermione said nervously. "And Dumbledore
and my parents, they all say that killing is…"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted the girl. "Do you still have a grandpa?"
"Huh?" uncomprehending, Hermione nodded. "Uh, yes."
"How old is he?"
"Uh… eighty-six."
"So he might have fought in World War Two," Harry said. "Just ask him if
he has and ask him if he has killed or if he knows someone that has. And
then ask him why. I am sure that he will tell you because 'he had to'. He
was a soldier and soldiers die and kill. The students I will teach might not
be soldiers – but they also will have the same choice one day. As long as
Tom Riddle still exists there will be no peace and as long there is no
peace there will be the need to defend yourself. I will not let anyone be
killed because I did not teach them that there might be the possibility of
killing someone or of dying yourself. I will not be that cruel to them."
Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but then she just turned and
stormed off. Harry knew that she had not taken well what he had said to
her, but he also was sure that she would see reason.
She might be a little authority-loving but she still was not someone that
did not do their research first – and when Harry was right she would do
as suggested and write her grandpa. And maybe the old man would see it
like Harry did…
And even if not… Harry shrugged and turned back to his work. He would
not stop with his plan. He knew that some things were more important
then the feelings of a single person – and he would not let die the others
just because one person could not see reason. He was after all not
Dumbledore, caught in the net of the greater good and without the
ability to look out for anything else except of his own beliefs…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Tom Marvolo Riddle, to the world known as the feared Dark Lord
Voldemort, was seething with anger.
The reason for it?
A single vampire who had decided to inhabit his throne room in Malfoy
Manor.
Said vampire – one Anastasius Sanguini – was currently taking a lot of
pleasure in quoting one well known article of Oliver Twist to the raging
Dark Lord. Well, at least the article had been well known for the rest of
the wizarding world – Voldemort had tried hard to forget it, after all…
"The only one who ever handed out the killing-curse like sweets in the last
decades was You-Know-Who," Anastasius said in that moment, stopping
and looking up from his reading – and he truly had to look up,
considering he was hanging upside down in the candelabra. "You know,"
he mused absentmindedly. "This nearly sounded like a comparison with
Dumbledore… isn't he famous for handing out sweets to everyone?"
Voldemort hissed with fury at that and aimed his wand at the vampire.
Sadly enough, like every other curse he had tried to use on his new ally,
the curse didn't hit his target who had ducked out of the way as if it was
a play.
The vampire cackled.
"Just asking," he said amused. "No need to get grumpy!"
Then a thoughtful frown showed on the face of the vampire.
"Still," he said. "It's oddly fitting, isn't it? Dumbledore hands out candy
and you copy him by handing out curses…"
After that musing the vampire had to vacate his spot for some minutes
since there was a firework of spells hitting the candelabra.
He simply changed the candelabra and hung from the other, clearly not
concerned with the spells that had nearly hit him.
"Don't worry," he said instead. "Your style of clothing is totally different.
There's no way to confuse you two…"
Again, Voldemort aimed at the vampire and fired.
The spells hit the candelabra and just a daring jump saved the vampire
when the candelabra he had been on crashed to the floor.
"I guess the Head Malfoy will have to redecorate his manor the moment
you leave," the vampire mused. "I don't think that magic will simply fix
this mess…" The vampire looked thoughtfully from his perch on the other
one at the shattered and smoking candelabra on the floor.
"This looks like nasty dark magic," he commented. "Nope, definitively not
fixable…"
Then his eyes returned to the newspaper in his hands and they lightened
up in unholy fire.
"Oh! There! I bet you will like this one!" He exclaimed joyfully. "Listen!
'So the first fact I have to tell you is that the man who brought war on us until
he was stopped by Harry Potter – was a lying coward. I cannot fathom how
any respectable pure-blood can follow someone who cowardly hides behind a
false name'."
The vampire cackled again.
"But it gets better here where he calls you actually a 'mudblood', you
know?" The vampire crowed. "Well, 'uneducated mudblood' actually…"
Voldemort growled at that and took again aim at the vampire who was
transfixed with the article.
"You know," the vampire mused. "I actually think Twist has a point
here… 'no pure-blood lord would follow a half-blood who rejects the old name
of Gaunt just to spout of a secondary name (even if it's more famous) like
Slytherin who's family first carried a lordship years after the Gaunts.' Yeah,
that sounds about right, you know? I mean. Slytherin is a well and good
name, but compared to Gaunt – ah, well –"
The vampire stopped at that moment to dance through some curses that
were flying towards him from the Dark Lord's wand.
"But then, you don't seem to know how to be a guest either, meaning you
must have truly grown up uneducated. I mean, destroying the ball room
just because you don't like the décor – that's nothing a proper guest
should do…"
And with a cackle the vampire rescued himself from another salve of
spells aimed at him by the enraged Dark Lord.
Lucius Malfoy meanwhile stood in the shadows and watched.
"I guess, the vampire has a point," Narcissa said in that moment. She was
standing and watching next to him. "Riddle is absolutely uneducated in
our ways." She sneered at that before turning.
"I want him out by the Wizengamot meeting in January, love," she said
coolly. "And don't forget to bill Riddle for my ball room, vases and
furniture, will you, dear?"
Lucius sighed at that, not daring to object his enraged wife. She had
loved the décor of the ball room and had stopped to call the man
anything with 'Lord' the moment the man had destroyed her precious
vase from Egypt.
"Lucius!" Riddle hissed in that moment and Lucius sighed again before
stepping out of his hiding place.
"Yes, R… My Lord?" He asked.
"I want your son to look out for this Twist! Do you understand?"
Voldemort hissed. "I want to know everything about him! And ensure
that he will succeed, because you don't want to live if he doesn't, am I
clear?"
Lucius gulped nervously at that.
"Y… yes, my Lord!" He stuttered.
That was the moment the vampire crowed happily at something he read.
"Oh! Listen! Listen! Listen!" He howled with gleaming eyes. "And a ban on
Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a common word… This
will be extremely hard to circumvent if people follow that advice!"
He cackled.
"What will you do if they do? Will you change your name to Dark Lord
Riddle?" And with that Voldemort's attention returned to his tries to hit
the vampire with a curse.
Lucius turned and left.
Riddle – indeed.
Lucius would quite happily follow Twist in that motion.
But then… 'a ban on Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a
common word…' – Twist had truly been right in that regard…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Blaise Zabini didn't know what to think when he and his mother were
brought a simple room. There were some leather chairs and a desk out of
dark wood. The room had no windows and the walls were covered by the
same dark wood the desk was made of.
The floor was made of stone and candles were the only light in the room.
Behind the desk was a simple crest displayed.
He heard his mother inhale sharply when she saw the crest.
"Mother?" he asked frowning and she turned to him, her eyes wide with
excitement and fear.
"It seems that your Regent already knows who is asking you for an
alliance, Lord Zabini," a cool voice stated and Blaise turned around fast –
just to see a boy his age entering the room. Cool green eyes met his
startled brown.
The boy rounded them and the desk and sat down in the chair behind it.
"Let me tell you the deal," he said.
Blaise listened.
He saw his mother frown at the conditions of the family. Blaise instead
heard something different all together. He knew that the most people of
Slytherin were bound to go to the Dark Lord. They saw it as their highest
quest to follow the Dark Lord. Blaise, like the Greengrasses and Theodore
Nott was not truly interested in following a mad man – and the man was
mad, whatever Blaise's mother said about it.
So hearing that if he followed the Grand Family he actually was
forbidden to enter the Dark Lord's service…
"I am sorry, my Lord, but my son and I –" his mother started to say in
that moment and Blaise suddenly knew that she was basically trying to
take the choice from him before he could even think about answering
different.
"I accept," he said. He didn't care that he had no idea which family he
was joining, because unlike his mother he didn't recognize the crest, but
he also didn't care. This was his ticket out of the trap he had found
himself into since his father died.
"I humbly accept your proposition, my Lord," Blaise repeated and his
mother frowned at him.
"Blaise," she started to say but the first time since his father died Blaise
dared to look her in the eye.
"No, mother," he said coolly. "I am the Lord. It is my decision. And I have
decided."
She opened her mouth; then closed it again when Blaise spoke up again.
"If you don't want to follow my decision I will evict you from my House,"
he told her coolly. "Don't worry, I don't adore Dumbledore or anything
like that – but I will take this chance even if it goes against your wishes."
His mother's frown deepened at that, but in the end, she bowed her head.
"As you wish," she said – not that she had had a choice in that matter.
Even killing Blaise wouldn't have changed the fact that House Zabini
would now be allied with the upcoming Grand Family, after all. The
moment Blaise as the Lord of the House had accepted, the alliance had
been established – and his mother as the regent had no say in that since
Blaise had turned fifteen already.
The young man on the other side of the desk smiled at Blaise.
"Then I welcome you to my Family, Lord Zabini," he said.
Blaise smiled at the other boy hesitatingly.
"Blaise," he offered.
The other boy's smile broadened at that.
"Blaise," he repeated and then stood. He went to the door, but stopped
next to Blaise to whisper one sentence in his ear.
"I'm Salvazsahar," he said. "But you may call me 'Harry' in school."
Blaise eyes widened and the door closed behind the other teen.
A snake in a lion's den – indeed…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Garrick Ollivander sighed tiredly. It was the late evening and he had
been finishing the last touches of his work since long before sunrise.
"But needs must," he mumbled to himself. "Needs must…"
That didn't change the fact that it had been far too long that he had had a
decent rest. He was tired. Since he had seen the staff of destiny, he had
dedicated his time to set up everything so that he was done when it was
time.
Oh, he was aware that whole Diagon Alley was sure that he had gone
round the bend – but unlike them he knew what followed that staff. He
had seen it. Not once, not twice, but thrice at least.
His father had seen it.
His grandfather had seen it.
Ollivander would be a fool to not heed the warning he had gotten.
Morgan.
Grindelwald.
Voldemort.
Every time the staff had been there, drawn in the Ollivander family, calling for
them, working with them, leading them.
No, Ollivander was no fool. The look of the man who carried it might
have changed. The name the man bore might have changed as well – but
it didn't change the fact that the staff of destiny was back to wreak
havoc…
"Oh, Sal," Ollivander sighed. "What are you planning this time?"
Not that Ollivander really cared.
His father had followed the man who carried this staff.
His grandfather had.
His great-grandfather had as well.
Ollivander would be damned if he wouldn't do the same again…
In that moment a lonely owl descended down towards him. He held up
his arm and removed the letter it carried the moment it sat down on it.
The owl hooted at that before leaping in the air again, leaving.
Ollivander looked at the seal of the letter.
His breathing hitched.
Then he closed his eyes before slowly breaking the seal.
Only one sentence was written on the parchment in black ink.
xXx
Wizengamot Meeting in January.
SEL
xXx
"And here I thought we would have some more time for the apocalypse,"
Ollivander sighed tiredly. But then, he was dealing with him – Ollivander
should have guessed that chaos would follow his wake as fast as possible.
"I'm not feeling sorry for you Albus Dumbledore," Ollivander murmured
to himself. "No, I'm definitely not sorry for you…"
Ah, maybe he was…
At least a little bit…
A tiny, tiny little bit…
Poor soul.
But then – everything had been Albus Dumbledore's fault in the first
place, hadn't it been?
"Well, not everything," Ollivander mused. "But definitely enough.
Definitely enough."
Poor soul.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Lady Longbottom, ma'am," Augusta Longbottom looked up from her
reading to look at one of her house-elves who stood in front of her,
ringing its hands.
"Yes?" she asked regally.
"You've got a guest, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," the house-elf said and she
raised her right eyebrow.
"Who is it?" she asked, a little bit surprised considering the late hour.
"Dead person, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," the house-elf replied, sounding
a lot more sure this time around.
Augusta's left eyebrow joined her right.
"A dead person is visiting me?" she repeated in disbelieve.
The house-elf nodded eagerly at that.
"Yes, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," it said. "Should Carly bring visitor to
Lady Longbottom, ma'am?"
Augusta blinked at that, not truly comprehending what was happening.
Had the house-elf gone around the bend?!
"Bring… bring them in the visitor's room. I will join them there soon," she
finally replied, unsure what else to say. She had been raised as a lady –
but all her training hadn't prepared her for something like that.
She guessed that she would have to trust her wards and hope that
whoever had come to visit wasn't truly… dead or a Death Eater.
Still, she slipped her wand in her hand and a port-key to a safe-house
before going down into the visitor's room, joining her mysterious guest.
When she entered, for a moment she thought that ex-convict Sirius Black
had entered her home, but then the man turned.
His face was rounder than Sirius Black's, his eyes darker. But still, the
resemblance was great.
She frowned at the stranger and gripped her wand harder.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The man looked at her with an assessing gaze.
"Salvatio Malfoire sends me," he said. "He hopes you like his new article
in the Quibbler today."
At that, Augusta relaxed her grip on her wand a little bit. No one except
of her and Professor Malfoire even knew that she knew who truly wrote
those articles.
"Who are you?" she repeated anyway.
The man bowed at that.
"I am Regulus Arcturus Black, heir secundus of House Black," he
answered. "I am here to ask for an alliance between our Houses and your
aid in a quest of mine."
Augusta frowned at that.
"Sirius Black is the future Lord of the House of Black," she said and the
man who should be dead in front of her inclined his head again.
"You shouldn't even be alive to –"
"I was saved by Salvatio Malfoire, Lady Longbottom," Regulus Arcturus
Black replied. "He fought for my life for six years until I was finally well
enough to survive on my own again. I can't tell you how often I nearly
died in these six years."
"Six years?" Augusta repeated surprised and Regulus Black sighed.
"I was after… something Riddle used to bind himself to life," he said. "He
had it hidden away behind powerful spells and a potion. I had to drink
the potion which trapped me in my nightmares and slowly but surely
killed me. If it had been any other wizard rescuing me than Salvatio
Malfoire, I would have been dead within days."
"And yet you have been free from that potion for a while now and still
preferred to stay dead officially," Augusta remarked and was surprised
when the man in front of her grimaced.
"I would have stayed happily dead if Sal wouldn't have decided to send
me here," he replied. "I never planned to return."
"And yet here you are, asking for an alliance between our Houses,"
Augusta said while raising an eyebrow.
Regulus inclined his head again.
"My brother has yet refused to take up his lordship," he said. "As such I
can ask for an alliance between our houses. It is the only thing I can give
you that shows you that I am who I say I am. It's also the only thing I can
offer as an apology for the deeds a family member of my house has done
to family members of your House."
Augusta's eyes narrowed at that.
"So you still claim Bellatrix Lestrange as a member of your family?" she
asked coolly. The man in front of her snorted at that.
"I have no choice in that matter until either Sirius dies or he claims
lordship and kicks her out," the young man replied and Augusta had to
suppress a smile.
She guessed that she might come to like the heir secundus of Black.
"Is there anything else you can offer?" she asked him coolly anyway.
Regulus Black sighed at that.
"Sal and I had an idea how to help your son and his wife. We can't
guarantee it, but I am willing to try and help them in any way I can. If I
can't help them, I am willing to do anything to repay what House
Longbottom has lost thanks to a member of House Black," he answered.
Augusta thought that over.
In the end she nodded, giving permission for the alliance.
The young man took it instantly.
"House Black offers alliance to House Longbottom – to follow where they
go, to protect if they need protection, to support if they need support, to
fight side by side until our Houses crease to exist or this alliance fails. So
I, Regulus Arcturus Black, heir secundus of Black, swear."
A blue mist rose from the Black-heir's body to show the flowing crest of
Black over the heir's head.
"The House Longbottom accepts the offer of House Black. If House Black
holds true to its oath from now until the time of the Wizengamot Meeting
in January or until it evicts Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black from its House,
if former comes first, then House Longbottom will be willing to return
the oath to them. So I, Augusta Elisabeth Longbottom, Regent of House
Longbottom, swear."
The moment she said that, the crest of Black was pierced through by the
Longbottom crest and in a firework-like shower of magic the magic
settled.
"Now tell me, Heir Black, whatever for do you need my help?"
Regulus smiled at that.
"I've been ask to go on a quest quite similar than the one I mentioned
before," he said. "I need to know where the Gaunts last lived…"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Some hours later a pair of people was sitting in the first light of the sun
in Lyon in France, enjoying their breakfast, when a normal looking barn
owl arrived at the table.
"You've got a letter, Nick" Perenelle said while bringing said letter and
breakfast to the table. Nicholas Flamel looked up from his newspaper.
"I have?" he asked. "Who is it from?"
"I don't know the signet" Perenelle answered. "But it looks formal."
Nicholas took the letter and also took a glance at the signet. It was a
simple snake, winding itself round a simple lily. Nicholas stared at it. He
knew that there were just a few signets which had a lily in it. The most
prominent ones the House Emrys and Nicholas own house. The snake was
also not often used. The houses Malfoire and Slytherin…
"The Slytherin-signet" Nicholas said. "This one belongs to Slytherin."
"So – the letter is from this foul creature who calls himself Salazar
Slytherin's heir?" Perenelle asked.
"No, I don't think so. He would never use the original signet." Nicholas
answered. "I bet he doesn't even know of the lily in the signet."
"So who…"
"I don't know", Nicholas answered and finally opened the letter.
xXx
My dear old friend,
Wizengamot Meeting in January.
I am sorry.
Your old friend.
Me.
xXx
"So who has written you?" Perenelle asked.
"It is our boy" Nicholas answered. "It seems he has enough of British
politicians and decided to fix things the other way."
"But the signet…?"
"Well, someone seems to have more secrets then I even thought he has…"
"So he is a true heir of the House?"
"Who knows" Nicholas chuckled. "Who knows?"
"What will you do now?"
Nicholas smiled; then he slowly stood up from the breakfast table.
"I will pack" he answered.
"So you will…"
"I think it is time to step down" Nicholas confirmed. Maybe the boy was
right and there was no way to forgive this time around…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Amelia Bones sighed and sat down the newspaper she had been reading.
It seemed that Minister Fudge had finally gone too far in his ambition to
discredit Oliver Twist. She sighed again and then looked at the paper file
next to the newspaper.
It was an official notice of a trial.
It had been filed by Xenophilius Lovegood, Harryjames Potter and one
Salvatio Malfoire – the share holders of the Quibbler. The accused? One
Cornelius Oswald Fudge for slender, harassment, wrong accusations and
threatening.
Unfortunately, the Minister winning this trial was nearly impossible,
considering the evidence Amelia had verified for the barrister of the
Quibbler, one Magnus Adam Selwyn.
Amelia looked back at the article in the newspaper and sighed again.
Even if the Minister would be able to hold onto his title after all this –
one further blunder and he would be gone. She wondered if Oliver Twist
was just biding his time to destroy the Minister fully or if he had used all
his information in the article right in front of her.
But then, even if he had, it wouldn't matter. The chance of the Minister
holding onto his position until after the Wizarding Meeting in January –
after all, this would be the meeting that would introduce several new
Lords into their ranks… and one of them was Harry Potter.
Her gaze refocused onto the newspaper.
There would be no way that Harry Potter wouldn't raise his voice against
the Minister after the Minister's deeds in the past concerning him.
Amelia guessed that the Minister was already praying that Harry Potter
would not join the Wizengamot in January – something Amelia doubted
since in doing so Harry Potter would loose a lot of political clout and
would be forced to wait until he turned twenty-one to do it again. No,
Harry Potter, Amelia guessed, would join that day – and the Minister
could only pray that his eviction would happen without any other
mishap.
From the looks of Oliver Twist, Amelia guessed that it wouldn't.
Twist was set on destroying the man – not that Amelia minded… much.
xXx
The Minister on the War Path!
"Oliver Twist is a liar and a disturbance for our peaceful ways of life! He's just
trying to bring the public to go against their government! If we don't do
something soon, Oliver Twist will bring down our society with all the lies he's
sprouting!" - Anyone recognizes this rant? Those are the words of the Minister
in the Wizengamot meeting yesterday – a public meeting, solely to discredit a
teenage boy whose words have always proven true until now. It's odd that the
meeting was spread via the Wizarding Wireless while poor Oliver Twist was
not even invited to tell his part of the story – please note my sarcasm.
Well, Minister, since you insisted on proclaiming me a liar and a disturbance
for our peaceful ways of life, let's see what this disturbance can come up with
this time around, and since you decided to pick apart my writing, I think I will
have every right to pick apart your own doings – don't you think so, too?
Now, dear Minister, let's have a look at your doings over the last years. If I
remember correctly – and I'm quite sure that I do, but you might either
question one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid, one Mr. Albus Dumbledore or the Hogwarts'
rumor mill or you might go to look at the list of Azkaban prisoners and look at
the reason why they were arrested to confirm it – our dear Minister decided to
start his quest against our laws at least three years ago when he imprisoned
Mr. Rubeus Hagrid for the happenings at Hogwarts in Azkaban solely because
'the Ministry has to be seen doing something about it'. Back then I was still an
easily impressed child – but even then I wondered about the reason the
Minister proclaimed for the imprisonment of one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid. Of
course, I can't say that I heard the Minister proclaim this outrageous sentence
– but like with every arrest the reason, as proclaimed by the one who did the
arrest, was recorded by the list of Azkaban. I still shudder, days after looking
up the reason and seeing exactly this sentence spelled out on parchment. It gets
even more distressing if you remember the 'lies' I spoke just at the beginning of
the new school year. I'm quite sure that you remember my 'lies' about the trial
of one Lord Potter. His trial sounds oddly like the reason the Minister gave for
arresting one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid back then, don't you think so too? Lord
Potter proclaimed that the Dark Lord Tom Riddle was back, and suddenly he
does magic in front of a muggle and is put on trial in front of the whole
Wizengamot with the danger of loosing his right to carry a wand. Of course,
liar that I am, I couldn't see that the Minister was surely right to condemn
Lord Potter like he was right to condemn Mr. Rubeus Hagrid three years ago –
and now, months later, I wonder how, back then, I could write those lies and
back them up with the ministry's own recording of the trial of Lord Potter´…
of course, you could also add all those 'lies' I sprouted about one Lord Sirius
Orion Black who was just proven innocent at the Wizengamot meeting before
the last to it – and now please look up the recording of the last Wizengamot
meeting, the one which proclaimed me a liar: Isn't it odd that I, the presumed
liar, was the one who proclaimed Lord Black innocent first?
But well, let's go further into the career of our beloved Minister. There was
Harry Potter's third year – the year when Lord Black escaped Azkaban. I
remember the Minister's very adamant choice to protect the children of
Hogwarts – especially our beloved Saviour – by subjecting them to Dementors
all year around. Of course, it was to protect our children, who can fault the
minister if said children suffer from nightmares every night and nearly get
their souls sucked out more than once – that's after all still better than having
a sole mass murderer trying to kill a sole child. After all, bringing more than a
hundred Dementors to Hogwarts is far cheaper than to give the endangered
child a pair of bodyguards. If you don't believe me about the danger the
Dementors proposed to the children of Hogwarts, maybe Madam Pomphrey
will be willing to at least give you the approximate number of children that
were brought to her because of being nearly kissed or because of nightmares
all year long. There's also that one unforgettable Quidditch match that nearly
killed Lord Potter and the rest of the Quidditch players when the Dementors
decided to come by for a snack. It's odd that our dear Minister was even
allowed to bring the Dementors to Hogwarts, since there's a law in our law
book that forbids them to even come near the British Coast. As far as I could
find out, the Dementors have a treaty with the Pendragon House, our liege
lords, that tells exactly what the Dementors are allowed to do on Britain and
what they aren't – and them being at Hogwarts broke that treaty more than
once. But then, it was our Minister's decision – and who can fault our
Minister, especially if the one who reasons against the Minister is a truth-
writing liar like me?
I won't return to the triad about the treatment of Lord Potter and Cedric
Diggory by the Minister and the Minister's refusal to even look for the truth
about that incident at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, but I can't help
but add that within the last weeks our dear Minister has decided to prosecute
another teenager – exactly like he did with Lord Potter at the end of the
summer. Or what would you call it if the Minister goes against a known
teenage boy, proclaiming him a liar while there is evidence that he didn't lie
once and then sets out to orchestrate him from our community?
I, for once, can only hope that his rant on the Wizarding Wireless won't end in
me being chucked into Azkaban without a trial – after all, we've seen enough
evidence that that might be exactly what the Minister wants to archive.
I am sorry for answering the Minister's proclamation like this, but I fear that if
I don't show the difference between our doings now, I will be the one facing
dire consequences for innocent words.
Oliver Twist
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Well, that's it for today. I hope you liked it.
Ebenbild
45. Chapter 44: 1398:
Consequences
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little
bit…
Important:
Thank you for all your reviews!
Since I normally don't have time to answer all your fantastic reviews with a
thank-you PM, I finally decided to write it down here. I absolutely adore the
support I'm shown for my story and wanted to thank all my reviewers for
every kind word they wrote to me. So: Thank you. Thank you so much!
To all those who read this and share this day of joy and presents (I
forgot the English word, something with born today or some such… xp
xD):Happy birthday to you!
And now, let's go on with the story…
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Year 1398
Consequences
Sss
Peverell looked up from the book he was reading. Something was
different. He frowned and closed his eyes to concentrate.
What had happened?
Even with his eyes closed it took him a while until he could pinpoint the
exact thing that had changed within the last minutes. It wasn't what he
had expected.
"How?" He whispered confused.
The answer was a whispered voice in the wind.
"Don't worry, Peverell," it said. "It's all like it should be."
Peverell's frown deepened at that.
"I'm quite sure that it isn't fifteen years already," he said. "You told me
that with your help I could lock him away for fifteen years without any
consequences."
"There are always consequences," the voice replied sighing. "I promised
you fifteen years since fifteen years was the time he lived without blood-
magic once. It was basically a reproduction of his life before… the event."
Peverell blinked at that.
"The event?" He asked.
"It doesn't matter for you," the voice replied. "And it won't matter from
now on as well. He broke the circle."
Now Peverell was totally confused.
"What circle?"
"Rebirth's circle," the voice replied with another sigh. "We basically
rebirthed him like a Phoenix dies and is reborn. They die as an old bird
in an ocean of flames and are reborn as a chick in ashes. His status as a
Phoenix-born allows him a rebirth if I grand it to him. I did, so he was
reborn – new and unencumbered. He was a child again – a real child
without the burden of his previous life, exactly like the Phoenix is for the
first hours of his new life. Over time his body started to remember his
previous life, like it should be. His memories should have started to
return soon: first in dreams, then in knowledge and then for real. At that
point of time he would have slowly started up to do his blood-magicks
again – and all would have been fine."
"And yet, this obviously hasn't happened," Peverell concluded darkly.
"It hasn't," the voice agreed. "He broke the circle."
"And yet you don't seem upset about it," Peverell concluded and the voice
laughed a chilly laugh that made Peverell's skin crawl.
"No, I'm not," the voice replied. "I knew already that he would break it."
At that, Peverell stared into the shadows in his room in confusion.
"Why?" He asked.
"Because he wasn't born to follow the rules," the voice said amused. "His
whole life is a life against the fundamental laws of nature while at the
same time following them to a 'T' – haven't you noticed already?"
Peverell hadn't – but then, as good as he knew Salvazsahar he didn't
know him as good as the voice in the shadows, because unlike the voice,
he hadn't been there for all of it.
"Why?" he finally asked confused.
"Because someone who acts against nature is always drawn to someone
who does it as well," the voice replied.
"That sounded as if Sal's evil," Peverell snorted.
"Not evil," the voice replied amused. "He balances everything. He always
did. The moment evil is about to go on a winning streak, he's there and
stops it. He's fundamental for the wizarding world – even more so in the
future."
"And yet he has no idea –"
"No, he hasn't," the voice said. "He can't for now. He has to make his final
choice first. It's his decision – to live or to die. When he has decided, I
will either release him of his duties or finalize our deal. That's the way
things have to be."
"That still doesn't explain why it has to be him," Peverell said sighing.
The answer was a laugh, but no answer was given.
"No, it doesn't," the voice said. "It doesn't at all."
xXxXxXxXx
Weeks later, Nicholas silently left the room when Salvatio's teacher
finally left.
"Something has changed within your son over the summer," the Salvatio's
Professor had said. "Whatever happened, he isn't the same anymore."
And Nicholas couldn't help but feel guilty, since there was just one reason
why sweet Salvatio, his parents' pride and joy, had changed.
It had been Nicholas' actions that changed the child.
"Nick?" Nicholas turned around and looked at his wife who looked at him
quizzically. "Are you alright?"
Nicholas opened his mouth to lie, but his mouth seemed to have another
idea.
"No," it said. "I'm not."
Perenelle looked at him in concern.
"Nick," she said. "Why are you worried?"
And for a moment, Nicholas cursed that his wife knew him that well to
be able to read him so easily. Then he sighed, looked around to make
sure that Cathérine and Henri had left and they were alone, and decided
to confess.
"The professor," he said sighing. "He was right."
"Right with what?" Perenelle asked frowning.
"Something happened to Salvatio," Nicholas said quietly. "And it was my
fault."
His wife's frown deepened at that.
"What are you -?"
"Do you remember when you and the other were gone while I was home
with Salvatio?" He asked. "The time he was in bed with fever?"
"I do," Perenelle asked confused. "Why do you ask that?"
"I didn't listen," Nicholas confessed and suddenly tears began to flow. "I
didn't listen and now something's wrong with our nephew!"
Perenelle raised an eyebrow at that.
"I fear, you don't make any sense," she said still half-frowning.
"I experimented," Nicholas said, letting the tears flow freely. "I thought it
was safe. The formula was sound and I didn't see any risk in brewing the
potion –"
Perenelle's brow furrowed in confusion.
"I don't see where you're going with this, Nick," she said. "I know you. If
you think that a formula is sound, then normally there's just a minimal
risk involved –"
"But I was wrong this time around!" Nicholas interrupted her heatedly. "I
was wrong!"
"And yet I don't see how that could have changed Sal –"
"The potion blew up and I nearly died!" Nicholas replied in a rushed way.
"I was wrong; my formula wasn't as sound as I thought and the potion
blew up and nearly killed me!"
"And yet you were whole and healthy when we came back," Perenelle
reminded him. "Did you hit your head, Nick?"
"Yes!" Nicholas said, then he shook his head. "I mean: no, I didn't hit my
head, but yes, I was fully healed when you returned. It was Salvatio who
did it."
Perenelle's eyes narrowed at that.
"What do you mean 'it was Salvatio who did it'?" She asked coolly.
Nicholas just shrugged helplessly.
"I don't actually understand what happened," he replied. "The potion blew
up. I was dying. Salvatio came in and found me and then there's nothing.
I woke up fully healed with a crying child in my lap in the middle of
some kind of ritual – a healing ritual, Salvatio called it."
This time he saw his wife's confusion in her eyes.
"I don't know where he learned it," Nicholas said quietly. "But he
basically confessed that he knew how to do a ritual – a healing ritual, he
said. He also told me that it wasn't enough and…"
Nicholas trailed off and shook his head.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "The only thing that matters is that it was my
fault that he changed. He wouldn't have changed if I wouldn't have been
so stupid and decided to brew even after you warned me not to do it. He
would still be the same sweet child if I hadn't –"
"Even if you were at fault," Perenelle said. "Even whatever you said has
truly happened – and I'm not yet convinced that it did and that you didn't
solely hit your head and dreamed it – there's still the possibility that it
wasn't you who changed him."
Nicholas just shook his head.
"Something happened that night," he said. "I'm not sure what, but I know
that something happened. He was different after that night. I thought he
was traumatized. I tried to talk to him about it but he refused. But if they
also noticed at school, then there has to have been more than just shock
to it. Yes, he saved my life. Yes, it must have been a shock to him to find
me dying. But I survived and yet he didn't return to the child we knew,
instead it seemed to have gotten worse. Whatever happened that night, it
was more than just finding me half-dead and healing me – and it is my
fault that it happened."
Perenelle sighed at that.
"Nicholas," she said slowly, but Nicholas just shook his head.
"I know it, Perenelle," he said, his eyes grave. "Don't even try to tell me
different."
For a moment, his wife seemed to want to argue against him, but in the
end, she just inclined her head.
"I will not argue with you for now," she said. "We will ask Salvatio to
return for Yule. We will talk to him then. If you're right, then we will
know and we will help him to overcome whatever else happened that
night, alright, cheri?"
For a moment, Nicholas wanted to argue, but then he sighed and gave in
as well.
He nodded.
Come Yule they would know what exactly happened that night Nicholas
nearly died.
xXxXxXxXx
It was weeks later when Peverell got a visit he had hoped to never get.
"Peverell!" The voice of an angry vampire echoed through the halls,
waking Peverell's descendants.
It was Peverell's restricting hand that stopped his many-times grand-son
to head down and meet the threat head on.
"Don't," he said. "He came for me."
"Grandfather," the younger man started to say, but Peverell shushed him.
"It was I who did something so it will be I who has to accept the
consequences. Don't worry; he's not here to kill someone… I think."
His grandson looked at him in concern, but Peverell just smiled at him
before heading down the stairs himself.
In the foyer stood Anastasius Sanguini, looking like he was about to
breath fire in fury.
"Ana," Peverell greeted the vampire.
"Don't 'Ana' me, father-abductor!" The vampire seethed. "Thirteen years! I
thought him dead for thirteen years!"
"And it was for the better," Peverell replied coolly. "Sal wasn't in any
condition to continue like before –"
"That doesn't mean you can simply kidnap him!" Anastasius roared.
"It was either that or watching him die by his own hands!" Peverell
replied sighing. "I couldn't let you come anywhere near him while he was
a child –"
"Why?! Do you think I would have bitten him?" The vampire cried
indignantly. "I wouldn't!"
"Which I know quite well," Peverell said. "But you were part of his old life
– a life that he couldn't remember as long as –"
"You made him forget?" The vampire screeched. "How could you do
that?"
"- as long as nobody he knew would meet him. If I had known that his
parents decided to let him attend Hogwarts I would have stopped them
since the risk of meeting someone he knew and breaking the seal on his
memories was far greater there –"
"You sealed his memories?" The vampire shouted. "Do you know what
consequences –"
"I know!" Peverell interrupted the vampire heatedly. "Don't you dare to
accuse me of not taking in account the changes that would happen to his
character if he was sealed away! But it was the only way I could help
him! I refused to let him die and –"
"Shouldn't you have let him die?" The vampire sneered. "Isn't that a law
of the immortal Firbolg? If one of them decides to die, you can't stop him
and some such?"
Peverell's eyes narrowed at that.
"It is," he said. "It was an agreement between those that are counted to
the immortal: the basilisks, the phoenixes, the dementors, the elder
dragons, the thunderbirds, the high elves and the unicorns. Not that I
truly understand how those purebloods can be counted to the immortal,
considering that the most of them might live long – but not forever."
"If you know about it then why -?"
"Why not?" Peverell said amused.
Anastasius' eyes narrowed even more.
"You're a Firbolg-born like my father," he said. "Every Firbolg knows
about the agreement – if they're part in it or not – and every Firbolg
follows the agreement. So you shouldn't have done it. Nobody would."
Peverell shrugged.
"The agreement doesn't matter," he said. "I broke it. And I don't regret it
at all."
Anastasius looked at him in surprise.
"I'm not sure what to think about that," he finally settled on.
Peverell laughed.
"Unlike other purebloods I do have some… rights… that they don't have,"
he said. "Not one of the others would argue with my decision if they
knew that I decided it."
Anastasius frowned.
"I don't think I understand," he said and Peverell smiled.
"I knew you wouldn't," he replied, waving it off as if it wasn't important.
"I'm not about to show you for now."
Peverell had no interest in confessing the most important secret he had
kept since long before he had met Salvazsahar. The secret wasn't for the
vampire's ears to hear – and the one who should hear the confession
wouldn't be able to accept it now.
Peverell knew that his confession would have to wait for long since after
his death. He could hint at it – he would hint at it – but he wouldn't
confess. Still, if someone would draw the right conclusion out of his
words – well, that wasn't his fault, was it?
His eyes fell on the shadow hidden in the entrance of his home, lingering
in the still open door, watching them with unreadable eyes.
Anastasius hadn't seen it yet.
The vampire's eyes again narrowed at Peverell's words.
"You'll not show me?" He repeated darkly. "You're telling me that you
broke an agreement that's older than my entire race – Gods! It's older
than humanity! – and you refuse to show me why you – a baby in the
eyes of everybody who's part of the agreement – thinks that he's above
it?! Truly? Do you truly think that a little child like you has any right to
even think about breaking something that's so fundamental for our
world?"
"I told you: I don't care and I definitely don't regret it," Peverell said
softly. "And I don't think that you truly regret that I broke the
agreement."
"That's not the point!" Anastasius roared. "It was my father's decision! My
great-grandparents stopped me when I tried to interfere! If I, as his son,
am not allowed to interfere – who are you to think that you are allowed
to do just that? Who are you that you think you're above the law?!"
"I told you I won't –"
"I don't care if you don't want to tell me! If I have to I will force you to –"
Anastasius was never able to end his threat.
"Anastasius Arthur Lucidarius Sanguini!" A voice interrupted the vampire
sternly. It was the shadowed figure in Peverell's doorway.
The vampire flinched and turned hurriedly.
His eyes flickered over the shadow's face and body, reading the annoyed
body-language of his opponent.
"Pater," he said, sounding more like a scolded child than a grown adult
for just a moment before catching himself and returning to his adult
behaviour. "What are you doing here, Pater?"
Peverell again looked over Anastasius' shoulder just to see thirteen-year-
old Salvatio Malfoire standing in his door, a phoenix on his shoulder. He
was looking at Anastasius sternly.
"Grandfather brought me when we found out that you were out and
about to find out about my condition," Sal said coolly.
Anastasius gawked at that.
"But… but… you should be at Hogwarts!" He exclaimed.
"I should," Sal said coolly. "And so should you. Instead you are dandling
across half of Europe – first to visit my… my parents just to inquire about
me – your student! – and then you go searching for a man who should
have been dead for centuries already!"
"Well, you were behaving oddly –"
"So why go and search out my parents instead of confronting me?"
"Because…" Anastasius actually had no explanation for that. "Er… I
was… scared? I feared that I was wrong and –"
"-and you still should have talked to me first," Sal interrupted him
sighing. "Really, child, sometimes I wonder how someone like me
managed to raise a Gryffindor-like person like you. Only a Gryffindor
would go out to confront the parents instead of the child – and then go
searching for someone who should be dead!"
"But I knew he wasn't!"
"That doesn't matter!" Sal exclaimed. "You're a teacher at Hogwarts!
You've accepted the responsibility for the education of your students!
Dilly-dallying across the country definitely doesn't concur with your
responsibility as a teacher! So, tell me again: What are you doing here?"
Anastasius frowned at that.
"I'm looking into the wellbeing of one of my students," he replied.
"That might have been the case in France," Sal countered. "But you
already knew that I was well when you came here – so I ask again: What
are you doing here?"
Anastasius pouted.
"I'm researching what happened to my father," he replied childishly. "I
needed to know!"
"You might have needed to know for your own sake of mind," Sal replied.
"But you could have gone and looked into it at the weekend. So again:
What are you doing here?"
Anastasius shrunk into himself.
"Confronting the man who took away my father?" he finally asked
meekly.
Sal sighed.
"Gryffindors!" He said, rolling his eyes. "Truly, Ana? Confronting a man
who was able to not only de-age me to a child but also took away my
memory – don't you think that confronting someone like that could have
had dire consequences?"
"But… but… we're talking about Peverell!" Anastasius said confused. "I
lived with him for a while! He isn't dangerous!"
Sal gave his son the gimlet eye.
"Peverell fried a whole fortress with lightning; he was one of the reasons
why Hogwarts came to be and stood up to the Gathering of Lords without
consequences for him; he de-aged a two-thousand-year old Firbolg and
made him loose his memory; he did all that without breaking a sweat –
and you tell me he's not dangerous?!"
Anastasius opened his mouth to answer.
"Think about it, child!" Sal hissed and Anastasius closed his mouth again.
A contemplative look crossed the vampire's features.
"Well… if you put it like that…"
Anastasius pouted and Sal rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I put it like that," he said. "Truly, Ana, what were you thinking?
Peverell might have come across as nice and harmless, but if you look at
his deeds in the past you would have long seen that he's definitely
anything but that. Just looking at him – living for hundreds of years
without any kind of magical help – should have told you about his
power. Only a first generation Firbolg-born of at least one of the
immortal can live for that long – and no Firbolg-born of their descendant
has ever been harmless."
Anastasius frowned.
"But you are harmless," he said confused.
Sal stared at him in disbelieve.
Somehow his son reminded him of this very old memory of a gamekeeper
at Hogwarts and a dragon's egg…
Sal hadn't thought about that man in a while, but the resemblance…
He shook his head.
"I truly have to go over the whole 'dangerous and not dangerous' thing
with you, do I, Anastasius?" He sighed.
Anastasius blinked at that. His eyes widening when he finally realised
something else.
"So you do remember me!" He exclaimed surprised.
Sal rolled his eyes.
"In the last few minutes, I talked to you about the past, spoke about your
character and – believe me when I tell you that this part isn't widely
known to everybody – I used your full name, Ana," he said amused. "I
thought that at least the full name was an indicator that I remember you,
considering that you hate your full name and normally don't use it at
all…"
Peverell snorted amused while Anastasius pouted.
"You didn't act as if you were remembering me when I left Hogwarts," he
said, still pouting.
The answer was a sigh.
"I was still absorbing my memories back then," Sal replied. "I wasn't quite
sure what I was remembering so I didn't say anything."
"But you do remember now?" Peverell asked sighing and Sal's green eyes
met his own brown ones. Peverell shivered at that coolness in those eyes.
"I do, Peverell," he said, ice in his voice before it warmed slightly. "Thank
you, Peverell."
Peverell raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure –"
"You and I both know that I would have killed myself if you hadn't
stopped me," Sal said.
"I know," Peverell sighed. "But I definitely didn't think you would thank
me for my actions."
The answer was a half-sad smile.
"I forgot that there's still something I need to do some time in the future,"
Sal replied sighing. "My time as a child and my returning memories
reminded me of that. I… forgot… that I can't die without doing at least
that."
Peverell frowned at that confused.
"Doing what?" He asked and Sal smiled.
"Sending myself home to atr," he said. "That is one thing I cannot not do."
When Peverell still looked confused, Sal just padded his hand with a
smile.
"Don't worry," he said. "That's something I've never told you. Just know
that I won't try again. I remember what's important now – and I think I
will be able to live as long as I remember why I need to continue living."
"That doesn't sound as if you like living," Peverell frowned.
The answer was another half-sad smile.
"I don't," Sal replied. "I have seen too much, done too much to like it
anymore, but at the same time I don't mind it anymore."
Peverell sighed.
"What will you tell your family?" he asked finally.
Sal looked quite uncomfortable at that.
"I'm not sure," he said. "I don't like lying to them, but I also don't want
my parents to loose their child – even if they already lost it somehow the
moment I started to remember. They're still my parents, because I
remember being raised by them and part of me loves them like that – but
at the same time they're children in my eyes now. I'm not sure how to
cope with that…"
Peverell grimaced.
"In the end, it's your decision," he said. "Either you return to them and
accept them as the parents they were to you for the last thirteen years or
you return to your old life and refuse to ever return to them from now
on."
Sal grimaced and sighed.
"I can't simply leave them," he said. "The part of me that was the child
raised by them would never forgive myself if I simply left them. At the
same time I won't be able to be the same… child… I was, now that I
remember."
For a moment, silence reigned.
"I can come with you and tell them that you came into your inheritance
early," Peverell finally suggested. "They don't know a lot about
purebloods and they think that you are one. We can explain the changes
like that. If you want to you can even explain your memories like that.
They always knew that you weren't a normal magical and they accepted
you anyway. I'm quite sure that they'll accept you even with your
memories and changed behaviour."
At those words, the phoenix on Sal's shoulder flew down to the floor and
changed into a red haired man with fiery eyes.
"That is the least you can do," Fawarx said. "You were the one who broke
our law after all and brought Salvazsahar as a child to his current
family."
Anastasius groaned.
"Not that again," he mumbled. "Peverell and I just talked about that
shortly before you came…"
Sal looked at Anastasius in surprise, but Fawarx ignored his great-
grandchild's exclamation and instead started at Peverell icily.
Peverell's eyes lit up like lightning at that.
"Not my law," he said. "I'm not bound by it."
"Every Firbolg – immortal or not – is bound by that law!" Fawarx
countered. "We don't have many laws, but this one is unbreakable!
Nobody – absolute nobody – has the right to even think about interfering
in this law!"
"Like I said," Peverell countered darkly. "I don't care! I am not bound by
it!"
"No Firbolg is an exception!" Fawarx replied icily.
The answer was a sneer.
"That's what the thunderbird's part of my soul tells me," Peverell replied
coolly. "But it's not this part in me that refuses –"
"If you're part thunderbird, part of the immortal, then you're even more
bound by it!" Fawarx hissed angrily.
Peverell fletched his teeth. It was an utterly feral gesture and made
Anastasius' skin crawl. The phoenix, to Anastasius and his own surprise,
stepped one step backwards.
"I am not bound by that law," Peverell repeated, before he added nearly
silently. "My actions are bound by far worse than a simple law."
His eyes and the eyes of the phoenix met and the phoenix shivered at
that.
Something passed between the immortal phoenix and the seven hundred-
year old pureblood.
The phoenix was the first to look away.
"I see," Fawarx finally said nearly silently. "You're the first grim's child…"
Peverell grimaced at that.
"I am," he said. "It wasn't my choice."
The phoenix laughed at that.
"Definitely not," he said. "I am one of the few truly immortal Firbolg, and
even I prefer my fate to yours."
Peverell waved it off.
"It's not I who suffers because of his relation to the first grim," he said.
"My father suffered for thousands of years – but unlike him neither
myself nor my sister were born a true grim, hence, I'm not born to suffer
like my father."
Anastasius and Sal looked at him in confusion, but Fawarx nodded.
"I remember your father," Fawarx said. "I heard he was finally granted his
end some hundred years ago –"
The phoenix looked at the pureblood in front of him thoughtfully.
"I would have sworn that he was granted his end just decades after your
birth," Fawarx added.
Peverell inclined his head.
"He already had a living heir back then. His heir back then had already
been slowly taking over my father's duties for about a thousand years.
But duties like his can be a heavy burden and two of them managing
them, was a lot easier than just one of them doing them. My father would
have prevailed for at least another thousand years if I hadn't offered to
share the duty with his successor for him."
"What kind of duties are you talking about, Peverell?" Sal asked with
narrowed eyes.
Peverell looked at the man-turned-child and grimaced again.
"Let's just say, that the first one who ever wielded the Deathly Hallows
rightfully was my father," he said.
Sal's eyes widened at that.
"Did he like Medrawed –"
"Medrawed didn't wield those powers rightfully." Peverell answered
sighing. "There aren't a lot of people who have the strength to wield them
without succumbing to their thrall. My father could – and since he could,
he could give them up long before I was even born…"
"Give them up?" Sal repeated surprised.
"The final and the first deed of those who can truly wield their powers,"
Peverell answered sighing. "I am sorry, Salvazsahar."
Sal frowned at that.
"It wasn't you who gave them up," he said confused.
"No, but if it weren't for my grandfather and father, they wouldn't even
exist," Peverell replied. "My father gave them up about two thousand
years ago. If he hadn't, Medrawed would have never found them and
never succumbed to them. You wouldn't have to bury your brother –"
"So he wouldn't have done the Horcrux without the Deathly Hallows?" Sal
questioned bitterly.
Peverell winced.
"No," he said. "The decision for the Horcrux has nothing to do with the
Deathly Hallows."
"In other words: It wouldn't have changed a thing," Sal replied bitterly.
Peverell opened his mouth to object, but in the end, he couldn't.
"I fear you are right," he finally said tiredly. "There's a huge chance that it
wouldn't have changed anything in the end, except that he would have
died that day you used your eyes on him and not ended up as stone."
Sal raised his eyebrow at that, but before he could ask, Peverell
continued with the explanation Sal would have asked for.
"A Horcrux binds the soul to the living world," Peverell said. "But it
doesn't bind the soul to its body. The Hallows on the other hand bind the
soul to the body and not just to the living world. Your brother's body
would have died that day if he hadn't been the Master of the Deathly
Hallows."
Sal said nothing for a moment or two after that confession. In the end, he
just sighed.
"I guess it was better like that," he said. "At least he couldn't wreak havoc
as a wraith while I was looking for his Horcrux."
Peverell smiled at the immortal boy in front of him.
It was great to see that Sal had healed enough to be able to deal with his
deed without feeling too guilty about it. Oh, Peverell could still see and
hear the hurt and self-hatred in Sal's face and voice, but he also could see
the slow acceptance that was muffling the guilt.
Sal wasn't alright, but he would be in time.
xXxXxXxXx
It was the day before Yule when the front step of Malfoire Mansion was
again occupied by a man who actually didn't belong to the Malfoire
family. This time it was Nicholas who opened the door, feeling like a
dejà-vu was about to happen.
The old man in front of the door looked the same like thirteen years ago.
Nicholas frowned when he saw the man.
"I thought you would come back in two years and not now," he said and
the old man sighed.
"I planned to," he said. "But something changed, so I am here now."
Nicholas' gaze darkened at that, but he stepped aside nevertheless.
"Cathérine and Henri won't let you take the child if that's what you came
to do," he told the old man. The man just sighed.
"Don't worry," he said. "I didn't come to take away the child."
Nicholas frowned but nodded before leading the old man to the sitting
room where Cathérine, Henri and Perenelle were conversing and reading.
Salvatio had secluded himself to his room the moment he had returned
home yesterday night. He hadn't shown himself all day.
"Who was at the door, cheri?" Perenelle asked, looking up from her
scrolls. Her breathing hitched when she recognised the old man behind
her husband.
"You," she said and Cathérine and Henri turned at her fearful expression.
Cathérine's eyes widened when she recognised the man.
"Are," she gulped before forcing the words out of her mouth. "Are you
here for Salvatio?"
The old man sighed at that.
"May I take a seat?" He asked and when the two women reluctantly
nodded, he sat in one of the left-over seats before continuing. "Yes, I am
here for Salvatio," he said. "Something happened this summer."
Nicholas paled at that.
"So… so it was my fault?" He asked with guilt-ridden eyes. He had
confessed what happened to his brother- and sister-in-law after he had
talked about it with Perenelle. He thought that he should at least tell
Salvatio's parents what he had recklessly done and how it had changed
their beloved son.
"Your fault?" The old man frowned.
"I was dying and he healed me," Nicholas confessed. "He was different
after that –"
The old man frowned.
"So that's how it happened," he said. "I was notified when it happened but
I didn't know how it happened."
Nicholas closed his eyes at that.
"So it was my fault," he said defeated. "If I hadn't been, whatever
happened to Salvatio wouldn't have happened…"
The answer was a sigh.
"May I ask what you allude to when you talk about 'whatever happened
to him'?" The old man asked. "What did you notice changing?"
Nicholas bit his lips at that before looking at his wife and the rest of the
family.
"He was more withdrawn," Cathérine said slowly. "At that point of time I
still had no idea that something had happened because someone didn't
tell me about the accident." She sent Nicholas a dark look, and Nicholas
looked away. Neither Cathérine nor Henri had been happy with him
when they finally found out. They hadn't blamed him for the accident,
but they blamed him for not telling them sooner.
"He was a little bit more cautious," Henri added. "And his vampire
teacher came by because Salvatio started acting different towards him. I
don't know how he acted different, because the teacher never said; I just
know that he did."
"Nicholas also noticed that Salvatio's tears gained… phoenix-like
abilities," Perenelle added. "Or at least we never noticed it if they had if
before – not that Salvatio cried much even as a babe."
The old man nodded at that.
"What about knowledge?" He asked and Nicholas frowned.
"Are you talking about the ritual he used to heal me?" He asked and was
surprised when the old man nodded.
"This would do," the old man said.
Nicholas eyes narrowed.
"Why did you ask us about those changes?" He questioned wearily.
To his surprise, the answer didn't come from the man in front of him but
from a child's voice at the door.
"Because he wanted to know if I truly woke up," the child's voice said and
Nicholas as well as the others turned to look at Salvatio who stood at the
entrance to the door warily.
"Salvatio," the old man greeted the child.
"Peverell," the child replied as if greeting an old friend. Nicholas' eyes
narrowed.
"You know him, Salvatio?" He asked cautiously.
"I remember him bringing me to you," Salvatio replied. "It's a little bit
blurry, as if it was a dream, but I remember him nevertheless."
"He never told us his name back then," Nicholas said frowning and
Salvatio just shrugged.
"I know," the child replied. "But I remember everything before I met you
as well – even looking at my birth parents for the first time, and also
looking at them for the last time."
Peverell grimaced at that.
Perenelle on the other side frowned.
"He didn't remember before," she said before turning to Peverell. "What
happened?"
The old man sighed.
"I know I promised you fifteen years before his heritage would make
itself known, but," at that he was interrupted by Nicholas when Nicholas
finally understood what had happened back when he had nearly died.
"His heritage," he said in dawning realisation. "When he tried to rescue
me it awakened his pureblood heritage."
It was Salvatio who answered.
"It did," the child said. "I'm sorry, Oncle Nick."
Nicholas just shook his head.
"It isn't you who should be sorry," he said, feeling angry with himself. "It
is I. I was the one who was stupid enough to experiment with nobody in
the house to help me if something happened! I was the one who basically
forced you to grow up faster than you should just because I was too
stupid to keep myself safe!"
Salvatio just shook his head.
"I could have let you die, Oncle," the child said. "It was my decision – and
I don't regret it."
Nicholas opened his mouth to object, but the old man who had been
called 'Peverell' by Salvatio, intercepted him before he could even utter
one word.
"You don't have to worry about Salvatio," he said. "Awaking early hasn't
done him any harm."
The child raised an eyebrow at that but didn't object.
"So," Perenelle said cautiously. "What does happen now that Salvatio
truly is a pureblood?"
To Nicholas surprise the old man looked at Salvatio with a questioning
look instead of answering immediately.
Salvatio hesitated.
Then he sighed.
"I won't leave or anything if you don't want me to," he said. "But I'm not
the child you know anymore as well."
Salvatio looked at his parents and aunt and uncle with shadowed eyes.
"I can't be the innocent child I was before this summer ever again," he
said. "If you can't accept that, I will leave because I won't act and lie to
you like that. I grew up loving you as my parents. I won't defile this
relationship by trying to lie to you about my character and decisions."
"Salvatio is a phoenix-born," Peverell said sighing. "His heritage doesn't
just involve abilities, it also involves memories."
"Like the ritual he used to heal me," Nicholas concluded.
Salvatio inclined his head.
"Yes," he said. "But not just that. I've gained about two thousand years
worth of memories. I'm not a child anymore."
At that, Cathérine pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.
It was Henri who asked the question they all wanted to ask.
"Does that mean we aren't your parents anymore?" Henri's voice was soft,
full of grieve and yet accepting in a way Nicholas wasn't sure he himself
could have ever been.
The conflict on Salvatio's face was heart-breaking and at the same time so
hope-inducing. It looked as if two parts in him were ringing with each
other. One part, so Nicholas guessed, the memories the child gained, and
one part the child they raised.
It was heartening to see that the child hadn't stopped loving them even
with the memories he gained.
Obviously Cathérine could see it as well, because she stumbled to her feet
to run over to her child. She fell to her knees in front of it and embraced
it, burying her tear-strained face into her child's shoulder.
For a moment, Salvatio looked uncomfortable, but in the end, he
hesitatingly reached out and embraced his mother – and his mother she
was, at least in Nicholas' eyes.
"Like I said before," Salvatio said, his voice laced with longing and tears.
"I won't leave if you don't want me to. Just don't expect me to be the
same."
At that, Henri smiled tearfully before standing up and joining his son and
wife at the door.
"We won't, Salvatio," he said. "As long as you don't expect us to always
remember that you now feel a lot older than you are; we at least try to
remember that you suddenly gained enough knowledge to make us
children in your eyes…"
Salvatio grimaced at that.
"I definitely didn't need that mental image," he complained and his
parents laughed.
"Sorry, mon fils," Henri replied before hesitating. "Is it still alright with
you to call you that?"
Salvatio sighed.
"You raised me for thirteen years, papa," he said. "Even if I have the
memories of two thousand years, it doesn't change the fact that habits
from my time growing up with you had time to fester. I'm quite sure that
even I am hard pressed to stop calling you my parents even if I remember
hundreds of years living without you."
The answer was a smile from Cathérine.
"Don't even try to stop," Cathérine said. "Believe me, even if you would
have turned out a five-thousand-years old vampire with memory-loss. We
raised you, so you are still our son!"
At that Salvatio blinked in surprise before exchanging a glance with
Peverell.
"No," Peverell said amused. "He's definitely not five thousand years old –
and believe me, you would have long since noticed if he were a vampire."
Salvatio snorted at that.
"Sometimes I wonder about you, Peverell," he said. "How, by the Gods,
did you find those people for me as parents? I somehow have the feeling
you intent to drown me in Gryffindors!"
Peverell looked at the child innocently.
"They're from Beauxbaton," he replied. "I had no idea what house they
would have been in at Hogwarts."
Salvatio just raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?" He asked and Peverell shrugged.
"Well, I followed Godric's line, since I know of the relation between your
mother and them," Peverell replied. "I'm not at fault for the rest of all
this!"
Nicholas frowned at that.
"What do you mean 'you followed Godric's line'?" He asked suspiciously.
The old man sighed.
"I planned to give Salvatio to a relation of his," he said. "Since, like you
know, I'm quite old and because of that weary to raise a child all alone. I
knew that he was related to Godric Gryffindor, the founder of Hogwarts,
so I searched for Godric's heirs."
"And you came to me," Nicholas said, suddenly understanding in his eyes.
"You know my true last name."
For a moment, Peverell hesitated. Cathérine, Henri and Salvatio looked at
Nicholas interestedly.
"What do you mean 'your true last name'?" Cathérine asked and Nicholas
grimaced.
"You know that my family left Britain when I was a child of ten, don't
you?"
Cathérine and Henri nodded.
"When I was accepted at Beauxbaton, I changed my last name to Flamel
to obscure my heritage. Perenelle knows, but we never told our children
or anybody else," Nicholas said sighing.
At that, Henri frowned.
"You obscured your last name?" He asked.
Nicholas sighed.
"My last name isn't one you can bear easily," he replied sighing. "It's a
name shadowed in history and darkness. I grew up with it for ten years
and I was vilified long before I was even old enough to have a wand. I
didn't want the same for my children, so I begged my parents to change
my name when I was added to Beauxbaton as a student."
Henri frowned.
"Vilified?" He asked.
Nicholas grimaced.
"The name 'LeFay' normally always makes sure that you're vilified by only
having that name," he replied. "I'm not surprised that Godric Gryffindor
gave up his name when founding Hogwarts…"
Peverell snorted.
"Actually," he said. "Giving up his name was an accident. He was married
to my sister Rowena while I was married to his sister Helga. It was simply
practical to differentiate between us with the help of nick-names. It
would have been confusing otherwise."
The other adults stared at Peverell.
"You were a founder of Hogwarts?" Nicholas asked surprised.
Peverell shook his head.
"No," he said. "My wife was. I simply knew them all."
Sal snorted.
"I remember distinctively one very shiny tower belonging to you in
Hogwarts," he said amused.
Peverell shrugged at that.
"I had to live somewhere," he said. "Anyway, I wouldn't dare to claim it
again. It's inhabited by a nuisance without any sense of rightfulness."
Sal raised an eyebrow at that.
"Sounds as if you're peeved with the Sorting Hat," he said amused.
"Whatever why?"
Peverell answered with a disbelieving look towards the child.
"It put you in Ravenclaw!" He said.
Sal shrugged.
"It did," the child said amused. "That doesn't explain why you're peeved."
"It. Put. You. In. Ravenclaw!" Peverell replied slowly. "That thing is either
insane or defect – whatever it is, it's definitely not doing its job right
anymore!"
Sal winked it off.
"Don't worry, Peverell," he said. "If I ever wear it again, I'll promise to try
for Hufflepuff."
Peverell gawked at him.
"Huffle… puff," he repeated slowly. "You…"
Salvatio grinned.
"Why not?" He asked. "I remember being sorted into Gryffindor once,
after all…"
Peverell shook his head slowly.
"You know what, Sal," he said. "I don't want to know what you've been up
to since I last saw you. I like being sane, thank you very much."
Sal shrugged unconcerned.
"You're not implying that my parents raised me to be insane, do you?" He
asked amused and Nicholas wondered if Peverell knew what memories
Salvatio had inherited. It seemed that Peverell at least knew enough
about those memories to be able to interact with the child.
Peverell at the same time opened his mouth, just to close it again without
saying anything.
The old man shook his head and then turned to Cathérine.
"There's just one thing you should know about your son if he stays with
you," he said. "Salvatio won't die – at least not for quite some time."
At that, Henri and Cathérine exchanged a concerned gaze.
"What do you mean 'he won't die'?" Perenelle asked.
"Firbolg-born like me lives for a very long time," Salvatio replied for the
old man. "Just look at Peverell: He lived for seven hundred years already
– and he isn't one of the so called immortal ones. My own birth-father
lived for over a thousand years."
At that, Cathérine closed her eyes.
"So I guess you will live that long as well," Henri said concerned.
Sal shrugged.
"About," he said. "My father was killed. He didn't die naturally."
Cathérine and Henri exchanged a look.
"Will he age like a human?" Henri asked Peverell.
Peverell nodded.
"At least for now, he will," Peverell said. "He will grow up like any other
child, but he's right. He won't die for a very long time."
Nicholas' eyes darkened at that.
"And I won't as well," he said, exchanging a look with Perenelle. "I'm
working on a Philosopher's stone – and I will succeed. I can make sure
that we'll be able to look after him until he doesn't need or want us
anymore!"
Peverell frowned at that, but in the end shrugged.
"You can at least try to find the formula," the old man said. "If you don't
succeed, so be it."
Nicholas gave him the gimlet eye.
"I will succeed," he growled. "It was my fault that Salvatio had to wake
up his heritage that early – the least I can do is stay by him while he's
forced to wither centuries!"
Henri and Cathérine on the other hand exchanged another look.
"What about children?" Cathérine asked. "Will he be able to have
children?"
Peverell looked at Salvatio.
It was the child who answered.
"No, maman," he said. "I can't. Not for a long time yet to come. I'm sorry."
The answer was a soft smile.
"It's alright, mon fils," she said. "It's enough for me that you will live. I was
merely concerned about your future. Your father and I can arrange your
marriage like every parent should – but we can't stop your wife from
aging a lot faster than you. I just hoped that if you had children there
would be at least some other persons you could have in your life for some
time to come."
Salvatio just smiled at his mother.
"It's alright, maman," he said. "You don't have to fear for me. I'm just
thirteen right now. Whatever will happen, will happen years from now."
Cathérine smiled at that.
"Nevertheless we should look out for a wife from a long-living family,"
Henri said. "Your mother and I were already looking, since in one or two
years it's time for you to engage. Knowing that you'll live a lot longer
than us just narrowed down our search pattern a little bit more."
Perenelle nodded.
"It just means that you finally can reject that pompous… man's offer," she
said. "He's been after Salvatio since the boy stopped him in cornering you
seven years ago. That damn lord might have a high standing in French
society, but it's well known that his family members don't even reach a
century – far too short for someone like Salvatio."
Nicholas nodded as well.
"It also adds some families we didn't consider until now," he said.
"Families like the Notts, the Maximes and the Blacks. They're all very
powerful politically, but we ruled them out since they've all very
prominent pureblood heritage. Since we didn't know Salvatio's pureblood
heritage and some purebloods simply can't with each other, we thought it
best not to consider them at all."
Peverell raised an eyebrow.
"You've been looking for a wife for Salvatio?" He asked a little bit unsure.
Salvatio rolled his eyes.
"They're looking since I was ten," he said. "And no, I don't like it – at all."
Peverell looked at Salvatio confused.
The immortal child just rolled his eyes again.
No, Sal hadn't thought about the fact that his parents wanted to marry
him off, when he decided to return. He hadn't even thought about it in
passing until his mother spoke about it again a few minutes ago.
For a moment Sal contemplated if he could stop his parents' quest for his
wife. It wasn't that Sal objected to a woman in his life. He had lived for
centuries; of course he had had all kinds of lovers. Some lovers he stayed
with their whole lives, some he just met for one night, some where love-
interests, some friends-turned-lover, some friends with benefits. There
were hundreds of years Sal had gone without lovers; there were other
centuries in which he had more than one. There were even some lovers
that had been his partners in something akin to marriage – not that they
had truly been married by current standards. Marriage like it was now
hadn't existed for the most part of Sal's life, after all.
Still, Sal had always chosen his lover himself.
In the end he conceded that it would take time to disabuse his parents of
the idea to marry him off. There was no way he would be able to stop
them without working on them and his uncle and aunt for some time.
But then, Sal was a two thousand year old Firbolg-born – disabusing his
current parents from organizing his marriage should be easy for him,
shouldn't it?
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Well, I hope I finally explained Sal's love-life and the lack of children – since
I've been asked about it multiple times already.
And no, this won't be a romance, but this IS the 14th century. Being married
off for some political reason is normal. I'm simply trying to go with what I
know about that time.
That's it for today. I hope you liked it.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
46. Chapter 45: 1402: Meeting
Someone
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
Well, I tried to post on Christmas, but I wasn't finished until today, so I guess
it's a very late Christmas gift for those who celebrate. xDDD
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Year 1402 AD
Meeting Someone Like Oneself
sss
1899
"Are you ready, Eloise?" The Unspeakable in front of the casually clothed
woman looked at her in concern. He was one of Eloise Mintumble's best
friends – and like her, he worked in the Department of Mysteries,
category Time-Travel.
"I am," she said. Of course, she was nervous, but they had quite a sound
theory regarding time-travel into the past and also a device that would
bring her back the moment she would use it.
"Do you have everything for documentation?" Her best friend asked.
"I do," she said.
"And the device to bring you back?"
She held out an odd looking device, like a miniature time-turner made
out of clay.
"And you know how to –"
"I just have to break it, Charlus!" She replied while rolling her eyes.
"Believe me, I won't forget."
"Good," her best friend said. "And don't you dare to forget!"
She rolled her eyes again.
"I won't, Charlus," she said amused. "I won't."
Her best friend nodded and took a deep breath.
She snorted at that.
"You look like it is you who's going back in time, not I," she commented
amused. "Don't be so nervous, Charlus! Nothing will go wrong!"
Charlus shook his head.
"I still think that it's a risk you shouldn't take," he said. "Our theory is
untested! There's so much that can go wrong!"
Eloise laughed.
"Don't be such a worrywart, Charlus!" She replied. "You've been against
that experiment from the start and I know that you're just here because
you didn't want me to have to work alone!"
Charlus' eyes narrowed at that.
"My Professor in Ancient Runes always told me that even if something
can be done using runes, it doesn't mean that it should be done!" He
replied darkly. "I think he's right, Eloise!"
She laughed at that.
"Professor Malfoire has always been far too cautious for his own good!"
She replied amused. "Truly, you'd think that a man with his knowledge in
ancient runes would use this knowledge to bring new discoveries into our
world! Instead he's at Hogwarts, teaching!"
Charlus just shook his head.
"Someone has to teach and you can't say that Professor Malfoire can't do
it!" He replied.
"Nevertheless, he's far too cautious!" She replied amused. "And now, let's
get started! I'm ready to have a look at the world in the fifteen hundreds!"
Charlus just sighed at that.
"Alright," he gave in. "But if something goes wrong, please remember that
I told you to be careful!"
"Yes, yes, worrywart," she replied amused and gestured to the other
Unspeakables that surrounded them.
"Give me the time turner!"
The time-turner she was given had a lot more spinning devices attached
to it, but all in all, it wasn't too different and too much bigger than the
normal ones used for going back only hours. The only noticeable
different was that a few of the spirals could be fixed to a specific date
before someone started to spin the time-turner.
She fixed it to the twentieth of August, 1400.
"Alright, 1400 – here I come!" She said grinning.
Everyone else stepped back.
For a moment she looked at Charlus.
"I bring back some souvenirs!" She said laughing.
Then she sent her time-turner spinning.
The world blurred. For a moment she could see the people around her
doing everything backwards, but then even these actions started to blur
until everything she saw was colour.
A moment or two later, the motions around her stopped.
The world cleared and she fell to her knees before loosing consciousness.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1402
When Eloise woke up, a hand was resting on her forehead.
"Com es elha, mieus amicx?" A voice asked concerned. The voice was
female and quite soft.
The answer was as incomprehensible as the first words, but unlike the
first words they were spoken by a man.
Eloise groaned and then opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground in
the shadows of a tree at the side of a clearing in the middle of hundreds
of little daisies. A man was sitting next to her, one of his hands on her
forehead, the other feeling her pulse at her wrist.
Next to him stood a female in an old-fashioned dress in a light green
colour.
The man looked at her in concern.
He had black locks and oddly light green eyes and reminded her of her
old ancient runes Professor somehow.
His face showed his concern.
"Bist thŏu heil, donzelh?" He asked her and she looked at him confused.
"I… I don't understand," she said.
It was then that she finally remembered what had happened and where
she was. She had used the time-turner. She was in the year 1400 – if it
had gone right, that is. But then, she knew that no one – neither witch
nor muggle would wear such old fashioned clothing anymore, so she
dared to think that it truly happened and that she went back in time.
And yet, she was a little bit confused that she couldn't understand the
man and the woman in front of her. She had never anticipated that the
language would have changed over time to the one she was speaking
now.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she repeated and the other woman – or
girl, since Eloise guessed that she was about fifteen years old – looked
confused at her companion, a boy of about seventeen.
He said something to the girl with a short smile before turning back to
her and letting her go.
Then he closed his eyes, his brow furrowing.
"Could you," he started slowly and heavily accented. "Repeat… that?"
Eloise looked at the man in surprise.
"What language are you and the girl speaking?" She finally blurted out
confused.
The man frowned again.
"English," he answered, half-amused, half-confused. "Or French, if you
prefer."
She frowned.
"I don't understand a word you're saying," she said confused. "And I'm
speaking English!"
At that, she saw amusement dancing in the eyes of the man.
"Believe me," he said slowly. "Current English sounds quite different."
"And yet you're here and talking to me in the English I know," she
pointed out.
He laughed at that, and when the girl behind him said something with a
frown on her face, he turned to her and said something else. Her
eyebrows rose at that, then she stared at Eloise in confusion.
"What –?" Eloise started to ask, but the man answered before she could
even formulate her question.
"My betrothed isn't quite that happy that I'm laughing with a female that
isn't she," he replied amused. "She's quite young, still, and a little bit
unsure about my affection."
Eloise frowned at that.
"Your betrothed?" She repeated not amused at all. "Isn't she a little bit
young to be betrothed to anyone?"
The boy raised an eyebrow at that.
"This is 1402, Ma'am," he replied a little bit coolly. "In the mundane
world she would have been married for a few years now."
Eloise frown deepened.
"Still," she said. "She's far too young –"
"The marriage won't be for another six years," he interrupted her. "Unlike
in later times, you don't marry until both marriage partners are at least
twenty-one years of age. Tell me, when do they marry in your time,
Miss?"
Eloise eyes widened at that.
"W… what do you mean 'in my time'?" She stuttered.
The boy in front of her just raised an eyebrow.
"The clothing you're wearing is far too liberal for this time," he replied
amused. "You're telling me, you're speaking English and yet the language
you're speaking isn't the same that everyone else uses and you're
outraged by a practice that has been like that for hundreds of years now."
Eloise looked at the man in front of her in surprise.
It was oddly logical when he pointed it out like that.
Still, she had to try and dissuade him nevertheless.
"You are speaking my English as well," she pointed out.
He laughed at that amused.
"No," he said. "Not your English. Just a form of English that's near enough
to the one you're speaking that you're able to understand me without a
lot of trouble. Guessing from that, I'd say you're from sometime in the
twentieth century."
Her eyes widened at that.
"I am not," she said. "I'm from 1899."
He shrugged.
"Close enough for me," he replied.
She stared at him.
"How?" She asked. "How do you know that?"
"Like I said: your clothing, your language –"
"No!" She interrupted him. "How were you able to guess the time I'm
from?"
The answer was an amused smile.
"That's not something I share with anyone," he replied.
That reminded her…
"I'm Eloise," she said. "Eloise Mintumble."
He raised an eyebrow at that, but replied anyway.
"Salvatio Malfoire," he said and she wondered if he was related to her
ancient runes professor.
Maybe his ancestor?
She couldn't even ask him since she didn't think that the man in front of
her would know the answer. But then, she could ask her professor when
she returned to the future…
"Well, Miss Mintumble," he said and his choice of words reminded her
again of her professor. "How did you end up here?"
Eloise frowned.
"I don't think that there're so much options that lead to me ending up in
the past," she said and he inclined his head.
"Surely," he said. "But there are still some different ways to travel through
time."
She looked at him in amusement.
"I don't think there are too many," she said. "You can't travel through
time without any kind of preparation."
The answer was an amused look at her.
"There are still accidents," he replied. "There're enough accidents in every
other part of magic – I don't think that time travel is an exception."
She rolled her eyes at him.
"It was planned," she huffed. "We set the timer for year 1400."
"It's 1402," Malfoire replied.
She frowned.
"We might have calculated some things wrongly," she said. "But all in all,
the entire test succeeded. I travelled in time for years!"
The man in front of her shook his head in amusement, then he turned to
his fiancée and said something to her. The girl frowned, but after some
more words exchanged, she nodded.
"If you wish, I am willing to harbour you until you have learned the
language and found your footing," he said.
Eloise frowned at that.
"I'm not staying for very long," she said. "I planned to stay a week and
then return to the future."
At that, Malfoire's eyes darkened.
"It's something different to travel back in time than to travel forward," he
said, but then he stopped and shook his head. "Anyway, you will need a
place to stay. I am sure my parents won't mind if you stay with us for
now. I'm quite sure we will be able to explain you as a distant relative
from the country whose father her to experience London's high society or
something like that."
She frowned at him, but in the end, she nodded. She would need a place
to stay at least for the night. She wasn't quite sure what to think about
the added part that made her a 'distant relative', but she guessed that she
could live with it for now.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Salvatio didn't know what to think about the woman he found lying on
the ground while he had been spending his afternoon with his betrothed.
Yes, he was betrothed.
He hadn't given in without resistance, but in the end, his parents had
won.
"But I won't die for centuries!" He had protested. "I don't need to marry
right now!"
"But we won't be there anymore in centuries," his mother replied. "We
can't forego our duty for our child just because our child will live longer
than most other children."
"But she will die long before I'm even going to find a grey hair in my
hair!" Sal protested and his mother smothered down his black hair
fondly.
"I know, mon petit fils," she said smiling sadly. "But it is our duty to ensure
your future – and a good marriage is the only way to ensure your future.
Your father and I wouldn't be able to look your birth-parents in the eye if
we didn't ensure that you were married before we leave this world for the
veil."
"Maman!" Sal protested. "There's no way that I'm able to have children!
What should I tell my wife? She and maybe everyone will think that it's
her fault! She will be an outcast in society – just because of me!"
"I'm quite sure your Oncle Nick will help you like he helped your father
and me," she said. "The moment he's done with his new project that is."
She rolled her eyes.
Salvatio sighed at that.
His Oncle Nick had been obsessed with making a Philosopher's stone
since the incident that woke Sal's "inheritance" early.
He hadn't truly succeeded, yet, but he had found a way to at least slow
down his and his wife's aging. Sal was sure that his Oncle would succeed
soon, after all, the man had to if he was still alive in Sal's first year at
Hogwarts.
"I'm not forcing a young girl into feeling unable to fulfil her role in life,
Maman!" He objected his mother's words.
"I'll talk to her before writing out the contract," she promised. "She will
go into this marriage knowing that it isn't her fault."
"Maman!" Sadly enough Sal knew that his mother wouldn't give up on
her idea, no matter how much he pleaded and argued. Maybe he should
have vanished without a trace when he still had the chance to do so…
Now, five years later, Sal was engaged for a few months already. His
future wife knew that he wouldn't be able to give her children and had
accepted her fate.
Sal didn't love the girl he was to marry in another six years, but he was
sure that he could live with her. She on the other hand seemed to have a
little crush on him. Sal guessed that it was her right to feel that way, so
he didn't even try to rid her of her current feelings. It was after all a lot
better than mutual hatred.
Still, it wasn't easy, especially since she clearly was a little bit jealous
when they met Eloise Mintumble and he, unlike his betrothed, was able
to understand her.
"Mieus amicx," his betrothed said in that moment. He looked down into
her face. He had been guiding her and Eloise to the carriage that would
bring his betrothed home and Eloise and him to his parents'.
"Donzelh Andromeda?" He asked.
She hesitated; then sighed.
"Why do we take her with us, mieus amicx?" She asked concerned.
"Because she doesn't have anyone in this world and it is our duty as
fellow sorcerers to ensure that she finds her place in a world that is
foreign to her," he replied.
Andromeda, his betrothed, frowned.
"She's long since past childhood," she said darkly. "She should have long
since learned her place in this world."
Sal smiled at that amused.
"She definitely has – in her own time," he replied, not interested in
censoring himself.
At that, Andromeda looked at him in surprise.
"Her time?"
Sal inclined his head.
"I'd prefer if you don't tell that piece of knowledge to anyone," he said.
"If this isn't her time, how did she get here?" She asked confused.
"There are different ways to walk through time," Sal answered without
hesitation. "However she got here, she will have to stay, and she will
need a place to stay."
For a moment Andromeda looked at him frowning, but then she nodded.
"So you'll bring her to your parents to teach her?" She asked.
He inclined his head.
"It would be best if we don't spread her origin further than we have to,"
he replied. "She has to learn, but telling everybody her origin won't help
her."
Andromeda frowned at that, thinking it over, but in the end she nodded.
"I won't tell anyone," she said and he smiled at her.
"Thank you, donzelh."
He helped both women into the carriage and then nodded to their driver
and guard that they were ready to return home. They went to
Andromeda's home – a manor in the middle of London – first. He guided
her into the house, greeted her parents and then said his good-byes for
that day.
Then he returned to the carriage and they continued on to his parents'
home in London.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Is this what you truly want to do, Peverell?" The voice asked him softly.
Peverell closed his eyes.
"If I don't do it," he said. "Salvatio might break again. I have kept myself
away, but since he found out about me, he has come and visited me far
too often to not be affected by my death anymore."
"And yet he might still suffer the moment you breathe your last breath,"
the voice replied.
Peverell inclined his head tiredly.
"He might," he said. "But at least he will keep two more with him
throughout the centuries. If I don't do it, he will lose me anyway in a
year's time. He will lose me, then his parents, his uncle and his aunt.
There's nothing he can do about it except of grieve our deaths. But if I do
it, there will be two more he can go to, two more who will understand
his pain and who will help him to overcome it. He won't try to kill
himself if it means to leave someone who needs him alone to suffer."
"But they won't need him," the voice said softly.
"In his eyes, they will," Peverell replied. "They will be new to their
immortal life. He will know that they will be forced to grieve for his
parents like he will be forced to grieve for them. They will be forced to
grieve for their children, children's children and friends. He has gone
through all that before. He wouldn't let them suffer alone."
"So you have decided," the voice said.
"I have," Peverell said. "Will you fault me for my decision, master?"
The answer was the wind ruffling Peverell's hair.
"Never, my child," the voice replied warmly. "I have always known that
Nicholas won't be one of mine for quite some time yet."
Again, wind ruffled Peverell's hair.
"Thank you, my child, I will have my balance for the next centuries – a
balance who will do what he has to do without breaking apart by guilt
and grieve."
"Then I won't regret my decision," Peverell said, closing his eyes again. "I
won't regret my death when it means that Sal won't lose everyone he
holds dear again."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Eloise wasn't sure what to think about Salvatio Malfoire.
The young man didn't ask her any questions about the future; he didn't
even seem interested in her original time.
She watched him guide his betrothed to the door and after vanishing into
the house for a few moments, returning to the carriage.
The rest of the drive was silent, until they stopped in front of another
manor.
"My parents' home," he told her in his stilted English. "Let's go in there,
donzelh. I will have to tell them who you are and why you are here."
"So you're telling them about my time-travel?" She asked frowning.
"It's the only way to ensure that they know why they have to be lenient
with your actions and words. You're not from this time. This time is
different and I don't plan to try to explain your mistakes away until you
get a grip of the current culture, donzelh," he replied coolly before
stepping out of the carriage and holding out a hand for her to take. She
frowned at him but took the hand.
The rest of the evening was odd, in Eloise's opinion.
Salvatio Malfoire and his family were speaking French – well, at least
Salvatio had told her that it was French, because it sure didn't sound like
it – and Eloise was sitting next to them, understanding nearly nothing. It
wasn't the family's fault. They had tried to include her by switching to
Latin. Sadly enough, Eloise had never applied herself in her Latin studies
and because of that only knew enough for her spells. It wasn't ideal at all.
In the end, the family talked with each other and Eloise was sitting by,
listening to the odd language, noting down the differences in culture and
language for her documentation – as far as she was able to catch those
differences, that is – and listened to the family members' talk.
Sometimes Salvatio would turn around and talk to her, asking her a
question or two, but all in all, she felt oddly isolated from those people
around her.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Salvatio meanwhile had some other trouble to work though. He had told
his family that the woman he brought home was from the future – but
that brought another round of questions forward.
"How do you know that she's from the future, mon fils?" His father asked.
Sal sighed.
"It's her language and her bearing that made me guess at first. She
confirmed it in the end," he replied truthfully.
"But how can you understand her when she's from the future, mon fils?"
His mother asked confused. At that, Sal grimaced.
"That's a long explanation," he said sighing. "Let's just say that it has
something to do with my inheritance, alright, maman? If I'd tell you the
full version it would take days until I had it explained fully and even then
I'm not sure if I'd told you everything – especially because I don't know
the absolute answer to your question myself."
His parents looked at each other, then nodded.
"Alright, mon fils," his father said. "Now back to the topic: You can tell
that she's from the future – and you're absolutely sure about that, aren't
you?"
Sal inclined his head.
"I am, père," he said.
"So… will she return to her future soon or is she here for good?" His
father asked.
Sal frowned at that.
"For her safety I hope she's here for good," he replied darkly. "Travelling
to the future is just possible in one way: to live day for day until you
reach the future again."
Sal's mother looked at him in surprise at that.
"You are sure about that?" She asked.
Sal hesitated, then he sighed and shook his head.
"There are other ways," he said. "There are always other ways – but just
because you can theoretically do it doesn't mean that you should. There
are dire consequences if you go against nature, maman."
"So she will stay," his father concluded and then nodded. "I guess you will
teach her our language?"
Sal inclined his head.
"Our language, our customs and our way of life," he replied sincerely.
His parents nodded at that.
"What will happen when we return to France next month?" Cathérine
asked. "We're not here in London to stay, after all. We only came for your
betrothal to Andromeda Black…"
"I guess she will have to choose," Sal replied truthfully. "Either she will
come with us or we will find her a place to stay here in London."
"Or we stay until she's ready to move with us," Sal's father Henri said
sighing. "Staying a little bit longer here in London won't be too much of a
trouble, after all."
The answer was a smile from Cathérine. Sal just snorted.
"You just want to stay to have an eye on me and my betrothed," he said,
half-amused, half-exasperated. "That's the same reason why you two are
still here, months after my betrothal!"
The answer was an innocent smile from his mother.
"Oh, cheri!" She said. "Surely we aren't that curious!"
Sal rolled his eyes.
"Surely not, maman," he said amused. "Surely not!"
The rest of the evening they used to talk about and with the new
inhabitant of their home. Eloise didn't seem too interested in joining the
conversation. Instead of trying to learn their language – and Sal tried to
get her start learning – she sat there and listened or wrote something
down into a little booklet that she had been carrying with her.
"She's not even trying to start learning our language," Henri said
frowning.
Sal sighed.
"I'll talk to her later," he promised. "I'll try to get her to understand."
And with that they started to talk about something else.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Nicholas," Nicholas looked up from his cauldron.
At the door stood Peverell, looking at him with dark eyes.
"I see that you're still working on your concoction," he said frowning,
looking at Nicholas' experiments all over the room.
"I will succeed," Nicholas said stubbornly. "I won't give up until I do!"
"And yet you haven't made any progress to gain a Philosopher's stone in
years now," Peverell said, looking around the room darkly.
Nicholas returned the look of the other man stubbornly.
"I will succeed," he repeated icily. "I won't leave Salvatio all alone for
years and years! He's my nephew and it was my fault that his childhood
was cut short! He gave up his childhood in exchange for my life – so I
will find a way to live until he's ready to be alone!"
"So you're quite positive that you will succeed," Peverell said sighing.
Nicholas shrugged.
"It doesn't matter what you think, I will succeed," he said coolly.
"Whatever you say, I won't let my nephew face all those centuries all
alone!"
For a moment, Peverell said nothing.
Then he sighed.
"You're a stubborn man, Nicholas," Peverell said tiredly. He shook his
head. "Such a stubborn man."
Nicholas shrugged.
"If I give up I will never succeed," he replied. "It's either continuing or
giving up – and I'm not ready to give up."
Peverell sighed again.
"As you wish," he said. "Show me what you've got."
Nicholas frowned but pulled out his nearly done potion.
"This is the one that's most likely to succeed if I can tweak it a little bit
more," he said. "I'm already more than half way there. This potion has
slowed down my and Perenelle's aging for a few years now, but I'm not
yet fully done."
Peverell took the sheet and read through the recipe.
"There's only one thing that's missing in this brew," Peverell said. "Brew
it; I will help you with it."
Nicholas frowned at that confused.
"Why do you plan to help me?" He asked him in confusion. "What's in it
for you if I gain immortality?"
"Nothing and everything," Peverell replied. "I'm an old man, Nicholas.
There's not a lot time left for me, and when I die, Salvatio will mourn me,
like he will mourn all of you when you die. I made a mistake once and
removed myself from his life. I nearly lost him because of my decision.
Now I'm dying – and I will be damned to leave him all alone in the world
for the next centuries to come!"
"I thought that he has the Professor Anastasius?" Nicholas said. "He seems
to like him quite a lot."
"He has," Peverell said nodding. "But that doesn't change that as long as
at least a few of us will stay alive for a little bit longer it will lessen his
pain. You were the one who has sworn that you will stand by Salvatio's
side until he doesn't need you anymore. I have never sworn that. I am far
too old to stay, but I'm willing to ensure that Salvatio won't feel too alone
when I'm gone."
Nicholas said nothing for a moment or two, then he sighed and inclined
his head.
"So be it," he said. "Help me, Peverell."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Eloise liked living with the Malfoires.
She had been in the past for two days already and she loved every minute
of it. Sal had shown her around the market of London, he had explained
their life to her and she had dutifully taken notes, quite enamoured with
her 'holiday' in the past.
Sal on the other hand wasn't happy with Eloise at all.
"You will have to at least try to learn the language," he told her sighing.
"I won't be there for forever to translate."
"You won't have to," she replied. "I will return to the future in another
three days."
Sal's frown just deepened at that.
"Donzelh Eloise," he said hesitatingly. "It isn't a good idea to try to return
to the future."
At that, the young woman frowned at him.
"Don't worry," she said. "I have a way to return. The other Unspeakables
made sure of it."
"Donzelh," Sal sighed. "Just because you can do something doesn't mean
that you should. It won't do you and anybody else any good if you use
that device you have to return to the future. It's too dangerous to do so.
The –"
"Don't worry about it, Salvatio," she said and saw him frown even more.
He didn't like being solely called by his first name. According to him, it
simply wasn't done – but Eloise thought it far too ancient to call him
something akin to 'Signeur Salvatio'. It sounded stuffy in her ears. "The
other Unspeakables have tested the device quite thoroughly and the
theory behind the time-travel is sound."
"I'm not sure what kind of theory you and your comrades used as a base
but I don't think that it can be that sound if you look at it with
Arithmancy and Runes," Sal replied darkly. "I dearly would like to see
their calculations about the time-travel into the future…"
Eloise just rolled her eyes at that, then she clasped his shoulder.
"Don't worry 'bout it, little Sal," she said, using her age as an argument.
"You're not even out of Hogwarts right now. You still have a lot to learn
to even start to understand our work. I'm not even sure that you will ever
be able to learn it, considering that there are centuries between our
schooling and our knowledge."
"Some things don't change over time, Donzelh Eloise!" He objected.
"And some things do!" She replied amused. Then she saw some musicians
and let go of his arm to go over and listen to them. He called for her, but
she didn't even try to listen, far too exited and interested in all those
things around her to even think about listening to her guide.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"How far are you?" Peverell asked when he entered Nicholas' lab again.
The other man looked up from his cauldron.
"I'll have to add the dragon's blood next," he said. "Then I'll have to stir
some and add the mint and the rest of my ingredients. After that it will
have to simmer a bit before I can put out the flames."
Nicholas was tired.
He had brewed that particular batch of potion for three days now. He
had been combining it with chanting and a lot of runic calculations, with
charms and the influence of the moon. It was Alchemy he was doing – a
potion based on the most powerful Alchemy Nicholas had ever done in
his life. And yet, it hadn't been enough to create a true Philosopher's
stone. He was missing something, something very important…
Nevertheless, Peverell had insisted that he brewed it even if he hadn't
found the solution to his Philosopher's stone problem just yet.
"Good," Peverell said. "Add the blood and stir. Then let me take over for a
bit."
Nicholas' eyebrows furrowed.
"Let you take over?" he repeated confused.
The other man inclined his head.
"I told you that I had the solution to your problem," he said. "I will take
over and add what you've been missing until now to succeed."
"What I've been missing," Nicholas repeated before shaking his head
confused. "What did I miss?"
"Add the blood and stir," the other man replied and Nicholas finally did
what he was told, still confused by Peverell's words.
Peverell stood next to him, watching him stir and when Nicholas ended,
he gently took the stirrer out of Nicholas' hands.
He put it aside, pulled out a dagger and then slit open his own wrist.
Nicholas' eyes widened, but before he could stop the Firbolg-born, the
grim-born's blood already started to flow into the cauldron.
Peverell picked up the stirrer with his other hand and then started to stir
again while chanting.
The blue colour of the potion darkened slowly to a purple.
"Add the mint," he said. "Then proceed as if I weren't there."
Nicholas looked at the other man a little bit unsurely. Then he sighed and
nodded.
"Alright," he said. "I'll do what you want."
He took up his work again, trying to forget that there was someone else
chanting along, while adding more blood to his cauldron.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Eloise's time was coming to an end.
Tomorrow would be her last day in the past, and somehow she regretted
it a bit, but on the other hand she was looking forward to some of the
comforts of her own time.
"Donzelh Eloise," she looked up, seeing Salvatio standing at the entrance
of the library. She had retreated to the library to write down her new
knowledge and it seemed like he had finally found her.
Salvatio was getting on her nerves. He was constantly trying to stop her
to use her device to return home. Of course, Eloise didn't want to listen
and he had begged off for the last hours, but it didn't change the fact that
she was slowly getting angry with him for his constant meddling in her
affairs.
"What do want from me now, Salvatio?" She asked exasperated.
He sighed as well.
"I guess we will have to talk – eye to eye," he said. "I guess I have to be a
lot more open with you if I want you to understand me."
"If it's again about my going home, just leave it be," she said. "You are far
too…"
"I am over two thousand years old, donzelh," he corrected her softly. "I
have known about time travel and its possibilities for nearly as long.
There's…"
She snorted, interrupting him with her amusement.
"You're barely seventeen, Salvatio," she corrected him amused. "Your
parents told me childhood stories of you."
Salvatio just shrugged.
"My mind is over two thousand years old," he corrected himself sighing.
"My parents haven't told you, but I'm a Firbolg-born."
Eloise frowned.
"What?"
His eyebrows furrowed in thought.
"A creature-born," he replied finally. "I'm not human. My parents may
have raised me in this rebirth, but it doesn't change the fact that my mind
is a lot older than my current appearance."
Eloise rolled her eyes.
"You look human, Salvatio," she said. "I have seen half-breeds. You can't
tell me you're exactly like them."
He snorted.
"I'm not," he said. "I'm a fully born creature, not half-creature, half-
human. Just because I look human in your eyes, doesn't mean I am,
donzelh."
Eloise rolled her eyes, not believing him at all, but deciding to humour
him.
"So what, just because you're a creature you know it better than me?" She
asked.
He shook his head.
"No," he replied. "But unlike you, I have been searching a way back into
the future for far longer than wands exist in Britain –"
That got her attention.
"Back into the future?!" She repeated in disbelief.
He inclined his head.
"Why else do you think I understood you from the start?" He asked half-
amused, half-exasperated. "I'm not exactly from your time, but I am from
the future."
She raised an eyebrow at that.
"So, what's your original time?" She asked him finally, a little bit
pensively, but still not believing him fully.
He hesitated.
"It's… a little bit further into the future than your original time," he
finally said. "And I'm actually not too interested in sharing more than
necessary with you, donzelh."
"So why did you tell me at all when you don't want anyone to know?"
She asked him, still sceptically.
"Because you mustn't return to the future like you're planning to!" He
replied, concern etched into every line of his face. "I've been searching for
centuries for a way back and –"
"And just because you found none, I should stay as well?" She asked
coolly, still not believing him but at the same time outraged by his
reasoning.
"No, donzelh," he said, and suddenly ice creped into his voice and his face
darkened while his eyes got an ancient gleam to them. It suddenly wasn't
too far of a thought that he actually was an ancient being anymore.
"I found a way home," he said, his voice ancient and grave. "It might have
taken me nearly a thousand years to do so, but I found a way to calculate
time. I found a way to travel back in time and I found a way to travel
forward. But some things shouldn't be done. Some things just aren't
natural to do -!"
"That's what you say," she said. "If you're truly from the future and found
a way back into the future – why are you still here? I don't think it's too
comfortable to live in the middle ages!"
He pressed his lips together at that.
"It isn't, donzelh," he said. "Compared to the future, living in the past is
hard. Life has a different meaning here, living as a wizard or witch is a
lot more dangerous. But I can't return to the future except the natural
way – one day after another. I don't age, like you won't age when you
stay, so you will see the future again, and I can't be killed like you won't
be able to be killed as long as you are in the past… and maybe don't try
to do it yourself."
The last part he added with a wince as if remembering something.
She frowned at him.
"So you want to tell me that you hate living in the past and that you
know a way back into your future – yet you don't use it?" She asked him
in disbelief.
His eyes narrowed.
"The calculations are off, Donzelh Eloise" he replied. "However you
calculate your return to the future, however you put your runes – the
backlash of travelling into the future will be enormous. It mustn't be
done!"
Eloise snorted at that.
"You sound exactly like my Professor, Salvatio," she said. "'Runes can
accomplish everything you can wish for!' He said. 'But that doesn't mean
you should use them for it!' He might have been a good professor, but he
had no imagination – exactly like you!"
"You're in the past, Donzelh Eloise," Salvatio said while shaking his head
sighing. "The past is your current present. The future you come from
doesn't exist right now, because it isn't needed for the current present to
exist. In other words: your future doesn't exist, but when you still lived
into the future, your present back then was built upon the past – this
past. Meaning that you could travel back into the past, because from the
time-lines perspective you already did. But you can't travel into the
future, because from the current time-lines perspective the future doesn't
exist yet. I don't even want to know what will happen if you do try to
return to the future, donzelh! For all I know, you could erase generations
of humans with this act or –"
Eloise rolled her eyes.
"Don't be silly, Salvatio," she said. "If my going back in time was already
part of the time-line, then my returning to the future should be it as
well."
Salvatio sighed and closed his eyes tiredly.
"No, Donzelh Eloise," he said. "When you were in the future you could
travel into the past, because the past was already set. The past had
already happened, because without the past, your future wouldn't have
existed. Meaning that sometimes in the past, in 1402, you already
appeared and influenced the time-line to what you knew it would be."
"Exactly, and then I returned and –"
"You travelled back in time, donzelh," Salvatio continued, ignoring her.
"And your present suddenly wasn't 1899 anymore, but 1402, meaning,
you didn't influence time in any way before you appeared, meaning that
you travelling back in time hadn't happened yet, and even if you were
already in the past, having already travelled back in time, it was still a
possibility that you wouldn't do it in the future…"
"But I already did –"
"From your perspective, yes, from the time-line's, no, donzelh," Salvatio
interrupted her. "This –" He gestured around them. "- Is your present now.
Not the future you come from. The future you come from hasn't
happened yet – and you can't travel somewhere that hasn't happened yet.
So, in other words, the only way to travel in time is backwards. Not
forwards, never forwards."
Eloise rolled her eyes.
"Your theory is stupid," she said. "We Unspeakables already found a way
to return to the future –"
"No, donzelh," the seemingly seventeen-year-old shook his head tiredly.
"You found a way to erase you from the past again and keep you in stasis
until you reappear in the future. You found a way to circumvent living
through the whole history until the day you left, but you didn't find a
way to travel onwards, because the future you long to return to doesn't
exist yet."
Eloise snorted.
"It's still travelling to –"
"No, Donzelh Eloise," Salvatio said. "It isn't. It will put you outside of the
time-line, outside of time. I don't know what effect it will have on you,
but what I could find out through my calculations; it wasn't something I
wanted to happen to me. There's also another fact I learned that you
should think about before dismissing me, donzelh."
Eloise rolled her eyes.
"What fact, Salvatio?" She asked exasperated.
"The time-line is counting on you, donzelh," he said. "I lived for millennia
and everything I did, influenced the future I lived in. If I hadn't lived it,
my future would have been a different, maybe even a darker one.
Basically, even if 1402 is your present now, your 1899 was influenced by
you living throughout the centuries. I don't want to know what will
happen if you take yourself out of the calculation now that the current
time-line has integrated you as a part of itself."
Eloise rolled her eyes again.
"Alright," she said amused. "I'll think about your theories, little Sal."
And with that she stood.
"Good night, child," she said. "Don't forget to keep on the lights to keep
the monsters from appearing under your bed."
With that, she left and went to bed, dismissing his warning as the fear of
a little boy who was far too young to understand the differences between
their levels of knowledge.
Sal's gaze followed her leaving.
He frowned, his eyes dark with worry.
He knew that she hadn't believed him, but he also knew that even if he
wanted to, he couldn't stop her. He had no idea what the device she
planned to use looked like and he had no idea where to look for it.
Warning her, telling her the truth had been his only chance. It seemed
like he hadn't succeeded with it at all.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Nicholas stared at that potion in his cauldron. It had thickened and
thickened even more over the last hours. Peverell's blood was still
steadily flowing into the cauldron, but unlike at the start, it now had a
golden ting to it and was filled with golden runes which danced through
the cauldron before adding itself to the thick mass at its bottom.
The potion looked already a lot different than anything else Nicholas had
managed to produce before.
"Peverell?" He asked, looking up to the deathly pale and shaking man
next to him. "Are you -?"
"Don't worry 'bout me," Peverell said, his voice cracked, his lips dry. "Just
add the last ingredient and stir."
Nicholas frowned, but nodded anyway before doing as Peverell said.
Then he closed his eyes and spoke his final chant.
When he opened his eyes again, the cauldron was bathed in golden light.
His eyes travelled to Peverell.
The old man smiled.
"It's done," he rasped. "Now promise me to look after Salvazsahar, will
you?"
"Salva – what?" Nicholas asked confused.
"Salvatio," Peverell said. "Salvazsahar was his birth name. We always
called him Sal, and I thought telling you that would be enough when I
gave him to you. Now, promise me to look after him."
Nicholas frowned. He wanted to know more about Salvatio's birth name,
but in the end, he just nodded.
"I will," he promised. "I will look after him until he doesn't need me
anymore. Until he is ready to let me go and stand on his own"
Peverell nodded satisfied.
"Good," he rasped. "And tell him I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Nicholas asked confused.
Peverell's brown eyes met Nicholas' green.
"That I didn't tell him goodbye," he replied.
Nicholas' eyes widened, he flung himself forward, making a grabbing
motion with his hands. But his hands, instead of meeting the fabric of
Peverell's clothes, closed into nothingness.
Nicholas could only stare at his empty hand, sticking out of the ghostly
chest of Peverell Grim.
"The last ingredient you missed," Peverell said emotionlessly, holding up
his ghostly hands which had started to glow in a soft golden light. The
glow spread throughout his body.
Peverell smiled.
"The last ingredient," he said, his voice nothing more but a ghostly
whisper. "A freely given life."
And with that, Peverell dissolved into a bout of golden glitter.
The cauldron exploded, Nicholas was thrown back, hitting his head on
the wall.
The only thing left when he returned to consciousness, would be an oddly
shaped, blood-red stone, glittering strangely and mesmerizing in the light
of the fire.
Some things had a price to achieve – and Peverell had paid the price of
Nicholas' Philosopher's stone gladly if it meant that Sal wouldn't lose
everyone of his new family within a few decades.
Sal would never truly find out that Peverell had sacrificed his last years
on earth to ensure Nicholas' and Perenelle's ability to live for centuries.
No one would ever find out how to produce another Philosopher's stone –
because Nicholas definitely wouldn't tell…
One sacrifice was more than enough.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When Eloise woke up again, her whole body ached.
"What's her status?" A stranger's voice asked someone above her.
"It doesn't look good, sir," a woman's voice said. "Whatever experiment
she was part of, something went wrong quite horribly with it."
Eloise opened her mouth and groaned.
She wanted to ask what happened, but her lips were dry and she couldn't
speak at all. Her whole body hurt terribly.
"What can you tell me about the experiment, sir?" The stranger asked.
This time another voice – a voice she knew – answered.
"We were testing a new way to time travel," Charlus, Eloise's best friend
said and he sounded as if he was crying. "She went back in time and then
used a device to return to the present."
Eloise would never find out that thanks to her decision more than
twenty-five descendants of people she met and then left to themselves in
the past were 'un-born'.
"Back in time?" The stranger's voice asked.
"To 1400," Charlus replied sniffing. "It should have been safe! We
calculated everything!"
"So she went back about five hundred years," the stranger said.
The following Tuesday of Eloise's reappearance would last for two and a
half full days, the following Thursday on the other hand would pass by in
a mere four hours.
She had been warned of the consequences and didn't listen, so time-line
had to suffer for her arrogance.
"And she's aging rapidly," the woman said. "It seems as if she's aging a far
greater speed than she should, and we can't stop it at all…"
And Eloise had to suffer the consequences for her actions as well.
"Please!" Eloise heard Charlus plead. "Isn't there anything you can do?"
"I'm sorry," the woman said sighing, and Charlus started to cry in earnest.
This would also be the end of the Unspeakable's tries to go back further
than a few hours. Instead, they enacted the time laws that would govern
the wizards even nearly a hundred years later when thirteen-year-old
Hermione Granger would be approved to have a time-turner to attend all
her classes.
Eloise forced open her eyes.
She was in St. Mungo's.
She had gone back in time, lived there for five days and then returned to
the present – and now she was aging rapidly, her body slowly dying.
"I warned you," another man's voice said sadly. "But you didn't want to
listen."
Eloise's eyes went to the man leaning against the window, his eyes dark
and sad, his clothing showing that he was working at St. Mungo's.
"Sal… vatio," she rasped, and he smiled.
"Actually," he said. "You first got to know me as 'Professor Malfoire'."
Her eyes widened.
"But yes, you are right," the man continued. "I am Salvatio, the
'seventeen-year-old child' you met in 1402."
"But…" she managed to rasp out.
"You should have lived through the centuries like I did," he said sadly. "It
would have been far better for your health if you had done like I
suggested."
"What… are… you…?"
"Doing here?" He finished for her quietly, looking over at Charlus who
was raging against the other healers. "I'm a healer at St. Mungo's
currently," Salvatio said. "I gave up my teaching position some time ago
and started anew. Currently, I'm a healer's apprentice." He rolled his eyes
at that as if being a healer's apprentice was funny in some way.
"Sadly there's no way I can tell them that I've been a healer for far longer
than they've been alive already, so I had to start anew," he added, clearly
amused by his problems instead of annoyed. Then his face turned serious
again.
"If you want to, I can stop the pain," he told her, his eyes grave and
sympathetic.
"The… aging…?" She forced out and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "There are even things I can't do. I'm no god, you
know." And the sorrow in his voice was real.
"This was your choice," he said bitterly. "I researched your predicament
since you left back to the future. I found no way to stop the consequences
the moment you destroyed the time-line's pathway with your decision to
return to a place that didn't exist already. I am sorry, so so sorry that I'm
unable to do more for you…"
And she could see that he meant every word he said.
"No," she rasped out. "I… am… for… not… listening…"
No one would ever find out that it was actually safe to travel back in
time, as long as you came back to the future the natural way – day by
day.
The only one, who knew, one Salvazsahar Emrys, also known as Salvatio
Malfoire, would never tell anyone of his knowledge. In his eyes, not
playing around with time was always the best solution anyway.
Then the healer who had been treating her turned and saw her awake.
She saw Salvatio gesturing discretely, taking down a runic ward he had
placed around them that had kept the others from hearing them.
"A… Madam Mintumble, you're awake," the healer said, his eyes as grave
as Salvatio's.
"I… won't… sur…vive… th'… night," she rasped out.
"I'm afraid you won't," the healer said. "We tried everything, but we can't
stop the aging process."
She forced herself to nod and then tried to lift her hand to gesture
Charlus near her.
She wasn't able to, but Salvatio seemed to understand her intention,
because he did it for her.
Charlus looked at Salvatio in confusion, but stepped near.
"Char… lus…" she rasped and again hot tears adorned her best friend's
eyes. "'m… sorry…"
"You don't have to be sorry," Charlus said crying. "We made a mistake.
Our calculations were wrong somehow and we…"
She forced herself to shake her head.
"I… made… it," she whispered. "I… was warned… I… didn't listen…
sorry…"
And with that she closed her eyes.
No one would ever know more about her experience in the past than
what she wrote down. She never ever wrote down 'Salvatio Malfoire', she
always called him 'little Sal', so that she met someone who still lived,
would forever remain a mystery – not that anyone would have ever
connected the dots anyway.
Eloise's chest rose in a last shaky breath, and then there was silence.
She was dead.
And the last flower left on her grave was a simple little daisy – just like
the daisies she was found lying in so long ago by the man who had
influenced her life without ever being able to rescue her at all.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1400's French:
Com es elha, mieus amicx? - how is she, my beloved?
Mieus amicx - my beloved
Donzelh - Lady
xXx
1400's English:
Bist thòu heil? - Are you well?
xXx
Just one question: The next chapter, do you want another one in the past, or
back to Harry?
That's it for today.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
47. Chapter 46: Meet Your Allies
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
I counted and it was in favour for present Harry, so present it is. xD
Thank you for all your reviews! I'm not always able to answer everyone
personally, but that definitely doesn't mean that I don't appreciate them!
To a question a lot of you have asked me: The basilisk and Fawkes of Harry's
second year and his grandparents: I'm sorry, but I won't tell for now. You will
have to wait for that answer. The same goes for the botched ritual and Harry's
death or survival. I know I'm evil for not answering. xD
Now on with the story...
Ebenbild
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Meet Your Allies
(Lantern)
sss
The day after Oliver Twist's defence article, the Leaky Cauldron was
packed with people.
"Ah can't believe tha' th' Minister dared t' accuse a teenager o' lyin'!" One
of the regulars exclaimed angrily. "Goin' 'gainst a boy! Makin' sure tha' th'
boy can't e'en defend himself by not e'en invitin' him! Tha's despicable!
Ah wonder how we c'd e'er think th' Minister was doin' us righ'!"
A lot of others nodded at that.
Tom meanwhile shook his head, looking at the newspaper.
"The lad has helped us a lot 'till now," he said. "And considering the
things the lad has found out 'bout our Minister, I'm not sure how long
that man will be able to keep his place at the top. We definitely don't
need someone who goes against teenagers while at the same time playing
with our laws himself!"
A lot of the patrons nodded in agreement at that.
"Iffn th' Minister doesn' straight'n up soon, mayhap he sh'd be replaced,"
one of the more hag-like woman in the Leaky Cauldron said. Others
nodded in agreement.
"Ah'm definitely wif th' lad if Ah'm asked," another wizard said. "He's
definitely got th' better arguments!"
"Aye," others said in agreement.
"Yeah," another part exclaimed.
Tom guessed that the Minister might have done himself no favour when
he went to the Wizarding Wireless to speak up against Oliver Twist.
Maybe a year ago, people would have bought into his claims, but since
then Oliver Twist had emerged and become the voice of justice in this
dark, dreary world. The lad had challenged people, had pointed out
truths and he had made sure that whoever wanted to look up his claims,
would have no trouble verifying them.
Maybe Tom had to admit in easing the verification by adding some prove
to his counter next to the newspaper – but then, he was a simple
innkeeper; who would suspect an innkeeper like him when it came to
influencing the public by making them verify the things written down in
their paper…?
Tom smiled inwardly, righting the pages that showed an excerpt of the
log book of Azkaban as well as several excerpts of laws mentioned in the
article and some statements of students about the mentioned issues.
Some of those things, Tom had put together himself, other had been left
with him by an old friend of his father and again others had accumulated
after people saw that Tom didn't mind if somebody put down their
written statement about the year before last at Hogwarts. A lot of those
who wrote down their experience where passer-bys who had back then
still been students. Others were the parents of said students.
Tom suppressed another grin, when a new statement was added by one
Oliver Wood to the pile already there.
Without looking at it, Tom reached into his pocket and touched the paper
slip inside.
"Some evidence for your collection, my friend," the slip read. "I am
thoroughly baffled that the Minister's lackeys haven't seen your contribution to
those articles, yet. Sincerely, Sal Sanctuary."
Tom definitely wondered if the Minister would ever find out that one of
the reasons why his plan so thoroughly backfired was the man who
served him his after-work fire whiskey.
Probably not.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"Heir Black," Augusta addressed the younger man frowning. "I am not
quite sure that your idea is the best way to go ahead with our search."
Regulus looked at her, innocent in his eyes.
"Madam Longbottom," he said. "We need to get more information on the
Gaunts. We've looked through all your books but just knowing the family
history won't be enough. We need tangible information."
"So you want to break into the Ministry," Augusta said frowning.
Regulus looked at her innocently.
"It would be the fastest way," he said. "And I don't plan on breaking into
the Ministry. I thought that you would distract the clerk who's
monitoring the knowledge about the estates of wizarding nobility while I
search the information about the Gaunts and copy them."
"That's still breaking into the Ministry, Heir Black!" Augusta replied.
"You're planning theft!"
Regulus shrugged.
"I'd say I borrow some things I need," he corrected her, still looking as
innocent as he managed. "It's not as if I plan on removing anything that
would be missed, after all."
"Heir Black!"
Regulus' face turned serious.
"It's this or running around the country, hoping for a lead," he replied.
"There has to be –"
"We don't have time to search for another way," Regulus said. "We all
know that the Dark Lord will return to the public as soon as he has
gathered his army. If we want to stop him before it comes to an all-out
war, we have to do it now!"
Augusta frowned at that.
"But why didn't you stop him before he returned?" She asked concerned.
Regulus sighed.
"Sal told me that he couldn't act until after the Dark Lord regained his
body," he said. "Without his body the Dark Lord would have felt the
destruction of most of his Horcruxes. And as a wraith he would have
been able to intercept the destruction. He would have been able to stop
us. Now, that he has a body again, he won't feel the destruction of most
of his devices meaning that he won't be able to stop us until it's too late."
Augusta narrowed her eyes.
"You said 'the most of his devices'," she repeated.
Regulus shrugged.
"There's a chance that he will notice it when he has lost the most of them.
The pull towards death will be stronger the more of his devices are
destroyed. But he won't be able to notice it until he's mostly gone already
– if he isn't preoccupied. If he is, the chances that he won't notice until
they're all gone is quite high," Regulus replied.
Augusta sighed.
"Still," she said. "Breaking into the Ministry –"
Regulus tried another innocent look on the Longbottom matriarch.
"Nobody will ever find out," he said. "It's not as if anybody would suspect
Regulus Black and Augusta Longbottom when they find out that somebody
took some things from the Ministry."
August opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again.
She sighed.
"I guess you're right, Heir Black," she said, giving in.
"So… we're breaking into the Ministry?" Regulus asked interested.
Augusta raised an eyebrow.
"I thought we don't break in anywhere," she said dryly.
Regulus nodded seriously.
"Of course not," he said, sounding as serious as he could manage. "We're
just visiting and borrowing some things."
Augusta had to fight hard to not roll her eyes at that. Regrettably, a lady
didn't roll her eyes – even if she wished to do so sometimes…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
At Hogwarts, the latest article and the interview with the Wizarding
Wireless was also one of the important gossip pieces.
"I think the Minister's actions were utterly despicable," Minerva
McGonagall huffed while leaning back in her chair in the staff room.
"Going verbally against a child without even having the decency to invite
it so that it could actually defend itself – despicable, really!"
"Well, it definitely wasn't the first time," Poppy Pomphrey replied sighing.
McGonagall frowned.
"What are you talking about, Poppy?"
The nurse shrugged.
"We all know that he proclaimed Potter and his friends confounded
nearly two years ago and he went against Potter's claim of You-Know-
Who's return by actually slandering the boy!" Pomphrey said. "I'm
definitely not surprised that he tried to do the same again this time
around. It worked the last two times, after all…"
"You sound as if you don't believe it will this time around, Poppy,"
Pomona Sprout entered the conversation surprised.
"Of course it won't!" Filius Flitwick, the diminutive Charm's master
exclaimed. "Potter might have shown hesitance in using the press to
reach his goals – Twist on the other hand has been using the press all
year to get out his own opinion! Like the counter article shows, Twist
won't sit back and let the Minister walk all over him. Twist lives for the
confrontation – and I bet that this won't be the last time he'll confront
anyone in public."
Albus Dumbledore frowned at that.
"So you think that he will do that again?" He asked concerned.
The Charms master shrugged.
"Certainly," he said. "If the Minister doesn't back down or if someone else
tries to confront Twist…"
The Headmaster's brows furrowed further at that.
"Maybe we should start looking into Twist further," he said. "It won't do
us any good if he manages to split the unity of the British wizarding
world now that Voldemort's back. It will just aid the dark elements if we
can't unite us because of some minor misunderstandings."
Filius Flitwick frowned at that.
"I don't think that Twist is the one destroying our unity," he finally said.
"The boy is trying to right our world. He's trying to make us see reason,
to open our eyes to the faults of our current situation. I'm sure that his
articles and his ability to make people think will just aid against You-
Know-Who and his cohorts, not hinder our side."
Albus Dumbledore just smiled benignantly.
"Nevertheless, don't forget the saying 'The way to hell is paved with good
intentions'," he reminded them. "Mr. Twist might be too young to
understand this, so we definitely have to find him and explain to him that
there are better times than now to show his displeasure with our current
leadership. Now we have to fight – afterwards we can take the time and
look at politics."
A lot of the teachers nodded at that.
Only Flitwick shook his head sighing while Snape barely stopped himself
from rolling his eyes, scoffing nearly silently.
"I'm not even sure if the Headmaster understands the meaning of that
saying."
Filius Flitwick, surprisingly, was thinking along the same ways.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Later that day a new secret of Hogwarts started to come together the first
time.
While thanks to the new Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor
Hogwarts had started to change – yes, that woman had started up her
inquisition not only of the teachers but of Hogwarts' social live – a few
determined Gryffindors had decided to act and put together a group to
safe their OWL grates in Defence.
They had spread the word by mouth, hoping to reach all those people
who wanted to learn Defence without reaching those that were utterly
loyal to the new High Inquisitor – that promotion had happened just a
day before, shortly after the interview in the Wizarding Wireless.
Spreading word had gone well. They had told those they trusted the time
and date of the first meeting, telling them that if they trusted someone
else, to bring them along as well. Harry had insisted that nobody was
discriminated just because a house or his or her parents. If you trusted
the person, then you could invite them along.
Hermione had guessed that they would maybe be ten or fifteen students
at most.
She was quite surprised when stepping into the room she saw the people
who were willing to train with them in secret. She hadn't thought that
that many people were willing to break school rules and start a secret
club.
There were even quite a lot Slytherins in the crowd, all of them looking a
little bit hesitating to mingle with the other houses, yet willing to stand
among them and work with them.
Hermione wondered who had had the guts to invite them along to the
ride. She hadn't thought that anybody in the other three houses was close
enough to a Slytherin to believe that they wouldn't squeal on them on the
first opportunity.
She would have been shocked if she had known that the person who did
it was standing currently right next to her.
Harry - standing next to her - looked quite smug.
"Seems like they took the bait," he said half-amused, half-relieved.
Ron looked a little bit ill at that.
"So you'll force us to work together with Slytherins now?" He asked a
little bit green in the face at that thought.
Harry threw him a half-annoyed look, then stepped up in front of the
crowd.
"Welcome to the old training hall of Hogwarts," he told them.
It had been Harry who picked the location and made sure that everybody
knew how to find it. Hermione had never heard about the training area
they were inhabiting right now, but Harry seemed to know it well
enough.
She wondered how long he had known of the location and how he had
learned about it. She was quite sure that it wasn't on the map.
The crowd quietened when Harry's voice echoed of the walls.
"We're here because the current teacher for Defence is more than
inadequate. At the same time we need to know those things we should
learn in that class to pass our OWLs," Harry continued to say. A lot of the
people in front of him nodded at that exclamation. "So here we are –
every one of Hogwarts who's interested to learn more Defence than what
is currently taught by our… dear Professor of Defence."
There was a murmur at that, finally one of the Slytherins spoke up.
"Tell me, Potter, who's planning to teach us? I can only see students in
this room," Theodore Nott said, looking around frowning.
"Well, we planned Harry teaching us," Hermione spoke up nervously.
When the others started to whisper at that, most of them not sounding
too sure about that, she continued hastily. "He's the best in Defence class
in our year," she said. "He also knows a lot more than us about Defence –
so he's a good choice!"
Draco Malfoy sneered at that, but before he could say anything about
Hermione's exclamation, Nott spoke up.
"I guess you are right, Granger," he said gruffly. "Potter is the best in
Defence we have in our year. He has proven it by winning the Triwizard
tournament last year. Still, who will teach Potter so that he can teach us?
It's not as if he knows all the spells up to the OWLs, does he?"
At that, Hermione looked a little bit uncertain at the crowd. She was
surprised when Harry spoke up.
"I do know them," he said. "I know not only the spells in Defence up to
the OWLs, but also at least up to the NEWTs. If I wanted to, I could write
my NEWTs tomorrow."
Hermione looked at Harry in surprise – she hadn't known that as well.
Malfoy frowned.
"Can you prove it?" He asked icily.
Harry shrugged, then he gestured to one of the seventh years.
"If you don't trust me, I can duel one of your seventh years – or whoever
you want me to. If I win, it should prove that I am able to teach you
things. If I'm not then we still can look for another teacher for this
Defence Association," he said amused.
Hermione send an unsure look at Harry, but the boy didn't look at her at
all.
The Slytherins exchanged a look with each other, then one of them, a
seventh year, stepped forward.
"I am willing to duel you, Potter," the seventh year said.
Harry looked at the older boy with a cool, assessing eye.
Then he nodded, pulled out his wand and raised a duelling platform out
of the ground with a casual flick of his wand.
The seventh year raised a surprised eyebrow at that.
Hermione stared.
She had seen Harry perform in class, speaking each spell like the rest of
his year did. To see him use magic without saying anything was
surprising, at least.
The other students in the room exchanged glances with their neighbour
at that.
Harry meanwhile didn't even seem to think that he had done something
surprising, because he walked to the platform and hopped on top of it.
"Well," he said, turning to the Slytherin seventh year. "You coming?"
The Slytherin hesitated for a moment, then he nodded and stepped onto
the platform as well.
"We need a referee," he said.
Harry inclined his head at that, then looked around the room.
"Maybe a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff seventh year?" He asked.
One of the Ravenclaws stepped forward.
"I'll do it," she said and Hermione thought that finding a seventh year in
this room was no problem at all. It looked as if nearly the whole school
had decided to come.
She wondered how many of them were willing to tell Umbridge about
their little rebellion, but Harry had insisted on asking everybody if they
started their little club.
In his eyes it wouldn't be fair if they didn't ask everybody if they decided
to teach anybody.
So they had spread the word as good as they could.
Hermione just wondered how long it would take until Umbridge heard
about their doings. The vile woman would use that to add another
Education Decree to those she had already added to the school over the
last months.
Hermione sometimes wondered if Harry was aiming for the decree…
"Alright," the seventh year Ravenclaw referee said in that moment.
"Ready?"
The opponents nodded both.
"Begin!"
The duel, Hermione observed, was somehow anticlimactic.
The Slytherin seventh year was good – but he had no chance against
Harry.
Every spell the Slytherin threw, Harry countered, stopped or dodged –
the last one not that often, since it obviously wouldn't show his skills and
the duel was to assert his skills in defence and not solely in dodging.
In the end, Harry changed from his defensive stance to the offence. His
wand, instead of performing silent counters, suddenly stabbed the air
harshly and rapidly. The spells he threw at the Seventh year were too fast
to counter for the other student.
He was felled by the first before the rest even hit.
Harry just waited for a moment until the Ravenclaw had proclaimed him
the winner of the duel, then he waved his wand again and performed the
counter.
Harry didn't even look out of breath.
"Anybody else?" He asked amused. The other students, even the
Slytherins shook their head and some even took a step backwards.
It was his Slytherin opponent who spoke up first.
"I think you clearly showed us that you can trounce even the seventh
years," he said while taking Harry's hand to stand up. "The only thing you
need to learn is to step out of the way of a spell instead of countering it."
Harry snorted at that.
"Normally I would have sidestepped nearly all of your spells," he replied.
"I just didn't think that it would have showed up my knowledge if I
simply sidestepped everything."
The seventh year Slytherin blinked at that, then he nodded slowly,
clearly contemplating Harry's answer.
"I guess you're right," he said. "And even if you're lying. You know the
spells – and that's what we're here to learn. That should be enough."
"Well," Hermione batted in at that. "Now that we've decided who'll train
us, I've got a list for you to write down your name so that we know
whose part of this group."
She had prepared that paper before and she was quite happy with that,
considering that they had that many people who might go to the new
Defence Professor and tell her about their little group…
"The list is hexed," she warned nevertheless. "We need to make sure that
we know if someone goes squealing on us."
The other students looked at each other at that, some looking quite
unsure after hearing that announcement. To Hermione's surprise, the
Slytherins only nodded and then the first held out their hand for the
quill.
"Good idea," the Slytherin said. "That should make people think twice
about going to dear Umbridge."
And Hermione wondered if she might have picked some of the Slytherins
wrong.
After the first signing, the rest swiftly followed.
Those who were already done signing were taken aside by Harry who set
them up with a target and some basic spells.
"I will start from the beginning," he warned them. "Those who already
know the spells show me and if I'm certain that you are able to cast them,
I will give you some others to practise."
All in all, Hermione definitely didn't regret to ask Harry to teach.
He seemed to have memorised a list of spells or something because he
had no trouble at all to set up even those students who were already able
to cast the first spells he had told them to do.
Hermione also noticed that some students of the older years knew a lot
less spells than others. Harry didn't seem to mind that, his system not
based on year but on knowledge.
After another hour of training, he stopped everyone.
"Well," he said. "That's it for today. Hermione's got some fake galleons for
you that will tell you the time of our next meeting the moment we've set
it up."
"Wait!" That was Ginny Weasley.
Everyone stopped in whatever they were doing.
"What about naming this group?" She asked.
Others nodded.
Hermione looked at Harry, while Harry clearly thought it over.
"Alright," he finally said. "I guess we will have to name this group
something else than 'Study group of Defence to work against the faulty
ideas of Ministry Employees'."
Some of the students snorted in amusement at that. Hermione send Harry
an exasperated look. Harry just shrugged as an answer while the students
all came back to surround them.
"Well, as you wished – the only thing left for today is giving our Defence
Association a name," Harry said, slightly amused.
Some of the Slytherins exchanged a look at that.
"Didn't you already call it 'Defence Association', Potter?" Malfoy drawled
at that, rolling his eyes.
Harry just shrugged.
"Ginny didn't seem to like it," he replied amused.
Ginny blushed.
"I don't think that 'Defence Association' sounds very… aggressive," she
mumbled. "It doesn't sound like we fight against the stupidity of the
Ministry, and all…"
"And you want it to sound aggressive?" Malfoy drawled.
Ginny shrugged, but other students nodded.
"Aggressive definitely sounds right to me," one of the Ravenclaws replied.
"We should at least try to make it sound as if we're unhappy with the
Ministry or some such…"
"So what? You want to call it the 'Ministry Sucks Group'?" Nott said
amused.
A lot of the students grinned or chuckled at that. Even Harry's face
showed clear amusement.
"Something like that definitely would do some good for this group," he
said snorting. A lot of other students nodded.
Malfoy sighed at that, oddly resigned already for someone who had been
Harry's enemy until just a few months ago.
"Alright," he drawled. "But I'm not for 'The Ministry Sucks Group'. Find
something else!"
At that, a discussion started and ideas were thrown around.
"How 'bout 'Down With Umbitch Group'?" A Gryffindor suggested.
"How about 'We're Learning Anyway Group'?" A Ravenclaw replied.
"Or 'Hogwarts United'?" A Hufflepuff added.
In that moment, a nearly insane grin split Harry's face.
It was oddly disconcerting to see, considering that Harry was a lot more
stoic since the beginning of the year, Hermione thought.
She also wasn't the only one seeing that grin.
"Alright, Potter," Malfoy said. "What did your idiotic brain come up with
to call this… club?"
Everyone quieted at that exclamation, turning to Harry and Malfoy.
Harry's grin broadened.
"Dumbledore's Army," he said, fletching blinding white teeth at the
Malfoy heir. "We're calling it exactly what the Minister is fearing that
Dumbledore is doing. There's definitely nothing more aggressive than
adding to the enemies' fears."
There was some commotion at that, then a lot of people nodded.
"Definitely a good one," a Ravenclaw said. "And we could shorten it to
'D.A.' so that nobody knows what we're talking about." A lot of the
Ravenclaws nodded at that, clearly liking the name.
"It also implies that we're one and won't stand for the Ministry's
manipulations of our lessons," one of the Hufflepuff's said. Other
Hufflepuffs and a lot of Gryffindors nodded their consent.
"It's also definitively aggressive," Ginny Weasley said. "I like it!" The most
of the room nodded at that.
Then Harry's exclamation seemed to reach Malfoys brain.
"Dumbledore's Army?!" he screeched, his eyes nearly bugging out of his
face. "We're not calling this little club 'Dumbledore's Army'! There're
Slytherin's in the room – there's no way we won't object to that name!"
Some of the Slytherins nodded at that, others didn't really seem to care.
Harry just shrugged.
"We could also call it 'Dolores' Angels'," he suggested reasonably. "Like
that it's more backwards-aggressive, but aggressive nevertheless,
considering that we're doing the exact opposite to what the toad wants us
to do…"
"It should definitely appeal to your Slytherin senses," Ginny Weasley said
frowning. "I wouldn't object to that as well."
A lot of people thought that over and nodded, others looked like they
were about to get sick.
Malfoy on the other hand yelped at that.
There was silence in the room for at least a minute or two, then Nott
coughed and spoke up when it was obvious that Malfoy wasn't going to
do it any time soon.
"Dumbledore's Army's fine, Potter," he said, his voice strained.
"Dumbledore's Army's fine." The Slytherins could live with the name – as
long as they wouldn't have to call themselves 'Dolores' Angels' every
other name was bearable. They might be Slytherins, but there was no
way in hell that they would use the name of a pink wearing toad –
especially not if it was combined with calling themselves their 'angels'.
Anything but that!
"Thought as much," Harry said grinning.
"We're… we're simply just using DA, if that's alright with you, Potter,"
Malfoy said finally, still sounding oddly traumatized. "DA is nice and
short, don't you think so, too?"
Harry's grin was oddly feral at that – something that felt oddly wrong in
Hermione's gut. Suddenly she wondered why Harry had insisted on the
name 'Dumbledore's Army', and she had the odd feeling that the answer
wasn't because he was 'Dumbledore's man through and through'…
She also didn't think that Harry decided on the name because of the
reason he told the others. He didn't seem to like the headmaster this year
that much, so using the headmaster's name had to have a different
reason…
Sadly enough, Hermione couldn't think of any other reason at all.
"Well," Harry said, writing the name on top of the parchment with their
names. "Then I welcome you all to 'Dumbledore's Army'! Until next time!"
With that, the group scattered after receiving their fake galleons.
In the end, only Hermione, Neville, Ron and Harry were left.
"Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitatingly.
Harry who had been putting away the targets turned to look at her, the
same stoic boy again that he had been all year.
"What else do you need, Hermione?" He asked.
She hesitated for a moment.
"Why did you decide to call this group 'Dumbledore's Army'?" She asked.
"You didn't seem too fond of Dumbledore since the trial."
Harry shrugged.
"He's still the leader of the light," Harry said. "He's also the one Fudge and
his lackeys fear, so using his name in our group was definitely the best
thing to do. This has nothing to do with personal feelings, just with
simple facts. It was a logical choice."
Hermione couldn't object to that, so she let it go in the end.
Maybe she was just paranoid and Harry hadn't meant anything else by
using that name…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Augusta Longbottom was currently standing in one of the less frequented
corridors of the Ministry, looking for everyone else like she belonged
there. Nobody even thought about questioning her why she was standing
near the Estate Office.
The most people passing guessed that she was waiting for the clerk of the
office to return – he was on lunch break, currently, after all. If people
would have been asked what she wanted with the Estate Office, then
people would have shrugged. She was the lady regent of a noble and
ancient house – nobody could ever guess what people like her wanted.
Maybe it had something to do with the Longbottom Estate, she was its
regent, after all.
If they had asked Augusta, and if she had been truthful, they would have
been stunned by her answer.
Augusta Longbottom, the Dowager Longbottom, Regent of Longbottom
Estate, was currently on the look-out like a child securing its friends
while they were preparing a prank. That was definitely nothing anybody
would have ever thought the dowager doing.
Not that it was the first time she stood on the look-out – but most people
had forgotten her wilder youth after all these decades she had been alive.
In that moment a gangly looking man with huge glasses rounded the
corner. He was clearly on the way to the currently empty Estate office.
The moment he reached the Dowager Longbottom, she finally left her
place.
"Tell me, Mr. Appleby, if a family has died out, what will happen to their
estates?" Augusta Longbottom asked the clerk.
The clerk had been about to return from lunch, but Regulus hadn't yet
come out of the office. Augusta felt oddly remembered of her youth and
the fact that she always had been the look-out while Charlus Potter and
Eloise Mintumble had set the pranks.
Oddly enough it made her feel young again.
"Er… that d… depends, Madam Longbottom," the clerk stuttered. "If
there's a known r…related family, th…they will get the e…estate. I…If
there isn't th…then it might be s…sold. I…If it's i…in a muggle area th…
then i…it might just b…be left l…like it is."
It was in that moment that she saw the door of the office she had been
monitoring, opening and a shadow – hidden beneath a delusion charm –
left the office.
So Augusta decided that she had stopped the clerk long enough.
"Then I might come by another time to see if there's a free estate of a
deceased family I might be interested in sometime in the future," she said
haughtily, nodded at the man and then turned and left. The clerk behind
her shook his head, sighed, murmured something about 'damn nobles and
their odd ideas' before deciding to forget that odd meeting.
It simply was not worth to ponder on the nobles and their ideas.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Amelia Bones was startled out of her work by the knock on her door.
"Come in," she said, quite surprised that when the door opened, an old
man was standing in front of it – a man she hadn't seen since her niece
had been eleven.
"Mr. Ollivander," she said surprised.
The old man smiled at her.
"Miss Bones," he replied and then closed the door behind himself.
Amelia set down her quill and folded her hands on top of her desk.
"How may I help you, Mr. Ollivander?" She asked the old man. She had
heard from others that the old man had lost his sanity at the end of the
last school holidays, but she hadn't been sure if she could trust those
rumours and Garrick Ollivander's serious face didn't make her feel as if
he truly was insane.
"I am not sure that you may help me," the old man said. "But I decided to
come and ask you nevertheless."
Amelia raised an eyebrow at that.
"What are you here for?" She asked confused.
Ollivander sighed.
"The world is changing, Miss Bones," he said. "Soon it will change even
more. The question I need to ask is: What side will you be on? The
Minister's? Dumbledore's? Or that of 'Oliver Twist'?"
Amelia widened her eyes at the last question.
"Oliver Twist?" She repeated surprised.
The old man inclined his head.
"He's the fourth side of this war," he said. "I've known this for quite some
time now."
Amelia stared at the old man.
He had solely named three sides, but yet talked about the 'fourth side'. It
was unusual, and there was just one explanation that fit to that.
"He's back, isn't he?" She asked. "You-Know-Who."
The old man sighed.
"Yes," he said tiredly. "That he is. But he isn't the only one who's back –
and this time around I decided to ask you, since the last time you refused
to join Albus."
She raised an eyebrow at that.
"My brother joined him," she said darkly. "It led to him and his wife
never seeing their daughter growing up. I'm an auror, even now that I'm
the head of the DMLE. I refuse to follow Dumbledore's idea of stunning
spells and second chances."
The answer was a smile from a man she had always suspected of being a
close friend of Albus Dumbledore.
"It seems that there's still some brain left in your generation, Miss Bones,"
he said amused. "I already hoped that you might not see it his way, but
hearing it confirmed definitely soothes my mind."
She looked at him in surprise at that.
"It thought that you were a friend of Albus Dumbledore," she said
amused. "I always thought that you were one of those who would use a
stunning spell first."
Garrick Ollivander looked at her in amusement.
"Have you ever heard of the Resistance?" She frowned, but shook her
head.
"Or of the Dragon Division fighting against Grindelwald?" This time her
eyes widened in surprise.
"Yes," she said. "I heard of them."
Her eyes narrowed.
"They are nothing but a legend. Nobody but Grindelwald ever had a
dragon division in this war. They were Grindelwald's elite – people we
hadn't had a chance against when we met them in battle."
Ollivander snorted at that in amusement.
"That's Dumbledore's tale," he said darkly. "It was his way of changing
our look on the war. If you would have ever left Britain and asked
anyone else in Europe, you might have heard about the Resistance, about
the dragon division and a lot of other things."
Amelia narrowed her eyes at that.
"If that's so, why doesn't Britain tell the same tale?" She asked confused.
Ollivander sighed.
"Mostly?" He said. "Because Britain saw itself as the winners and didn't
want to hear anything about the deeds of all those who worked for the
end of the war before it even thought of joining. I was part of the war,
Miss Bones. Unlike the most of Britain I was in the Resistance. I was there
when Grindelwald was defeated. I know what happened that day – and
it's quite a bit different than what British history says."
Amelia looked at the old wand maker in surprise. He didn't look like he
would ever think about fighting in a war in any way or form. She knew
for sure that he hadn't fought against Voldemort – at least not on
Dumbledore's or the Ministry's side.
"If you wish to, I can leave you some memories of the final days," the old
man said. "You should be able to verify them without any trouble."
Amelia nodded.
She pulled out her pensive and the wand maker pulled out some of his
memories for her.
"Tell me, Ollivander," she said while watching him. "Why did you come
to me?"
The old wand maker entered the last strand of memory into the pensive
and then looked up to meet her eyes.
"I came to ask you for an alliance, Miss Bones," he said. "I plan to return
to the Wizengamot in January – and I decided to search out some people
for an alliance before that. I know that you're not allied with Albus
Dumbledore or with any Death Eaters, so I decided to search you out for
an alliance."
Amelia looked at the old wand maker in surprise. Ollivander hadn't taken
their place in the Wizengamot for generations. They had been far too
involved with their work to go to the Wizengamot. To hear that after all
this time Ollivander would return to the Wizengamot was quite a surprise
for her. Amelia was sure that a lot of people had already forgotten that
Ollivander was actually one of them.
"You want to return to the Wizengamot," she repeated concerned.
The old man inclined his head.
"It's time," he said. "I should have done that, years ago. Maybe if I had,
Britain would have gone to war a lot faster than it did when Grindelwald
was active…"
For a moment, Ollivander seemed to contemplate that, then he shook his
head.
"No," he said sighing. "I would have just been one voice against many. It
wouldn't have changed a thing."
"But now you're going," Amelia said. Ollivander smiled.
"This time I'm looking for allies first," he said.
"So you came to me," Amelia said sighing. "You should know that I don't
have a lot of allies in the Wizengamot. Even with an alliance with me,
you would still be just a voice against many like you put it."
Ollivander just smiled at her.
"You aren't the only one I plan to ally with," he said. "But you are the one
whom I have no guarantee that they would ally with me."
"The others?"
"The most of them have been allied with my house for longer than even
Albus Dumbledore is alive. If they're still true to their ancestry, they
won't say 'no'."
For a moment, Amelia hesitated. Then she sighed.
"I will think about it after I watched your memories," she said.
Ollivander inclined his head.
"Just know that I don't plan to ally with Albus Dumbledore or the
Ministry. I plan to ally with… let's call the fraction 'Oliver Twist'," he
said, sounding a little bit amused at that.
"In other words: This is about a new fraction," Amelia said.
Ollivander just smiled.
"Miss Bones," he said in a way of saying good-bye.
Amelia sighed. It seemed that she wouldn't get further answers.
"Mr. Ollivander," she replied. He then bowed to her, turned around and
left, leaving her with some unseen memories and an important decision
to make.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"So… this is it?" Regulus looked around in disgust.
The person next to him frowned, her face showing displease and some
disgust as well.
"According to the old laws this is the ancestral ground of the Gaunts,"
Augusta Longbottom said sighing.
Regulus shook his head.
"They were filthy rich for centuries," he said. "I can't believe that that's all
that's left!"
Augusta raised an eyebrow at that and the younger man sighed.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I remember that the books said that their manor
burned down in the 1750th, but I never thought that they didn't even
have enough left by then to build at least a decent home if not a manor!"
Augusta shrugged.
"The Gaunts have had long since paid the price for their arrogance," she
said. "If I remember it rightly, there was even a rumour that they had
been cursed since the day they took over Slytherin's headship."
Regulus snorted.
"I read about that rumour," he said amused. "It sounded more like them
being punished by the Wizengamot obelisk for a deliberate false family
claim and stupidity than a true curse."
That observation stopped Augusta dead in her tracks.
"That… sounds surprisingly right if you take a look at it like that," she
said astonished. "There have never been a lot of tries to claim a false
family as your own and even less were stupid enough to repeat that
action over and over again… but from what we know about the obelisks
enchantment, ruining the family who tries to do just that is certainly a
possibility…!"
For a moment she pondered on that silently.
"I just wonder why they would even try to do that," she said while
shaking her head. "Why would they go up to the obelisk in the
Wizengamot Chamber and try to take on another family's name over and
over again if they had claim to Slytherin and Gaunt?"
Regulus shrugged while staring at the ground.
"Except they didn't have Slytherin but tried to get it nevertheless," he said
slowly.
The older woman looked at him in surprise.
"But everybody knows that the Gaunts are the last of Slytherin!" She
exclaimed.
Regulus looked up and in her eyes at that.
"Maybe," he said slowly. "Everybody was wrong with that assumption…"
Augusta stared at the younger man; in the end she shook her head.
"It doesn't matter right now," she said. "We found what we've been
looking for. Should we go in or do you want to go back and tell the
Professor?"
For a moment, Regulus looked hesitatingly at the shack in front of them.
Then he sighed.
"It's best I go back to Sal and he'll take a look himself. Who knows what
kind of protections are around this place? I might have some abilities
when it comes to Dark Magic, but even I would prefer to have him
around when we try to break in."
Augusta just nodded at that.
"He's frightening efficient when it comes to wards and the like," she said.
"I remember that quite well from my time as his student at Hogwarts."
Regulus nodded.
"That he is," he said and then shook his head. "That also makes him
totally different to the last two Headmasters of Hogwarts."
Augusta frowned at that.
"Why…?" She started to ask, but Regulus answered her before she could
even finish her question.
"He took a look at the wards this year," he said. "There's a ward book for
the school, left to the Headmasters of Hogwarts to ensure that the wards
they would add to the existing ones wouldn't destroy or intercept the old
ones. As far as I know, Sal had checked the wards when he was a
professor back in your youth."
"I don't understand," Augusta said frowning. "If there's a book to make
sure that the other wards haven't been harmed – why did you bring up
the last two Headmasters of Hogwarts and the wards?"
Regulus grimaced.
"He checked them again this year, just to see if some repair has to be
done," he replied. "From what I understood, at least one of the last two
Headmasters refused to read or listen to the book before adding to the
wards. They are in a deplorable condition. Sal's not happy at all. He
hadn't foreseen the need to repair the wards in that extent at all."
Augusta snorted at that, barely refraining from keeping her lady like
composure.
"I'm not surprised that he didn't plan on that. The wards stood tall for
about a thousand years. I don't think that anyone would have even
thought about seeing them in shambles!"
"And yet, here they are," Regulus said darkly.
The older woman nodded, ice in her eyes.
"And here they are," she agreed. "I bet it was Albus fault. He's always
been too arrogant for his own good. Since the day he was named a
prodigy and the next coming of Merlin, he's had a big head. His defeat of
Grindelwald and the hero worship following it, definitely didn't help."
The younger Black sibling nodded at that.
"It didn't," he said. "Sometimes I'm really, really glad that a Black can
never ever ally himself again directly with Dumbledore. At least like that
nobody of our family can be ensnared by his grandfatherly act."
Augusta raised an eyebrow at that.
"What about your brother?" She asked surprised.
Regulus shrugged.
"Allied with the Potters, not Dumbledore," he said. "I'm quite sure Sirius
has been questioning Dumbledore for quite some time now. I truly
wonder how long it will take until Sirius has enough and will break the
ties. And he will do it – he's a Black, even if he refuses to acknowledge it;
and Blacks don't ally with Albus Dumbledore."
Augusta snorted at that in amusement, then she shook her head.
"Let's go and get the Professor," she said, still slightly amused at the
thought that Dumbledore thought someone his ally who for whatever
reason was never allied with him at all.
Regulus nodded.
"Let's," and with that they were off.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That night, all over the country, letters were delivered to different
people.
Adrian Greengrass looked at the letter in his hands before looking up at
his wife.
"I am invited to a full family meeting the coming Saturday," he said.
His wife frowned.
"Who else will come?"
Her husband shrugged.
"I will see," he said. "I guess I will see."
Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy looked at the newest letter he had received
before he squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Riddle who was
currently frothing thanks to the vampire in the candelabra. Lucius
decided that he didn't even want to know what that damn vampire had
done this time again.
"My Lord," he said hesitatingly.
The Dark Lord turned to him and for a moment, Lucius was sure that he
would be crucioed. But then the Dark Lord took a deep breath.
"This is better important, Lucius," he hissed.
"Of course, my Lord," Lucius replied, gulping.
"What is it?"
"I need to leave in three days' time, my Lord," Lucius replied. "I was asked
to a meeting by some of the Lords of the Wizengamot."
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed at that and Lucius braced himself for the
curse.
"It's important for our cause!" Lucius added hastily.
For a moment the Dark Lord just stared at him.
"As you wish, Lucius," he hissed. "You may leave. But until then: Crucio!"
Somewhere in Scotland another letter reached a young, dark skinned
boy. The boy read it, then slipped it away and continued eating
breakfast. After breakfast he went to his Head of House's office.
"Sir?" He said, after he was allowed to enter. "I need your permission to
leave the castle in three days' time."
"This Saturday, Mr. Zabini?" The hooked-nosed man asked.
"Yes, sir," the youth said. "I was asked to attend a meeting of some Lords
of the Wizengamot. As a new Lord myself, I can't refuse."
The older man narrowed his eyes at that.
"Is there a possibility that the meeting you're talking about is in
Gringotts, Mr. Zabini?" He asked the boy. The youth looked at him in
hidden surprise.
"Sir?" He asked.
The older man pinched his nose at that before removing a letter himself,
opening it and turning it so that the boy could take a look at it.
The boy's eyes this time around visibly widened.
"You as well, sir?" He asked in surprise.
"I could say the same thing, Mr. Zabini," the teacher said dryly. The boy
looked at him, this time showing visible amusement.
"I guess you could, sir," he said. "Now, am I allowed to go?"
"I guess I will allow it as long as you won't go alone," the older man said
dryly.
The boy grinned wryly.
"Would you accompany me, Professor?" He asked amused.
"I guess I will," the teacher replied as amused as the youth.
The answer was an amused snort.
In another part of the castle, another Head of House was visited by her
student as well.
"Professor?" The boy entering asked hesitatingly.
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom?" The teacher replied.
The boy entered fully and closed the door.
"I need to leave the castle next Saturday," he said.
"Mr. Longbottom! You are a student and –"
"This is part of my duty as the new head of my house," the boy replied.
"My grandmother decided to remove my father from the inheritance line,
meaning that I am the current Lord of Longbottom now that I have
turned fifteen. My grandmother might still be my regent and able to
decide for me until the Wizengamot meeting in January at least, but that
doesn't mean that I don't have any responsibility as the current Head of
House Longbottom."
"Mr. Longbottom, your grandmother –"
"Decided that I had a right to come to the meeting our family has been
invited to," Neville Longbottom replied strongly. "If I'm not allowed to go,
my grandmother will come and fetch me. It's your choice, Professor."
His Head of House frowned at that, but in the end gave it.
"Alright, Mr. Longbottom," she said. "You will use the floo in my office
and your grandmother will wait for you on the other side. I will make
sure of that!"
Neville Longbottom inclined his head.
"Of course, Professor," he said. "I will tell my grandmother of your
conditions."
He bowed stiffly – a mannerism he hadn't shown before – and then left
the office.
Minerva McGonagall frowned, wondering why Longbottom suddenly
took an interest in his lordship when he hadn't shown any before now.
What had changed?
She wouldn't get an answer for quite some time.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today. Sorry that it took so long. Still busy as hell.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
PS.: The second part of the title (Lantern) came to be thanks to a review from
dffnl which pointed out that Harry should have had a lot more time to prepare
before fifth year. I was asked to consider hanging a lantern on it. So I couldn't
resist to add it when I finally wrote down a little bit more about the 'whys' of
Harry's actions. xD I simply loved the mental image that suggestion created.
48. Chapter 47: Guessing and
Reasoning
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little
bit…
And now, let's go on with the story…
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Guessing and Reasoning
sss
"So, this is it," Harry said, looking at the shack Regulus and Augusta had
led him to.
It was Friday afternoon after class and Harry had decided that it was the
right time to leave the wards of Hogwarts to get to the Horcrux hidden in
the shack Reg and Augusta had found. He didn't think that he would be
missed for at least a few hours, so the present time was the best time.
"Well," Harry amended inwardly. "I won't be missed much." He was quite
aware that Hermione was still trying to find out what he was up to.
"Guess that one time in the future she will find out," Harry thought. "But
that's the future. It won't be now, so I shouldn't concern myself with that
right now."
With that thought Harry returned to his previous doings, looking at a
rundown shack.
"Doesn't look much," he mused aloud.
"Yes," Reg said. "We didn't enter or anything. I might be quite good when
it comes to dark magic and wards, but you are a lot better than me and
since we doubted that the Dark Lord went easy on the protection, we
decided to call you in before trying to enter."
Harry nodded.
He closed his eyes, concentrating on the magic in the air in front of him.
It didn't take long for him to pick up the oily feeling of Tom Riddle's
infected magic.
Harry grimaced.
He was sure that he wouldn't get rid of the bad taste of destroyed magic
for a few days at least. Nothing tasted as bad as magic that had been
infected by evil.
Nevertheless he continued to feel for the magic until he had a hold of the
ward-line.
Then he un-shrunk his staff and then drew with it some runes and
hieroglyphs in the soft ground along the ward-line.
That done, he activated the runes.
One moment he could see nothing but the shack behind the wards, the
next the wards were distinctly and visibly in front of him. The dome they
built was surrounded by a colourful iridescent bubble, emblazed with
Chinese characters, hieroglyphs, runes and Parsel runes. Then the
glowing construct sunk in the wards themselves and illuminated them.
But instead of the colourful swirling and twirling of the bubble, the
wards were a sickly looking grey, mixed with some ill looking washed-
out sparks of colour here and there. There were also some shoddy runes
and Parsel runes flying around and some parts of the wards were nearly
transparent or blackened.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Seems that Tommy-boy is a lot," he said. "But he's definitely not a ward
master. You and Augusta could do a better ward than that, Reg."
Reg and Augusta exchanged a glance.
"I'm rubbish at wards, Sal," Reg finally said.
"I've never even tried to build a ward," Augusta added.
"Exactly," Harry said. "And you would still be better in building them
than Tommy."
Reg snorted amused.
"So… those wards are child's play?" He asked.
Harry waved it off.
"No," he said. "They would have kept out nearly everyone he wanted to
keep out."
"But you said –"
"That they're rubbish," Harry intercepted Augusta's words. "They are. I
just have to do this –"
With that he twisted the hand with his staff so that his staff hit one of the
shoddy looking Parsel runes.
"- and they're gone," he finished, while the wards groaned nearly silently
before crashing down. Regulus and Augusta might not have been able to
see the wards until they started to collapse, but the feeling of sudden
light-heartedness would have clued them in anyway.
Regulus stared at the property and the remains of the ward – some
shrivelling black runes along the ward-line.
"You just brought down a ward the Dark Lord build with a single strike,"
he said in disbelief. "Wards like these damn wards kept out the Order of
the Phoenix and the Ministry in the last war – and you brought them
down with a single strike!"
Harry just raised an eyebrow at the other man.
"You just confirmed to me that the Ministry and Dumbledore's little gang
were a lot more ineffective in their endeavours to stop Tom than they
tried to make others belief," he said, shaking his head. "I already believed
them incompetent, but this… this takes the cake."
Augusta snorted amused.
"Good thing that they weren't fighting alone, then," she said.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"I have actually no idea what you mean, Augusta," he said.
The old witch just returned the raised eyebrow.
"Of course, Professor," she said. "I'm quite sure that you just sat by and
did nothing – like you sat by and did nothing while we fought against
Grindelwald."
For a moment, Harry said nothing.
Then he sighed in defeat.
"I told you before that I'm no hero, Augusta," he said softly. "I would have
never fought against Grindelwald like Albus Dumbledore did."
Augusta just snorted.
"And like I said before: I don't know where you were. I don't know what
you did, but I know that you did everything you could to shield the
innocent. You fought Grindelwald. I might have no idea how or where,
but you did. Don't you dare to deny it!"
"That doesn't count," Harry replied while shaking his head. "Whatever I
did, it never counted."
Regulus sneered at that.
"Well," he said, bitterness in his voice. "That's not a first. When it comes
to Albus Dumbledore, a lot of things don't count."
Augusta raised an eyebrow at that.
"Heir Black?" She asked a little bit confused, looking at him with the
question clearly displayed in her eyes.
Regulus returned her gaze evenly.
"My name, Regulus," he said. "Was chosen to honour the fallen. My
brother's name Sirius as well. Mother might have never agreed with my
grandfathers when it came to their outlook in life, but even she
acknowledged the strength and power of Sirius and Regulus Black."
Augusta looked at him in surprise, and Regulus continued.
"I am proud to be Regulus Arcturus Black," he said. "As a child I might
not have understood what my name stood for, but when I searched for a
way to extract the Horcrux, I found my great-grandfather's journal. I am
proud to be a Regulus, because I know that it was his sacrifice that freed
the world of Grindelwald – and I will never forgive Dumbledore for
taking his right of acknowledgement from him."
Harry just sighed at that and clapped Reg on the back.
Then he turned and looked at Augusta.
"Whatever I did back then," he said. "Doesn't count. Please, leave it at
that for now."
With that he stepped away from them and over the now vanished ward-
line into the property.
Augusta and Regulus followed him hesitatingly.
They reached the shack without any trouble.
Augusta grimaced at the snake nailed on the door, but Harry ignored it.
He looked over the shack and when he was sure that nothing else was
attached to the wood – like a hex or curse – he opened the door.
The inside of the shack was nearly empty, but it stank of dark magic.
Regulus shuddered when entering, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy
evilness in the air. Augusta on the other hand refused to even set one foot
inside the door.
"I'm waiting outside," she declared, shuddering. "I refuse to be anywhere
inside this… hovel."
Harry just nodded at that.
He wasn't surprised. Augusta was a very light witch, meaning that she
was extremely sensitive to the evil in the air. He wasn't about to force her
inside a building to have her sick up on the floor somewhere because she
couldn't stand being in there anymore.
"We have to search the shack," Harry said. "Concentrate on areas heavy
with evil magic."
Reg nodded grimly.
"There might be some," he said. "I don't think that the Gaunts were
anywhere near the light for at least the five last generations."
"They were always a bit stuck up and very interested in the illegal aspects
of magic," Harry replied sighing. "I guess it is just natural that in the end
it was the greed that destroyed their family."
Regulus looked up in surprise at that.
"So their try to take on the Slytherin legacy brought them down?" He
asked interested, remembering his and Augusta's guesses from the last
time they had been near the shack.
Harry just waved it off.
"Let's search this hovel," he said instead. "Maybe if we're lucky we even
can destroy it today as well."
In the end, they found it beneath one of the floor boards.
It was hidden inside a metal box and it had been Regulus who found it.
"Alright," Harry said the moment they had the metal box pulled out
safely. The floor board and the metal box both had been hexed, but Harry
and Regulus both knew enough of the Dark Arts to be careful while
searching so that in the end, nobody got hurt.
It was Harry who dispelled the curses on the box and Regulus who pulled
it out from beneath the floor boards.
"Now we just have to destroy it," Reg said, looking at the innocent box in
his hands. Harry sighed and nodded.
They left the shack.
"Do you have it?" Augusta asked immediately. She had been pacing in
front of the shack, feeling too ill to even think about going in while at the
same time refusing to leave the other two alone.
"We do," Reg replied. "And we're now going to a place where we can
destroy it."
Harry sighed.
"Unfortunately you can't come with us," he said. "The place is hidden
beneath a fidelius. We could use another place, but there, the runes are
already drawn. It will take only minutes compared to the hours it would
take to prepare a new room."
Augusta just nodded.
"That's alright," she said. "I don't actually mind that much. Just thinking
what this box contains makes me ill. I don't need to see it as well. I'm
happy with the knowledge that it will be destroyed by tomorrow."
The other two nodded and then the group disbanded.
Augusta returned home while the other two went to Grimmauld Place.
With the help of Kreacher, they entered from the street into the room
directly. There, Harry opened the box, dropped the content – a ring with
an oddly familiar stone – onto the floor, in the middle of a circle and
then started the ritual.
The room, turned ritual chamber was still exactly like they left it the last
time. Runes, hieroglyphs and other symbols adorned every square of the
room.
"Stand aside, Reg" Harry whispered and Regulus Black who had gone
near the ring to take an interested look at it went to another circle
painted on the floor right behind the door.
"Let's begin" Harry said before he started to draw runes out of blue fire in
the air. A moment later they vanished and with them the little noise from
outside you could hear vanished also.
And then the chanting began.
Regulus himself watched from his secured place at the outer side of the
ritualistic circle. This was the third time he saw the ritual – and he was as
awestruck as he had been the two times before.
He could not look away, even when the light the runes and lines began to
glow in started to hurt his eyes. Unearthly – that was the only description
he was able to.
And then the chanting in a language Regulus could not place stopped and
a soft hissing sound penetrated the silence.
Suddenly a black fog erupted from the two objects in the middle of the
circle. The fog tried to take on a different shape, but white glowing light
hindered the forming.
Again a chanting was heard. This time filled with soft hisses and words
that sounded like Arabian.
The purifying.
Then black and green fire erupted from the ring and reached for the
black fog. A high pitched shriek could be heard when the fire began to
consume the fog. Then the fog vanished in the flames.
It took another moment and then the unnatural fire also vanished,
leaving behind the untainted, and yet still oddly eerie ring with the black
stone.
Harry sighted and disabled the runes and the runic circle again. He
picked up the ring and pulled out a leather cord to secure it on it. After
that he pulled the leather cord over his head and hid the ring beneath his
clothing.
Then he simply fell to his knees, totally spend.
Regulus left his corner to hurry to Harry's side.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Harry nodded.
"I am," he replied. "Just tired. Help me to bed?"
Regulus rolled his eyes fondly at that, called for Kreacher so that they
could leave without being found. The moment they were outside he
picked up Harry, apparated them to Hogwarts and then proceeded to
smuggle his already sleeping companion inside the Gryffindor tower to
put him to bed.
"Thank Merlin it's dinner time," he mumbled to himself. "Otherwise I
don't believe that I would have been able to bring you up here without
being found."
He tucked in the other man and then turned into his cat form and hid
beneath the bed.
Half an hour later, Harry's friends found him in his bed.
"There he is," Ron said amused. "Sleeping."
Hermione huffed.
"You don't think he's been there all the time just sleeping away, do you?"
She asked with narrowed eyes.
Ron shrugged.
"Why not?" He asked. "He said something about not feeling too good to
me sometime at lunch. I guess he truly meant it."
Hermione huffed again and then left. Ron followed her with his gaze
before turning back to his sleeping friend.
"Don't think that she caught on that I was lying this time," he said. "You
know, Harry, you were right. She's a bit controlling." And with a shake of
his head he went to his own bed and pulled out a quidditch magazine to
read.
"Honestly," he mumbled, again shaking his head. "Bet he was wanking or
some such."
Meanwhile his friend slept on, oblivious to the world.
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The next Saturday was the second Saturday in December. That day,
Severus Snape excused himself from the castle, telling his employer that
he had to accompany a student who had a meeting in Gringotts. Albus
Dumbledore didn't even think about questioning it.
So Severus and Blaise Zabini left the castle without any trouble at all.
Meanwhile another student left the castle as well.
Minerva McGonagall wasn't too happy about that. In her opinion, Neville
was far too young to take on the responsibility of a lord. Considering that
Neville's father was still among the living, Neville didn't even have the
excuse to have to take up his lordship. Even with his father incapacitated
in St. Mungo's the Longbottom family still could count him as their head.
In Minerva's opinion, it was ridiculous that the heir would take over
when he was barely fifteen instead of waiting until after he turned
seventeen – something that Minerva saw as a far more reasonable age
when it came to managing an estate. But the Dowanger Longbottom had
decided – and Neville seemed inclined to follow her lead instead of
Minerva McGonagall's wishes.
"Do you truly think that it's wise to take over your lordship now, Mr.
Longbottom?" She asked the boy anyway when he entered her office to
floo to the Leaky Cauldron. "You still have the choice to beg out. I could
tell your grandmother –"
"No, thank you, Professor," Neville replied. "I understand that you are
concerned for me – especially in times like we are living in now – but I
am certain."
"But you don't have to –"
"I'm quite aware of my duties and rights as an heir," Neville replied and
for the first time Minerva McGonagall had known him, he showed the
bravery that had sorted him into Gryffindor. "Not taking over would
indeed be possible for me," the boy continued. "But it wouldn't be
advisable. Especially in the current dark times the old houses have to
stand strong – and Longbottom would be looked down upon if I stepped
back and hid behind my grandmother's robes. You should know this,
Professor. You are, after all, also part of the Wizengamot."
Minerva McGonagall frowned at that.
"I am not, Mr. Longbottom," she objected. "My family is common."
She was surprised when the heir of Longbottom raised an eyebrow at
that, incredulously.
"How did you figure that, Professor?" He asked a little bit amused.
Minerva's frown just deepened.
"If we had a place in the Wizengamot, my father would have told me,"
she answered him earnestly.
The Longbottom heir just snorted.
"Except that he might not have known," he said. "As far as I know,
McGonagall hasn't claimed their seat in centuries."
Minerva gawked at him.
"Mr. Longbottom!" She finally exclaimed. "I assure you that my family
doesn't have a seat –"
"Maybe you should look up your ancestry, Professor," Neville told her.
"You might be surprised when you take a look at the families in the
Wizards' Council."
"Of course, Mr. Longbottom," Minerva replied, not sure if she should
believe the boy or accuse him of lying. The Longbottom Heir had not
shown a tendency to lie before, so she couldn't dismiss him right-out.
"You're welcome, Professor," the boy said. "Please be advised that I might
be interested in an alliance if you decide to take up your inheritance."
And with that, the boy stepped into the flames and with a shout of 'Leaky
Cauldron!' he was gone before Minerva could even think about a reply.
For a moment, Minerva was inclined to look up the Longbottom Heir's
claim, then she dismissed it. She knew that Albus Dumbledore had
studied the Wizards' Council and all the names that were associated with
it in his youth. He would have told her if he had found out that her last
name had been among those families – wouldn't he?
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Lucius Malfoy swaggered contently into the room in which he would
meet his new family today. It felt great to be rid of the Dark Lord for a
day, even if it meant to meet people he had never met before.
Next to him was walking Narcissa, his beautiful wife. Her face was grim,
and she kept shooting him glances. Lucius inwardly grimaced when he
remembered what this was about.
She had cornered him the day before yesterday after finding the letter he
had received about the meeting in Gringotts.
"Tell me, Lucius," she said, looking at him with a gaze that made Lucius
think with dread about sleeping on the hard couch in his lounge instead
of his warm bed. "What is this?"
He had regarded the letter in her fingers carefully, before finally deciding
that the answer to her question wasn't worth sleeping on the couch.
So he explained everything to her: The contact of his lord, the inquiry if
the Grand Family and his decision to join. She listened to everything with
a stony expression on her face and when he finished she threw him an
evil look.
"And you thought that I shouldn't know about anything of this?" She
asked him regally.
Lucius frowned.
"This doesn't concern you, Cissy," he said. "This is an offer for the Malfoy
family. You might be my wife, but you weren't born into the Malfoy
family."
He meant it. Things like alliances had always been made by the ruling
head of the family in the Malfoy family. He saw no reason to change that
now.
Narcissa just looked at him darkly until he had to force himself not to
shrink into himself.
He guessed that it was her Black blood that made her scary as hell even
without a wand in her hand…
"I'm sorry, Cissy," he said sighing. "I should have consulted you."
"You should," she said. "Especially considering that your last choice led to
us housing… that man… in our manor!"
Lucius wanted to ask her if she meant the vampire or the Dark Lord, but
if he had to be honest, he already knew the answers to that question.
The vampire might be the one to grade on everybody's nerves, but it was
the Dark Lord who didn't have the decorum to not react to the vampire's
loud mouth.
"I am sorry, Cissy," he said again, empathizing his words carefully.
His wife's eyes just narrowed at that.
"I bet you are," she said coolly. "At least you will be after two or three
nights on the sofa."
"But Cissy -!"
"Don't you dare to 'but Cissy' me, Lucius!" She cried. "Who knows what
kind of trouble you got our family in this time!"
"I know what I'm doing, Cissy!" Lucius replied heatedly.
Her cold stare put out the fire in his argument quite effectively.
"I will believe it when I see it," she said. "And for your sake I hope I will
see it when I accompany you to your meeting in Gringotts on Saturday."
Lucius nodded.
"Of course you will," he placated her. Then her words caught up to him
and his eyes widened a fraction.
"Wait… accompany me?" He repeated. "Cissy! This is the first meeting of
the family! It's solely for the heads and grown up heirs – nobody else!"
She just stared at him emotionlessly until he gulped and relented.
"I… I guess it can't hurt to ask them if they would mind you sitting in," he
said. "You are my wife after all. Until Draco is of-age you will be my
second when it comes to important decisions."
So now Lucius Malfoy, pureblood and political animal, was walking
down the street towards Gringotts with his wife on his arm. If anybody of
the other Death Eaters ever found out that he brought his wife to a
meeting like that, he would never live it down. They would all laugh at
him for being unable to handle a single meeting with potential new allies
on his own.
Still, Lucius guessed that he could live with that if it meant to secure
himself some new important allies for his political endeavours.
"Cissy," he said shortly before entering Gringotts. "Will you at least
consent to waiting a bit until you follow me into the meeting room?"
Narcissa send him a dark glance, but in the end, she nodded.
"Three minutes," she said. "That's all you get. I'm not interested in you
getting our family in even more trouble than you already did, do you
understand?"
Lucius did the only sensible thing when he heard that laden question.
"Yes, dear," he said, inclining his head. "As you wish, dear."
She send him the evil eye for those words anyway, but didn't say
anything else. Lucius counted that as a plus in his books.
Then they reached the door to the meeting chamber.
Lucius took a deep breath, straightened his robes and then put his hand
on the door to open it.
He was nervous – not that he showed it in any way or form – but he was
also quite sure that he would be content when he finally found out what
new families he had gained as allies through his latest stunt of accepting
the potential Grand Family as his own. Of course, just belonging to a
Grand Family was an honour, but honour was never enough for Lucius
Malfoy. He wanted power – and a Grand Family with all its members was
the surest way to gain power without being dependent on the Dark Lord's
winning.
Maybe he could even sway the other members of the family to see the
whole issue of blood purity his… way.
Or maybe not…
Lucius Malfoy stopped dead in the door to the conference room before he
could actually walk inside his personal version of hell. For a moment he
contemplated to turn around and run, then he remembered that he was
subjected to the control of his Head of House and because of that was
looking for a way out of the Dark Lord's control that wouldn't kill him
before the man noticed that Lucius couldn't finance him anymore and
had also lost the power of his name within the Ministry.
Lucius gulped.
Then he stepped inside the room.
Three minutes – he only had to endure three minutes in his personal hell
without anyone by his side!
If Lucius had known who was waiting behind the door, he would have
told Narcissa to enter with him. At least like that he wouldn't have been
the only one scrutinized by the waiting crowd.
Both, the Longbottom matriarch as well as the Weasley patriarch looked
at him with interest in their eyes. Their grand-children and children next
to them on the other hand, showed clear signs of suspicion.
Lucius suppressed a flinch at the cold eyes of the eldest Weasley children
watching him.
Definitely his version of hell…
"Madam Longbottom," he greeted the older woman before forcing himself
to greet the other family in the room as well. "Weasley."
The man inclined his head.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said, sounding oddly civil compared to their previous
interactions, the Dowager Longbottom followed the Weasley's lead and
greeted Lucius as well.
Lucius took a deep breath and closed the door behind him.
"I guess you are here for the meeting as well, Madam Longbottom, Mr.
Weasley?" He forced himself to ask nicely.
"Indeed we are, Mr. Malfoy," the dowager replied. "I am surprised that
you decided to accept the invitation for your house, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius inwardly grimaced at that inquiry.
"Somebody… forced me to think over my current alliances," he finally
replied evenly. "Some things happened and I wasn't given that much of a
choice, in the end."
"Oh," the Dowager Longbottom said. "Did your Lord feel dissatisfied with
the state of the British branch of the family?"
Lucius inwardly grimaced again. The most members of the Wizengamot
had no idea that he was just the head of a branch family, but there had
always been some exceptions. Lucius should have guessed that the
Dowager Longbottom was one of them.
"It is not him, I seek to flee," Lucius finally settled on unhappily. "But I
never thought that my try to flee would end up as a meeting with… such
opposing elements to my own stance."
The dowager raised an eyebrow at that.
"I guess that you were talking about your idea of blood purity," she said
coldly.
Lucius closed his eyes.
Maybe, he had been wrong. This meeting didn't look at all like something
he wanted to join. He was quite aware that there was no way that he
could sway either the dowager or Weasley to his side of the blood purity
issue.
Maybe it had been a mistake to come here.
He guessed that even in his current situation there had to be another way
to escape the Dark Lord without having to go traitor to all his believes.
"Madam," he said. "I am quite aware that you and your… cohorts don't
care for the good of the wizarding world. In your eyes, the muggleborns
should run rampant, unchecked, unpunished until the day we are
exposed to the muggle world because of one of them. I am sorry, madam.
But I can't stand for this."
He wanted to excuse himself, but before he could, his three minutes were
up.
The others had exchanged a look after hearing his speech – and that was
the moment Narcissa decided to enter the room.
"Lucius, dear," she said, before greeting the others. "Madam Longbottom,
Mr. Weasley, Heir Longbottom, Heir and Heir secundus Weasley."
Then she smiled.
"Madam Malfoy," Lucius' opponents answered in greeting, making
Narcissa's smile even more pronounced.
"I see that Lucius found quite some interesting company today," Narcissa
continued, sounding oddly unconcerned by the fact that Lucius and she
were outnumbered and in the middle of a bunch of very light orientated
wizards and witches.
The others in the room exchanged another glance and Lucius looked at
his wife, begging her with his eyes to help him to leave this room
without losing his face. He was quite sure that there might be other ways
to get rid of the Dark Lord… somewhere… somewhen…
Instead of listening to his pleading glance, Narcissa turned towards the
Heir Longbottom.
"Heir Longbottom," she said amiably. "I heard that you are unusually
good with plants from my son. Tell me, are you planning to do something
with Herbology? I heard that there's currently quite lack of potions
ingredients suppliers. Not a lot children these days want to work with
plants."
Lucius looked in betrayal at his wife.
"Er… I don't actually know quite just yet," the Longbottom heir said
blushing.
Narcissa smiled, but before she could betray her husband further, the
door opened again and Adrian Greengrass entered.
He raised an eyebrow at the current inhabitants of the room.
"I'm quite surprised that everyone's still standing," he said. Lucius and
Arthur exchanged an uneasy glance, both remembering quite vividly
their last meeting. Then they hurriedly looked the other way when they
noticed what they had been doing.
"I'm still waiting for the Head to show up, since I am sure that there has
to be a mistake," Lucius settled on. "I don't think that anybody would
have thought about adding blood-traitors and a decent family like mine
to a Grand Family together."
Adrian Greengrass raised an eyebrow at that.
Arthur Weasley on the other hand spluttered.
"Well, if you mean with 'decent family' Death Eater Scum like you, then
yes, I'm quite certain that there has to be indeed a mistake," Arthur
retorted.
Lucius sneered.
Narcissa sighed.
"And here I thought they were able to play well together," she said.
"Indeed," another man said nodding. Lucius turned around at the voice.
Severus Snape was standing in the doorway next to Blaise Zabini.
"Well, it is quite entertaining to watch," another voice spoke up and it
was then that Lucius Malfoy noticed for the first time that there was
another person in the room for what he guessed longer than anybody
else. The young man, Lucius' Head of House had been standing in one of
the corners, leaned against the wall, while watching them. "Especially
because they are each other's reason to be here," the young man
continued. "I had the choice to invite neither or both, since they are both
about the same degree when it comes to measuring the relation to this
house. Adding to that that they are cousins through this family and I
wonder why they go against each other instead of working with each
other like cousins should."
Lucius stared horrified at an equally horrified Arthur.
"Or did both of you forget wizarding etiquette and traditions to keep
waring within the family?" The words of Lucius' Head of House were
sharp and like a knife they entered Lucius' gut and twisted his insides.
"I'm quite sure that my husband knows how to behave towards cousins,"
Narcissa said and her glance was as piercing as the Head's words.
"I do indeed, dear," he said, swallowing hard.
Adrian Greengrass snorted.
"This might turn out quite an interesting meeting," he said amused.
"Quite interesting, indeed."
Lucius felt a shiver running down his spine when hearing those words.
"Of course it will," his Head of House said. "After all, today is the day you
will fully swear yourself to the family. Today is the last day you can back
out, after that you are part of the family and you will act like part of the
family."
The Head looked at all of them.
"It is today, that you will chose," his eyes travelled to Lucius. "Tom
Marvolo Riddle or this family" – then ghosted over Severus to penetrate
the Weasley head's eyes. "Albus Dumbledore or this family" – again the
head's eyes travelled, this time meeting Adrian Greengrass' and Blaise
Zabini's gaze. "Neutrality or this family" – his eyes shifted to the
Longbottoms. "Staying on the light side or coming to the grey of this
family." He then looked at all of them again. "This decision won't be
easy," he said. "And yet, I have to force you to make it today. I contacted
you beforehand, I asked you to decide already. Back then, you could go
back, you could turn over your decision and return to the life you led
before."
Lucius shivered at those words.
He knew that this was the last hurdle. The moment he accepted he would
be part of the family, his son would be part of this family, his
grandchildren, great-grandchildren and all the following generations.
And it was in Lucius' hands to decide their fate…
"You know my conditions for this family," the Head said. "You all decided
that you can follow them when I asked you first. Now it is your time to
decide if you can live in this family. I can't and won't make the decision
for you. It is you who will decide."
When he stopped, it was surprisingly Blaise Zabini who spoke up first.
"I still have some questions," he said hesitatingly and when their potential
Head of House nodded, he took a deep breath and then formulated what
was on his mind.
"If I as the Head of Zabini decide to give asylum to another heir, will the
Grand Family back me or will I have to stand on my own against the
Head of the other family?" He asked.
The Head looked a bit amused at that, but answered anyway.
"If you ask, this family will help," he said. "I don't plan to build a
dictatorship, but a family. Family members help each other."
Zabini nodded.
"Just one other question: Shouldn't you have announced the family in
front of the Wizengamot first before inviting us?" He asked. "I looked it
up and that seemed to be the usual approach."
Their Head shrugged.
"It's the current approach, yes," he said. "But it's not the traditional one.
This – what I have done – is what our forefathers did until the Ministry
came into being. I don't care much for the new rule and since the old one
is just forgotten, not prohibited, I decided to found this family like it
would have been founded a few hundred years ago. I think that giving
people time to actually decide if they want to be part of the family or
not, is quite helpful sometimes."
The young Lord Zabini nodded.
"Then I guess I have to thank you for taking this approach," he said.
The Head of House inclined his head, then he looked at the others.
"Any other questions?"
When nobody said anything else, the Head left his corner to walk up to
his desk and lean against this one.
"Then it's time for you to decide," he said. "This family – or your old life?
What should it be?"
Lucius looked around at that. His eyes met Severus', but the potions
master's eyes were unreadable.
What should it be, indeed?
Did he truly want to leave the Dark Lord?
The question was surprisingly easy to be answered when he looked into
Narcissa's eyes. His wife was staring at him, quite likely wanting to bring
him to say yes by frightening him to death with her glare.
Did he truly want to give up his views on blood purity?
But then, the Head of the Grand Family in planning had no condition
when it came to that issue, so Lucius actually didn't have to give up
anything at all, if he didn't want to…
Still, all those questions were just there to stall.
Lucius already knew that direst consequence of choosing the Grand
Family. It was this he had to decide over, not the issue with the Dark
Lord, not his views on blood purity. No, the greatest issue he had was far
worse.
Could he accept the Weasleys as cousins?!
What a horrible question to even have to consider!
And yet, here he was, considering it in earnest with his wife's eyes
glaring daggers inside his skull.
Lucius turned to look around the room again.
The dowager and her grandson were exchanging glances as well,
determination in their eyes. It looked like they were already way on their
way to decide.
The Weasleys nodded to each other. They also seemed to be sure what
they wanted to do. Lucius shuddered just at the thought of them deciding
forbeing his cousins.
Adrian Greengrass stared up to the ceiling, his face unreadable, and
Blaise Zabini already stepped forward bravely.
The young Lord took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment,
before he opened them again to look at their potential Head of House.
"I, Blaise Emilius Zabini, Lord of Zabini," he started. "Swear my line to
you and your family. Thus I decide, from today on until your family
releases us or we vanish into nothingness."
A shining, slightly misty and see-through crest appeared over the young
Lord's head at his words. It was the crest of the Zabinis, a silvery spider
on a black grounding.
"I, Salvazsahar" – Lucius couldn't hear the rest of his Head's name and
House when the secrecy magic took hold of his Head's oath. "Swear to
take in your family, Lord Zabini, into mine. We will be your shield, if you
need shielding, your weapon if you need defence, your family in every
regard you need us to be. We will protect you, we will provide for you
and guide you. We will help you in your endeavours and support you in
any way you need us to, as long as you follow our guidance and rules.
This so I swear, from today on until you beg to leave or my family
vanishes into nothingness."
When the oath ended the now familiar crest of a snake wrapped around a
lily appeared to spear the Zabini crest. Both crests vanished into a slight
show of glittery mist.
Lucius was impressed.
He could barely believe that the young boy had dared to go first when it
came to declaring his alliance with the Grand Family.
The feeling of being glared at made Lucius look to his side. His wife
stared at him, her eyes basically threatening with the couch for the rest
of his life if Lucius dared to back out today.
Lucius gulped.
Then the young Longbottom heir nodded towards his grandmother before
stepping forwards.
"I, Neville Frank Longbottom, Heir of Longbottom," he intoned. "With the
leave of my grandmother, Augusta Carlotta Longbottom, Regent of House
Longbottom, swear my line to you and your family. Thus I decide, from
today on until your family releases us or we vanish into nothingness."
This time the Longbottom crest appeared and like before it was speared
by the crest of the Grand Family when Salvazsahar accepted and spoke
his own oath.
Then with a nod from both of his oldest sons, Arthur Weasley stepped
forward.
"I, Arthur Septimus Weasley, Head of Weasley," he intoned. "Regent of
the House Prewett until my second born is allowed to carry the lordship,
swear my line and my Regent line to you and your family. Thus I decide,
from today on until your family releases us or we vanish into
nothingness."
Lucius blinked at that.
Prewett.
The Prewett family was quite influential, even after they died out in the
male line. Maybe being forced to call the Weasley's cousins wouldn't be
too bad if everyone knew that the Weasley's were the last of the Prewetts
as well…
Before he could think about it a bit more, Severus Snape stepped
forward.
"I, Severus Tobias Snape, Lord of Prince," he intoned while grimacing a
little at the mention of his second name and last name. "Swear my line to
you and your family. Thus I decide, from today on until your family
releases us or we vanish into nothingness."
Lucius stared at his fellow Death Eater. He definitely hadn't even
considered that the other man would swear the oath. He had been quite
surprised to see the dour man at the meeting, but for him to actually
join…
Narcissa shoved him.
He turned towards her and for a moment he felt his innards freeze at the
gaze she send him. It was quite clear what she wanted him to do.
Lucius shuddered.
He still didn't want to be a cousin to the Weasleys…
Then Adrian stepped forward as well, determination on his face.
"I, Adrian Heracles Greengrass," he intoned. "Swear my line to you and
your family. Thus I decide, from today on until your family releases us or
we vanish into nothingness."
Lucius slumped inwardly.
He would be dead if he refused. The Dark Lord might not be the one
killing him, but he would be dead anyway. Narcissa would make sure of
that if he refused to go this last step.
He stepped forward.
"I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Head of Malfoy," he intoned, fully aware of the
approving glances Narcissa was now sending him. "Swear my line to you
and your family. Thus I decide, from today on until your family releases
us or we vanish into nothingness."
Seemed like Lucius would live in his personal hell for the rest of his life.
He was the cousin to a Weasley…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Alastor Moody stumbled upon Harryjames Potter when the later returned
from somewhere off the ground.
This time around, the ex-auror just raised an eyebrow at that boy.
"Seems like you're not always were you should be, Potter," he said.
The boy just returned his gaze evenly.
"And you are?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
Moody snorted at that.
"Guess not," he said amused. "But you're a little too young to amble
around the world without an escort."
The answer was just another amused glance by the boy.
"I'm old enough to go where I went," he replied. "Did you need anything,
Moody?"
The auror's gaze darkened at that.
"Aye, lad," he said. "I need to know where you got that information from
you gave me."
For a moment, the boy seemed to consider it, but in the end he shook his
head.
"No," he said. "I'm sorry, but I won't tell you how I got the information
just now. Go and find your own answers, Moody."
The ex-auror just raised an eyebrow at that.
"And how do you think I should do that?" He asked.
The boy crooked his head.
"Go and ask Sirius for the journals of his grandfather and great-
grandfather. You could even suggest to him to read them as well – I'm
sure they are enlightening," the boy replied. "Go to your own uncle and
ask him, ask people outside of Britain, whatever. Just go out and find
your own answer – and when you have it, return to me and I will tell you
whatever you want to know."
Moody raised an eyebrow at the suggestions – one particular intrigued
him.
"My uncle?" He asked. "What do you know about my uncle?"
The boy just shrugged.
"His name is Jêrome Delacour," he said. "You're not related by blood, but
you called him uncle nearly all your life."
Then the gaze of those unusual green eyes intensified.
"Everything else will have to wait until you found your own answers," the
boy said. "Good day, Auror Moody."
"Wait a moment, lad!" Moody called after Harryjames when the boy
passed by him. "I've still some questions left –"
The boy's eyes narrowed.
"I won't talk about the ward scheme you found," he said. "And I also
won't talk about the fact that I can bring Sirius to do something by acting
like Snape."
Moody's eyes narrowed at that.
"How do you -?"
The boy just sighed.
"I'm not a child, Moody," he said wearily. "Everyone else might treat me
like one, but that doesn't mean I am. I've put up with your spying for
months now. I let you watch me and ignored you. I even let you take my
ward even if that meant some extra work for me to ensure that
Dumbledore could not meddle with it if you gave it to him –"
"I didn't, lad," Moody replied. "I solely showed it Bill Weasley."
The Potter child nodded at that.
"I know," he said. "If you had gone to the Headmaster with this, we
wouldn't have this discussion. If you had, I would have stopped your
snooping back then."
And as odd as it was to hear such a threat from a child, Moody believed
him. He believed him that he would have stopped Moody.
That simple thought made Moody shiver a bit.
He knew himself well enough – and if he believed a threat then that
meant that he believed the person who threatened him had the actual
ability and power to be a threat to his person.
He shivered again.
Harryjames just returned his gaze evenly.
"I let you take a look at the man behind the mask, a look at who I am
without being way led by the Headmaster or others," the boy said. "Now
it's your turn. Find out the truth for yourself – and then choose your side.
Until then, don't bother to try and get the answers from me."
"Lad!" Moody called again when the boy turned around to continue on
his way. "I need to know! Just tell me one thing! Just one thing about my
father and how this all fits together with your hatred for Albus! You don't
understand, lad. I might be able to get the history, but I won't understand
why you suddenly abhor Albus if you don't tell –"
"It didn't go as planned," Harryjames said, seemingly without context. "I
was too late to shield him. In the end, it's my fault that he died. I'm
sorry."
"It didn't go as planned," another tired and haggard man said when the
first one couldn't say anything anymore. "I was too late to shield him. In the
end, it's my fault that he died."
Moody nearly stumbled when he was hit with the flashback to the day
his father died.
The boy just looked at him pityingly.
"I'm sorry," Harryjames repeated.
With that, the boy walked of.
"Seems I truly have to contact my uncle," Moody mumbled to himself. "I
definitely need to know what happened back then and how the lad fits
into all that…"
Best was that he would get in touch with his uncle immediately.
xXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxX
That's it for today. Sorry that it took so long. Lucius refused to cooperate. T.T
I hope I at least met some of your expectations for the first meeting of a
certain family...
'Till next time.
Ebenbild
49. Chapter 48: 1411-1534 AD The
Path To War
ODisclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
Years 1411 To 1534 AD
The Path To War
sss
Salvazsahar Emrys, now known as Salvatio Malfoire, was standing in
front of the front gates of Hogwarts, contemplating his past. It had been
years since he had been last seen the castle in front of him – and yet,
throughout all his life, all those centuries, millennia he had lived, he had
always returned to it. It was his home – and it felt definitely odd that he
was now thinking about breaking and entering into it…
"But needs must," Sal thought darkly, his eyes searching out the one
tower that once had belonged to Peverell. "Needs must..."
Nevertheless, it was odd to Sal that after all these years working at
Hogwarts, after all these years learning and living at Hogwarts, after all
these years defending Hogwarts, he had now come to conquer it.
"A healer on warpath," Sal thought amused. "That's not what you'll see
every day."
Then he bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile.
"But then," he thought. "Sometimes it needs to be a healer who goes to
war. Sometimes, only a healer will be the one to do the right thing, not
the easy."
Regretfully, Sal guessed that such a time had come today.
"Hello, atr," he greeted Hogwarts. "I've come to take your master down."
And the old, black iron gates slowly opened.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1411
"Andromeda, cherie," Sal said while setting down the cutlery. "I wanted to
talk to you, cherie."
Andromeda looked up from her potion's book. It wasn't normal in this
time, that a woman went on and got a mastery, but Sal had insisted when
he had found out that his wife, or back then future wife, was interested
into potions.
When the potion's master guild objected to the idea of a woman working,
Sal had simply pointed out that he wanted to do a mastery in potions and
that he needed his wife to bounce off ideas. It would be a travesty if a
potion's master's wife had actually no idea about the field of study of her
husband.
A lot of wizards had thought the reasoning a little bit odd, but in the end,
they had granted Sal his request and Andromeda was accepted as an
apprentice. A year ago she had finished her mastery and was now the
first potions mistress in over three centuries.
Sal on the other hand had finished his studies a few years before her and
had continued on into the medical field – something that Andromeda had
no real interest in, but was willing to learn anyway to keep up the
pretence that Sal needed her to bounce off ideas.
And maybe, he truly did need her. Over the last three years of their
marriage and the six years of betrothal, Sal had gained a friend in his
wife. She wasn't 'the love of his life', but she was a friend and someone he
could live with for the rest of his life if he had to – not that he would
have to. Sal was more than aware that Andromeda would die long before
he stopped living and there was no way to change that. His uncle might
have made a philosopher's stone, but the price to make another was too
high and the stone his uncle was using wouldn't sustain his aunt and
uncle and Andromeda – if she would have been willing to use it which
she wasn't.
"What do you need, mieus amicx?" Andromeda asked in that moment,
finally finishing the line she had been reading.
"I wanted to talk to you, cherie," Sal said with a sigh before pulling out a
letter. "I got this this morning and I wanted your opinion on it."
She took the letter from his hand and read it.
Then she set it down on her book in front of her.
"What do you want to do, mieus amicx?" She asked him interested.
Sal frowned and stared at the wall behind his wife, thinking about it.
"I'd like to return to Hogwarts," he said finally sincerely, thinking of his
son and his grand-parents that were still living in Hogwarts right now.
"But I won't take the job offer, if you don't want to go."
Andromeda smiled at him.
"I know," she said. "But then, right now, we don't have any children – and
with your inability to father some, it will take time until we will have
one."
Sal winced a little bit at that. He felt a little guilty that he had basically
forced Andromeda to give up the hope for her own children way before
they were even married. Andromeda told him that she didn't care about
that, that she preferred to study and learn, but he still couldn't stop to at
least feel a little bit guilty whenever she spoke about that fact so
carelessly.
"Maybe I will even able to take over teaching when the current potions
master retires. He's quite old, already, after all," his wife continued in
that moment.
Sal smiled at her when he heard that.
"If that's what you wish, I will make it happen," he promised her. He had
more than enough influence with the Wizard's Council or the school if he
wanted it, after all. If Andromeda wished to teach, he would do
everything short of taking the crown to make it happen. Of course, Sal
would prefer not to have to take such drastic measures for such a simple
thing, but he was at least willing to use them – as long as it was
something as reasonable as wanting to teach. He would have thought
twice if the request had been unreasonable, but teaching in his eyes was
reasonable enough.
"I know," Andromeda replied amused. "I remember quite well your
sudden change in interest after finding out that I wouldn't be able to
study potions on my own."
Sal just shrugged and grinned at her.
"I'm your husband," he said truthfully. "The least I can do is to make sure
that this marriage is a happy one."
Andromeda smiled at that.
"The least I can do is make sure the same," she replied. "You want to go
to Hogwarts – I can see it in your eyes – so we will go to Hogwarts. I
don't mind, and you don't need to step back from your wishes for me.
This marriage is a bond of two people. We both have to at least try to
make it work. I don't want to live like some of the others, unhappy and
alone. If it means a little cooperation from both of us, so be it. I wanted
to be a potions mistress and you made sure that I could be one. Now you
want to go to Hogwarts, so let's do it."
Sal smiled at that.
As much as he had tried to stop his parents from marrying him off – at
least they had managed to find someone he could understand and get
along with just fine.
It wasn't perfect, but it was life and Sal didn't mind at all.
"So, let's go to Hogwarts," he said amused. "Here comes the new healer
for the medical wing!"
Years later Sal would look back and shake his head. Back then it had
looked like a job for a few years before he returned to travelling or taking
on his own clientele. It would take at least a decade until Sal understood
that he would be the healer of Hogwarts for at least the next century to
come…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1427
"She's wonderful," Andromeda cooed, rocking the days old baby in her
arms.
"She'll be a devil when she grows up," Anastasius replied smirking.
"Ana!" Sal reprimanded and the vampire ducked his head.
"I apologize, Dame Andromeda," he said. "That was most uncalled for. She
will be worse than the devil, I assure you."
"Anastasius!" Sal stared at his vampire child, basically scolding him with
his eyes.
Then Sal's mother laughed.
"Oh, Salvatio!" She exclaimed giggling. "You should hear yourself! You
sound like a papa already!"
Anastasius flashed his teeth at that.
"He's always talking to me like that," he said, fake-pouting. "It's as if Pater
uses me to train for his baby child!"
Sal rolled his eyes at his son.
"Well, you are always calling him Pater," Andromeda pointed out amused.
"It's no wonder that he treats you like his son if you call him like that!"
"But I like calling him Pater!" The vampire whined.
"Then don't object to being treated like my son, Ana," Sal pointed out
ruthlessly. "And now out with you! You have some investigating to do!"
His son pouted.
"Researching what is happening all over the Isles can wait for a bit! The
naming is more important!"
"Well, I'm definitely honoured that you think the naming of my daughter
is more important than unnatural fog and coldness all over the Isles, but
don't you think you should have other priorities, Anastasius Sanguini?"
Andromeda said with a raised eyebrow.
"But my dear step-mama!" Ana pouted. "Don't you think that big brother
shouldn't be here to say hullo to his new little sister?"
"Well, you did that now," Sal intercepted before Andromeda could
answer. "And now that you're done with it, I'm sure we can make do
without you. Now off you go! Your step-mother and I have to decide on
the name of your sister!"
Sal and Anastasius had never told Sal's parents and Sal's wife their true
relationship. They never tried to hide the relationship, they just never
outright told it as well. As a result, Anastasius had been somehow
indirectly adopted into the family as a semi-child of Sal – most of the
family members guessing that Anastasius' use of 'Pater' was based on Sal's
fatherly behaviour towards the children while Sal's fatherly behaviour
towards the vampire was seen as some kind of revenge for being called
'Pater' by the vampire.
Sal didn't plan on telling his wife of his family anything more about his
relationship with Anastasius. They knew the most important parts – they
didn't need to know that Sal raised the vampire as well. Anastasius was
part of the family, and it didn't truly matter if he was seen as a semi-
grandson or as an actual one – at least it didn't to the vampire and his
father.
"But I wanna stay and help naming her!" the vampire whined in that
moment. "It's my little sister we're talking about here! I can't leave you
and come back just to find out you named her Ursula or something like
that!"
"What's wrong with the name 'Ursula'?" Andromeda asked confused.
"Nothing!" Anastasius complained. "The only thing wrong with it would
be that I had no hand in choosing it!"
Sal rolled his eyes.
"You're far too old to act like a child," he reprimanded his son.
Anastasius stuck out his tongue in reply and Andromeda laughed.
"Let him stay, mieus amicx," she said amused. "I don't mind. Maybe he has
a good idea or two how to name her."
"I do!" Anastasius exclaimed. "How about naming her traditionally? I'd
offer to be the godparent!"
Sal groaned, his parents laughed and Andromeda looked at her daughter
thoughtfully.
"Why not?" She finally said. "It's a dying tradition, but I think it's perfect!"
"Great!" Anastasius exclaimed happily. Sal just sighed.
"Wonderful," he said while rubbing his nose bridge. "Now I have to
choose a name by myself!"
Andromeda just smiled.
"I name her Perdita," she said.
Sal took a deep breath, then he closed his eyes and chose the one name
he had thought about since he had heard that his Oncle Nicholas had
found them a baby girl.
"Perdita Helena," he said.
Anastasius grinned.
"Perdita Helena Nymphadora," he said, and Sal wanted to groan at the
name his son had chosen for his sister and goddaughter. Sal was sure that
his daughter wouldn't appreciate to be named 'Nymphadora'.
"At least it's just the third name," he consoled himself.
Hundreds of years later, long after little Perdita's father had lost track of
her squib descendants in the muggle world, another little girl would be
born to her pureblood mother and muggle-born – well, squib-born father.
Sadly enough, she wouldn't be as lucky as little Perdita.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1440
"But Father! Ana said I could!"
"I don't care what Ana said!" Sal objected instantly. "I as your father say
you're not allowed! And that's my final word on this matter!"
"But Father, please! Some of the others are going as well and –"
"No, Perdita! I won't allow it! Especially considering that you plan to
leave Hogwarts as well to -"
"The others are going, too! Nobody has objected –"
"I'm quite sure that others have! You might not have heard it, but
considering the danger out there-"
"It's not that dangerous to –"
"It is!" Sal objected heatedly. "But even if it wasn't, leaving Hogwarts is
currently nearly as dangerous as your insane plan!"
"You're talking as if Hogwarts is the only safe place in the whole world,
Father!"
"Not in the whole world, but with the attacks, leaving people in a kind of
coma, that unnatural fog all over Britain, the coldness –"
"But I won't go alone!" his daughter objected. "I'll be –"
"You won't go at all!" Sal corrected her coolly. "Like I said: Even without
the trouble all over the Isles I would never allow you to go out to follow
this insane plan!"
"But –"
"No!" Sal said severely. "No thirteen year old daughter of mine will go out
dragon hunting! Do you understand, donzelh Malfoire?"
His daughter pouted.
"I do," she said unhappily.
"And now return to your dorm and send your history professor to me,"
Sal added darkly. "I will have words with him for allowing you to go
dragon hunting!"
"But Ana's –"
"Thankfully just your godparent," Sal intercepted. "And now off you go!"
His daughter pouted again, but in the end complied.
The moment she was gone, the potions professor of Hogwarts, otherwise
known as Sal's wife, started to laugh.
Sal just frowned.
"I truly don't understand," he said sighing. "I'm a Ravenclaw. You're a
Slytherin. How by wind and fire did we manage to rise a Gryffindor?"
Andromeda just kept laughing.
"I still blame Anastasius," she gasped between laughter. "I'm quite sure he
bit her some when in the past and made her a Gryffindor!"
Sal rolled his eyes.
"Ana might be able to make a childe by biting a witch or wizard if he
wanted to, but there's no way he'd be able to make them a Gryffindor by
biting them!" He said amused.
"You sure, mieus amicx?" Andromeda said, still giggling. "I think he
managed quite well – or how else do you explain a Ravenclaw and a
Slytherin producing a Gryffindor?"
Sal thought it over.
"I guess you're right," he finally said amused. "Seems like I have to defang
him for that."
The answer was a yelp from the door.
Obviously Sal's wayward son had heard Sal's last sentence.
"It was a joke, Pater!" Anastasius exclaimed, backing away from his
father. "Just a joke! I never meant her to take it seriously when I told her
we could go and hunt a dragon! You wouldn't defang me for a joke,
would you?"
Sal just raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Anastasius gulped.
"I… I go and talk to her?" He offered stuttering.
Sal's mien didn't change.
Anastasius gulped again.
"And I help you in the medical wing for a week," at Sal's expressionless
face, he amended his statement. "A month! A month!"
"That's alright," Andromeda said, nearly choking on her laughter. "But
don't you dare to do it again!"
"I won't!" Anastasius promised, and when his father sighed he fled.
Sal raised an eyebrow at his son's tactical retreat.
"At least you have one of them under control," Andromeda said amused.
"Even if it's technically the wrong one!"
Then she dissolved into laughter again.
Sal this time raised an eyebrow at her.
"Who said it was the wrong one?" He wanted to know. "With Anastasius
trying to make things right again, he will end up stopping Perdita a lot
more thoroughly than I ever could in the end!"
"Too true," Andromeda snorted. "Truly too true, mieus amicx!"
Then Sal couldn't help it anymore and started to laugh as well.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1449
"There was an attack on some travellers at the borders! They've fallen
into a coma and won't wake anymore. Healers say that it looks as if they
lost their souls somehow and the only thing left is their body," Anastasius
exclaimed angrily. "I went there and I found the perpetrators, but
whatever those things are – I can't fight them!"
Sal frowned at his son.
"Things?" He repeated darkly.
Anastasius nodded.
"Things," he confirmed. "I saw them – and they are horrible. I
remembered my mother and first father dying and everything else that
went horrible wrong in my life."
Sal's eyes darkened when he heard that.
"Dementors," he said and his son looked at him confused.
"You know what those things are?" He asked surprised.
Sal nodded and put away the last of the potions he had been stocking his
infirmary with.
"I know what they are," he said darkly. "They are creatures you don't
want to meet and don't want to cross."
"They're dangerous, then?" Anastasius asked concerned.
"Very," Sal answered darkly. "They belong to the immortal Firbolg."
Anastasius' eyes widened at that.
"But… if they are… shouldn't they –"
"They are born to spread fear," Sal said sighing. "They might be there to
balance our world, but they are fearsome creatures as well – and they
have long since gone further than what they should do. The entire race
has fallen sometime in the past."
Anastasius frowned.
"Fallen?" He asked confused and Sal sighed.
"The lot of the immortal Firbolg is a hard one," he said. "Some of them
loose themselves to the monsters within them, some of them turn into
monsters when they lose their sanity and some burn to ashes and leave
the world bereaved of themselves and their light. Not one of them will
ever have a peaceful death."
"They lost their sanity," Anastasius concluded darkly.
"They lost their sanity," Sal affirmed sighing.
"And now they're here on the Isles," Anastasius said.
Sal's eyes darkened at that.
"How many?" He asked.
Anastasius shrugged.
"About twenty or thirty," he said. "I couldn't come too close. They noticed
me before I could and I had to flee."
Sal looked Anastasius over.
"You weren't hurt, were you?" He asked concerned.
Anastasius shook his head.
"I wasn't, Pater," he said. "But they're gaining ground. Soon they will have
terrorised half of the Isles."
Sal's eyes darkened further.
"Not for long," he promised. "I will go and talk them out of it."
Anastasius raised a surprised eyebrow at his father and Sal smiled darkly.
"I know how to get rid of them," he said. "I might not know how to deal
with them in a way that they die, but I know how to force them to flee."
"Pater –"
"I'll be back in a week's time," Sal said, while patting his son's shoulder.
"Don't worry about me. I know how to deal with them. If you want to, I
will teach you when I return."
With that, Sal left the castle.
He found the dementors easily enough.
Surprisingly, they weren't alone.
They were in the company of a young boy – Sal easily guessed that the
boy was a creature-born – half-dementor, half- something else.
The boy grinned at him when he saw him.
"Oh!" The boy exclaimed. "There's another one!"
The boy had dark hair and his eyes sparkled in a way that looked like the
boy was a little bit insane as well. Sal wasn't too sure if the boy wasn't
insane.
"How about another breakfast, my dears?" The boy asked and giggled.
The grin he send Sal after he had said that, was pure evil.
"I'm sure your eyes would look good in my collection," the boy giggled.
Sal's eyes narrowed.
"Either truly insane," he thought darkly. "Or evil. I'm still going with
inherited insanity…"
Before he could think further about it, three of the dementors came at
him.
Sal sighed.
There weren't that many dementors – a lot less than he had encountered
back then when he had tried to rescue his godfather in his third year. Or
was it in the future when he would rescue his godfather?
Sal ignored the thought and instead drew one of his wands.
He wasn't yet ready to just throw them out by force – but he also knew
that the dementors were nobody he could reason with. They had long
since lost any way to reason with them… and Sal couldn't afford to look
weak in front of them.
He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile.
"I fear I'm not a very good breakfast," he said. "I am actually here to ask
you to find your breakfast elsewhere – and not on the Isles."
This was his last warning – a warning he had issued because of the boy
and not because of the dementors.
The boy just laughed at that.
"Oh, you're funny!" He exclaimed. "Too bad that you'll end-up as their
breakfast today!"
Sal rolled his eyes, then he ducked out of the way of the first dementor.
"Expecto patronum!" He cried.
Sal didn't know what he expected, but he definitely didn't expect the
golden phoenix that came out of his wand instead of his old stag-
patronus.
The phoenix cried, sending a thrilling song throughout the woods around
him.
The dementors staggered. Then the first was touched by the patronus –
and suddenly it cried out, fleeing from the light creature, clearly terrified
of it.
The boy's eyes widened when he saw his companions fleeing from the
golden construct of the phoenix.
Sal was a little bit surprised, that his phoenix actually tattered the
dementors' clothes. This was not usual for a patronus, from what Sal
knew of the spell.
He wondered what had changed that had changed his patronus not only
into a phoenix but into something that actually hurt a dementor.
The boy's eyes meanwhile still followed Sal's patronus.
Then his eyes met Sal's.
Sal stared at the boy evenly.
"I don't condone any creatures hurting others," he said icily. "Stealing
their souls is hurting them – and I won't let you continue doing that –"
The boy laughed harshly.
"As if a few stupid mortals like them matter!" He hissed. "They're all
guilty in some way or form – I don't think that anybody will miss them!"
Then he giggled.
"And if they weren't guilty," the boy shrugged. "Then I made sure that
they won't turn guilty in the future – doesn't matter. They're not
important at all."
Sal's eyes narrowed.
"You have no right to decide anything like that," he pointed out coolly.
"Killing them without a reason is nothing you should do – and don't try to
tell me that the dementors need their souls to survive! You and I know
that they don't!"
The boy grinned and shrugged at that.
"Nah," he said. "They don't."
Then he waved it off.
"But it doesn't actually matter to me," he said. "It's not as if I actually
need a reason for killing them. I like to hear them scream – that's enough
for me!"
Sal's eyes narrowed.
"Leave these lands," he said icily. "Murderers aren't welcome here."
The boy laughed harshly.
"As if I care!" He snickered and then pointed at Sal.
"Kill him!" He told the dementors.
Sal just redirected his patronus back into the fray of dementors – forcing
them to flee.
Then one of the dementors was hit by his patronus head on and with a
screech combusted into a shower of golden light.
Sal and the boy stared at the place where the combusted dementor had
been.
Then the boy's eyes narrowed, staring icily at Sal.
"You will regret that," he threatened. "I will take you down! This island
will tremble beneath my feet!"
And with that the boy grabbed one of the dementors and the dementors
together with the boy fled the Isles.
Sal sighed unhappily, before staring at the place the combusted dementor
had been in confusion.
"What, by wind and fire actually happened there?" He wondered, before
shaking his head and returning to Hogwarts.
He guessed that he would have to do some research.
Dementors normally didn't combust when hit by a patronus – but then,
the patronus wasn't a charm that was actually known in that time, so
who knew if they had built up a resistance to patronus charms over the
time?
Sal guessed that he would find out sometimes in the future…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1460
"Father! I need you!" His daughter cried. She was carrying her toddler
daughter and was pregnant with another child. It had taken some time
until she had been able to conceive – not unusual with witches and
wizards – but now she was the mother of a smiling baby girl with black
locks and grey eyes.
Sal finished the bandage he had been applying to one of the students and
then turned to his daughter.
"What happened?" He asked concerned.
His daughter was pale, and fear was clearly visible in her eyes.
"She fell into the lake," she sobbed, handing him her daughter. "I did as
you taught me and she's breathing again, but –"
"Calm down," he instructed her. "Sit down on the bed over there and I
take a look at Emilia. It will be a lot easier if I don't have to worry about
you going prematurely in labour while I tend to my first grandchild."
His daughter nodded and sat down while trying to calm her breathing.
Sal meanwhile took a look at his grandchild.
The girl was breathing, but unconsciousness.
With a few runes drawn onto the floor, he constructed a colourful
magical dome above the child – his own version of a diagnostic charm.
"Don't worry," he said in the end, after interpreting the charm. "She's a
little bit hypothermic, but it's going to be alright. I keep her here for the
night, and tomorrow she should be right as rain."
Sadly, even with his diagnosis, the shock pulled his own daughter over
the edge.
Sal's second grandchild, a little boy called Leontes, would be born three
weeks early in the early morning of the next day.
Sal was very happy that he had been a healer for such a long time. He
wasn't sure if the boy would have survived otherwise.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1473
"Pater," Anastasius said, entering the medical wing in hurried strides.
"They're back!"
Sal looked up from the knee of the boy he had been bandaging.
"Who's back?" He asked a little bit preoccupied.
"The dementors," Anastasius replied darkly. "There're death cases near
Londinium."
Sal's eyes darkened with fury.
"I go and take care of them," he said icily. "Tell the Headmaster I'm out if
you please."
Anastasius sighed but nodded.
"I will, Pater," he said concerned. "Will you allow me to come with you?"
Sal looked his son over for a moment, then he sighed.
"You know the charm and can perform it?" He asked.
"I do and I can," Anastasius replied.
Sal nodded.
"Then tell the Headmaster and I tell my wife and we will meet at the
entrance to Hogwarts in half an hour."
"Of course, Pater," and with that his son was gone.
Sal on the other hand went to the dungeons and the potion's classroom in
search of his wife.
"Andromeda," Sal said darkly the moment he found her. "I have to go
away for a bit, cherie. I'm sorry."
His wife frowned at him at that.
"Away?" She asked concerned. "Where to?"
"To the border of the Isles," Sal replied, his face concealing his fury.
"There's something I need to take care of."
"What do you need to take care of out there?" Andromeda asked
confused.
Sal just forced himself to smile at her.
"Nothing too concerning," he said. "I promise."
She frowned, but let him go anyway.
The second confrontation with the dementors didn't truly end different
than the first – the only difference was that Anastasius' patronus was
helping Sal's.
Anastasius' patronus was a white construct, exactly like Sal's stag had
been – and it didn't kill dementors.
"Something," Sal said confused after they had forced the dementors away
from the Isles. "Is wrong with my patronus."
Anastasius just raised an eyebrow.
"I thought it was the other way round," he said. "After all, your patronus
at least kills those things – it's a lot more effective that way."
"But it shouldn't function that way," Sal said sighing. "And I have no idea
why it does…"
"Have you researched it?"
Sal shrugged sighing.
"Everywhere I could," he said amused. "Everywhere I could."
Anastasius snorted.
"Figures," he said amused. "My father develops a charm and manages to
be the sole exception to it as well!"
Sal rolled his eyes, but didn't correct his son's assumption that he had
developed the spell. He had researched it – and it didn't exist yet. Since
he had basically brought it to life, he had basically constructed it, even if
he actually hadn't.
"Time-travel is definitely confusing, sometimes," he thought with a
headshake. Then he decided to forget it and continue on like he always
had.
He had long since given up on trying to figure out what had come into
existence because of him and what would have existed anyway. His life
was far too interwoven with time to keep those two parts apart.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1488
"Father!" Sal looked up from his work at the voice of his daughter.
"Perdita," he said frowning. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in
France with your husband and children?"
The answer was a lot of tears.
"I was!" She cried, throwing herself at him as if she was still a little girl.
"Sebastien and I were home and…" She shuddered. "The neighbours
accused us of being witches!"
Again, tears started to leak and Sal froze after hearing those words. After
the 'Malleus Maleficarum', the hammer against the witches, had been
published the year before, all over Europe witch trials had started to be
held. Sal could only think with dread about the fact that he knew from
his lessons far in the future. The trials just now were just the beginning.
He shuddered at the thought.
Then his mind turned to his daughter's missing family.
"What happened to your husband and children?" He asked with dread.
"Emilia and her husband are alright," his daughter replied. Emilia was
Sal's oldest grandchild. She was already married herself, even if she didn't
have any children right now. But she wasn't his only grandchild.
"And the rest of the children and your husband?" He asked, dreading the
answer.
The only answer were tears.
Sal closed his eyes and pulled his daughter closer while wishing
desperately, that there would be a way to change time.
Regretfully, he knew that if they hadn't survived, nothing he did in the
past would change that.
Sometimes, Sal hated his life!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1493
"Andromeda, cherie," Sal said sighing. "Please, think about it again."
The answer was a cool stare, and in the end, Sal just sighed and gave in.
Being married to her for over a century has taught him when to object
and when to give in.
Still…
"You know that we're both not the youngest anymore," he told her.
The answer was another cool stare.
"Even if I would be two hundred years old, mieus amicx," she said coolly.
"I wouldn't miss this."
Sal sighed and closed his eyes.
"As you wish, donzelh," he finally replied.
She looked at him distrustfully as if she wasn't sure that he meant it, but
in the end, she nodded satisfied with what she had been reading in his
face.
"Don't forget to pack some warm clothes," she said.
Sal rolled his eyes in amusement, but inclined his head anyway.
"Of course, cherie," he said.
"Don't forget to write your uncle," Andromeda added. "He will want to
know that we leave to Nuremberg for a few months."
"Of course, cherie," Sal said. He still couldn't believe that Andromeda
wanted to travel across the country at her age. "You know that they
would come by before long, don't you, cherie?"
She threw him another exasperated look.
"Your granddaughter is having her first child – and you want to wait until
she comes by after birth, mieus amicx?" Andromeda looked at him icily.
"Well," Sal said hesitatingly. "Her husband is with her as well as our
daughter – I should think that that's enough, isn't it?"
Andromeda snorted.
"This is our first great-grandchild!" She replied. "We won't miss the birth
– even if we have to go to Nuremberg for it!"
"Yes, cherie," Sal said amused. "I got it. We won't miss the birth of our fist
great-grandchild."
She looked at him, then huffed and turned back to packing.
Sal shook his head in amusement, but started to pack as well. It seemed
that his wife was determined to be there for the birth itself – even if it
was still months away.
Over the last century, Sal had gotten used to a family life. He was fond of
his own wife and had been ecstatic when Nicholas had found a little
orphan girl when Sal had officially been forty-two. Of course, a lot of
people had talked about Sal and Andromeda's missing children. There
had been rumours that Andromeda was barren – of course those rumours
had stopped, when Nicholas and Sal finally had found an orphan baby
girl. Sal and Andromeda had taken in the child, adopted her with the
same potion that had been used on Sal and then told everyone that she
was their daughter by flesh.
Thanks to a little deception, nobody doubted the claim.
Sal's daughter had even managed to have a child herself before Sal's
father had died, so that he and Sal's mother had been able welcome their
first and now only great-grandchild. Sal's father had died a year after the
little girl's birth and his mother had followed two years later.
Sal, at that time, had long since been the Lord of Malfoire. Of course, he
had mourned his parents, but he had been quite occupied with his little
granddaughter, his daughter, the students and his wife, so in the end he
grieved, but moved on.
Sal was quite sure that it would be different when Andromeda would
finally die. She was more than five years over the century's mark as well,
and Sal feared that Andromeda's time on Earth soon would be up.
Andromeda on the other hand didn't see it like that at all. She was still
quite lively for her age and she had promised Sal repeatedly that she
would last at least another ten years or more.
"I'm a Black," she said amused every time he voiced his fears. "If your
parents managed to live for a hundred years, then a Black like me – one
of those who have a naturally long life-span – should at least last ten
years more than them. I'm trying for twenty."
Sal couldn't even object to her goal, because losing the woman who had
turned into his best friend was something he feared quite a lot.
"Have you packed everything and written your uncle, mieus amicx?"
Andromeda asked in that moment. Sal looked up from where he was
packing the last things Andromeda wanted to take with them.
"I have, cherie," he said. "We're good to go."
"Good," she nodded.
"I still think that we should at least travel by apparation for part of the
way," Sal dared to add.
The answer was another cool stare.
"We're not using that new death trap of magic," Andromeda said.
Sal sighed.
"Apparation isn't a death trap," he said half-amused, half-exasperated.
Andromeda just raised an eyebrow.
"Haven't you listened when they talked about the accidents that
happened thanks to that death trap?" She asked him stubbornly. "No,
we're using the normal method, brooms and carriages – not that idiotic
way of suicide the young generation thinks it has to use. We're not thirty
anymore, mieux amicx!"
"But it would be way faster!" Sal objected. "And it's not truly new
anyway. Thousands of people have apparated long before they found out
how to do it deliberately –"
"And even more have hurt themselves badly while doing so," Andromeda
countered.
Sal had to admit that she had a point.
"Unlike others, I would be able to heal it," he argued.
"Of course you would be," Andromeda said, not even thinking about
objecting him. Sal was well-known as the current healer of Hogwarts,
after all – and as one of the best healers of the known world.
"But it's still a death trap," Andromeda added in that moment. "It's an
absolute idiotic way to move from one place to another. I'm quite sure
that others will soon agree and that whole imbecility will be forgotten
over long. Until then, we will continue to use the proper method of
travelling – do you understand, mieux amicx?"
"Of course, cherie," Sal replied, still half-amused, half-exasperated. "As
you wish, donzelh."
He didn't believe that wizards would stop to use apparation in the future,
but he had long since accepted that Andromeda had her own views – and
some of them couldn't be changed. Part of that was her distaste for
apparation which had started to truly exist just thirty years ago.
"Truly," Sal's wife said in that moment while shaking her head. "What
people come up with to fasten up travelling! The next thing they'll tell me
is that you're going to travel through fire!"
For a moment Sal was tempted to agree with her, vividly remembering
his second year at Hogwarts in the future and his trip through the floo.
Then he decided not to tempt fate and closed his mouth again. He didn't
want to get into another discussion – especially since he would have to
tell her about his time travelling to be able to explain his knowledge and
he had never dared to tell her about that tit-bit ever before.
Andromeda, still deep in thought, shook her head again and then sighed.
"Do we have everything, mieux amicx?" She asked him finally.
"We do, cherie," he replied and she nodded.
"Then let's go," and with that they left to their journey to Nuremberg.
Of course, when they finally arrived, they were at least a month to early.
"Honestly, Mother," Perdita said amused. "We would have come by with
the little one as soon as we could. You didn't have to travel through half
of Europe to get here!"
"You and I know that your father is the best healer out there!"
Andromeda replied at that to her daughter. "Of course we came!"
Her daughter sighed, but smiled.
"I'm happy you're here, Mother," she said. "I truly am. I just meant that
you didn't have to go through all that trouble!"
"It's our first great-grandchild! Of course we would go through all that
trouble!" Andromeda replied amused. "And now be a dear and tell Emilia
we're here!"
"Yes, Mother," Perdita replied.
That evening, Sal left his daughter, wife and granddaughter alone to
catch-up. His granddaughter's husband was away on a political dinner his
wife couldn't attend thanks to her pregnancy and Sal had no intention to
be anywhere near the house when his girls decided to have a girls' night.
So he had decided to wander the streets of Nuremberg.
It was late autumn and while Sal walked the streets, the first snow of the
year started to fall. Sal sighed and looked up to the sky. He guessed that
they would have Yule in Nuremberg this year.
"Entschuldeget er," a voice suddenly spoke up from behind.
Sal turned and looked at the man who had stepped out of the entrance to
an inn.
"How can I help you, hêrre?" Sal asked in the German of the 1400s, a
little bit confused that the man would take the time to talk to a stranger
on the street. It wasn't something people often did in this time and age.
"You have the markings of a healer, meister hêrre," the stranger replied
and Sal's eyes narrowed.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said slowly. Even if the witch
trials weren't yet at its peak, it still was good to be cautious.
The other man hesitated, then he sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Please, meister hêrre," he begged. "If you truly are what I think you are,
don't deny it… I… I could use the help of someone like you."
"What do you mean with 'someone like me', hêrre?" Sal asked, his eyes
narrowing further.
"A crêatiure-nachgeborn like you, meister hêrre," the man replied, and Sal's
eyebrow rose.
"How did you come up with the theory that I'm a creature-born?" He
asked interested.
The man sighed.
"I can smell it," he answered, and when Sal's eyes narrowed again, he
raised his hands to calm him.
"I'm an Elder Dragon," he blurted out. "I can smell the dragon in your
blood. It's diluted, meaning you have to be a crêatiure-nachgeborn, but it's
still there – and it's strong."
Sal looked at the man in surprise.
"I thought the Elder Dragons are gone, hêrre," he said, unable to censure
his words in his surprise.
The other man winced.
"We are," he said. "The most of us have long since lost their sanity.
Beasts, we are now, normal dragons, not better than any other beast in
this world." He shook his head.
"I'm the last one – or at least one of the last," he said tiredly. "I don't
know how long I will continue to exist in this world like that. Even now I
feel my sanity slipping."
"There's nothing I can do to help with that, hêrre," Sal replied sadly.
"I know," the Elder Dragon replied, his face a painful grin. "But I didn't
stop you to ask for your help with that, meister hêrre."
"You asked for a healer," Sal pointed out.
"But not for that," the Elder Dragon replied. "I asked for you to stop,
because I can feel the Pendragon in your blood, meister hêrre."
Sal's eyes narrowed again.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he said slowly.
The Elder Dragon blinked as if he hadn't even suspected a reply like that.
"The Pendragon," he repeated, and when Sal's face didn't change, he
sighed. "Your father should have told you something important like that,"
he mumbled while shaking his head in despair. "Whatever Elder Dragon
your father was, he was an idiot for not telling you about your
inheritance, meister hêrre!"
Sal blinked.
Elder Dragon?
Father?!
It was then that he put two and two together and for a moment he
wanted to groan. The Elder Dragon thought that Sal was the son of
another Elder Dragon! For a moment, Sal was tempted to correct the
other man, then he sighed and decided to let it be for now. He would ask
the important things first – and then the rest. His own heritage could
wait. It would be far too complicated to explain it in a few sentences
anyway…
"What exactly is a 'Pendragon' for an Elder Dragon, hêrre?" He asked
instead.
The other man seemed of have resigned himself to the role of a teacher
already, because he started to explain without further ado.
"It implies the age of an Elder Dragon, meister hêrre," he explained
patiently. "It means you are at least a thousand years old. Your blood is
basically leaking your age. The older an Elder Dragon is, the less others
want to disobey them. The older we get, the more dangerous we are,
after all."
When Sal raised an eyebrow, the other man just shrugged.
"It's mostly knowledge that makes us more dangerous compared to
younger Elder Dragons, meister hêrre," he said. "Knowledge and the fact
that we're basically interwoven with the land itself. There's a reason why
every magical royal family in the world has Elder Dragon blood in their
veins. The longer an Elder Dragon lives in a country, the more he is
interwoven with its magic and the more he will try to protect it. And you,
wherever you are from, are a Pendragon who's quite tightly interwoven
with his country."
Sal frowned a little but unsure what the Elder Dragon was trying to
explain to him exactly.
"Interwoven how?" He finally asked.
The Elder Dragon shrugged.
"Mostly with the land," he said. "The more often an Elder Dragon uses
magic on one particular space of land – or the stronger magic he uses
there – the better he can use magic there later on. His magic basically
connected with the land beneath his feet, and as long as he uses magic
that is connected to the ground in that particular place, he won't have
trouble with spells he would have trouble with everywhere else."
"I'm still not sure I understand, hêrre," Sal confessed. It was a surprising
experience for him. He hadn't felt that undereducated for a long, long
time now.
"It's simple," the Elder Dragon shrugged. "If you put up a ward here on
this street, or if you use any kind of other magic, then your magic
connects with the land beneath your feet. The next time you're here in
this particular street and you try to put up a ward, you might even be
able to put up two or three or four or whatever – the more magic or the
stronger the magic you used here before was, the better you can use the
land in your casting. It's called 'interweaving spells'. Basically, you put up
the ward once and with the help of your connection with the land, you
simply copy it instead of putting it up a second time next to the first. It's
something an Elder Dragon does naturally. It's also the reason why you're
stronger in some places than in others."
Sal's eyes widened at that.
He remembered the Great Battle of the North Fields – in about the same
place he had landed when he had met Myrddin – and he remembered his
troubles in the village with Godric.
"Interweaving spells," he repeated surprised. "Huh? Who would have
thought that it would take that long to find out the reason for all those
inconsistencies…"
The Elder Dragon snorted.
"Of course," he added to Sal's musing. "If you're a royal, the whole thing
is nearly moot. The moment you take up the crown, you are connected to
the country as a whole, meaning that even with your meagre powers you
could beat the snot out of everyone who dared to enter your country."
Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"You can't take the crown without the approval of the people," he pointed
out. "The king's power is based on the belief of the people. If they don't
belief and respect him, then his power is nearly non-existent. If they do –
then others shouldn't even dare to think about crossing them."
The Elder Dragon waved it off.
"It's a moot point for both of us," he said. "Royals are always descendants
of crêatiure-nachgeborn. You and I both are crêatiure-nachgeborne, there's
no way we could be royal – even with you being a Pendragon."
Sal's eyes narrowed again when he finally came to the second point he
had wanted to have clarified before.
"But how do you know that I'm a creature-born?" He asked with
narrowed eyes. "I could be an Olde one for all you know."
The Elder Dragon just smiled at him.
"Your blood screams of fire," he said. "I can feel it cursing through your
veins. There's death around you, clouding and shielding you and I can
feel the beast inside you rearing its head. It might have been hundreds of
years since I felt it last, but I remember the feeling of an Elder Dragon
quite well, meister hêrre."
"I could still be –"
The other man just shook his head.
"For all an Olde one has inherited part of our power – they have lost a lot
of it as well," he said. "They might be able to throw fire if they are the
descendant of an Elder Dragon, but the ember in their veins is nearly
extinguished. The further you are away from the sire of your line, the
more the fire blasting through your veins turns to embers. The ember
might always be there, always be able to set aflame if they need it – but
it's still not the same."
Sal's eyebrows furrowed.
He knew quite well that he was only a descendant of an Elder Dragon. He
wasn't a creature-born – if you didn't count him as a second-generation
one, since Myrddin had been a creature-born and Sal's other birth-parents
had been Olde ones…
"Fire in my veins?" He repeated, still a little bit confused.
The Elder Dragon nodded.
"Blasting, wild, destructive," he replied. "So unlike the soothing flames of
a phoenix. You should know that it's there. You should be feeling it."
Sal frowned.
Then he remembered the white flames that had enveloped him when he
had tried to kill himself.
Blasting, wild, destructive – a fitting description for them…
But they were the flames of a phoenix, weren't they?
On the other hands, Sal had learned to use flames with his hands – but
only with his hands. He had no control over them otherwise. The only
exception had been the day he had tried to kill himself, and back then he
hadn't controlled the flames, back then they had controlled him…
They had been phoenix fire.
Purifying – but destructive.
Uncontrolled – wild.
White and cold and death-bringing – blasting and dangerous not only for
him…
Phoenix or Elder Dragon?
And who could tell the difference when they were both part of his blood?
Then the Elder Dragon laughed.
"You don't have to think up an argument to deny it," he said. "I can feel
the fire in your veins and the serpent-like beast in your mind. You might
suppress them both, but they are still there, as much as you deny it. Your
connection to the land, your status as a Pendragon, just tells me that both
of it is the sign that you are an Elder Dragon's crêatiure-nachgeborn and
not the son of a phoenix and a basilisk mixed with something else or
something like that…"
Sal's eyes narrowed.
"Why a basilisk?" He asked. "Why not any other magical serpent-like
beast?"
The Elder Dragon shrugged.
"There aren't that many who can sire children with other species," he
said. "And the basilisk is the only one of them who bears the same curse
as the Elder Dragon. They will lose their mind someday, like we will lose
ours – but unlike us, they can and will turn against their own children
and grandchildren as well when it happens. If their child or grandchild is
near them, they will kill it – it's in the nature of their beast. I can't
remember a case when the child survived its parents or grandparents bite
if it was bitten. I don't think the world wants to know the result of a child
surviving its sire's bite."
Sal's inner eye replayed a memory of his second year in Hogwarts.
A sword stabbing the head of a basilisk and a fang embedding itself into
a young boy's arm.
"This wasn't my grandmother," he tried to tell himself, feeling suddenly
quite sick to his stomach. "And even if it was, she wasn't my grand-
mother back then."
He definitely hadn't survived his grandmother's bite…
Sal shook off the thought. He never tried to think about the future if he
didn't have to. It wasn't worth contemplating if the basilisk he had killed
was his grandmother or not. He couldn't change it now – and he doubted
that he would be able to change it in the future as well…
He turned away from the thought back to the Elder Dragon in front of
him.
"Even if you're right with all that," he said. "That doesn't explain why you
stopped me."
The Elder Dragon smiled tiredly.
"You're a Pendragon," he said. "You're a healer, aren't you, meister hêrre? I
can feel your healer's oath even if it isn't activated right now, meaning
that you have been a healer for a very long time – long enough that every
sworn potion's master or healer would automatically defer to you if he
had to work together with you…"
Sal frowned a bit at that. It was a well-kept secret that in times when
healers had to work together, one of them – the most experienced one –
would automatically proclaimed to be the lead-healer. It was magic,
magic that was part of the healer's oath that determined the rank of a
healer when working with others.
Thanks to Sal's age and experience even before he had even sworn the
oath, he had nearly always been in the position of the lead-healer.
That the Elder Dragon knew just meant that he had at least done a
mastery in potions, if he wasn't a healer himself.
"You're a potion's master, hêrre?" Sal guessed and the Elder Dragon
nodded.
"I've been one for about five-hundred years," he confirmed and Sal
frowned.
"If you are that old, why do you approach me, hêrre?" he asked confused.
"You might just be a potion's master – but I doubt that you didn't learn
enough of the healing arts over all those hundreds of years to treat what
ails you…"
The answer was a sigh.
"Nothing is ailing me," the Elder Dragon said. "It's more that after the
Romans conquered nearly all of Europe, a lot of ancient Germanic
knowledge has been lost. I know that what I'm looking for existed once,
but I can't find any sources about it now. You are a healer – and you have
been a healer longer than I have been a potion's master…"
"You hope I know what you're looking for," Sal concluded surprised.
The Elder Dragon nodded and Sal sighed.
"Alright," he said. "Let's talk somewhere else – somewhere warm
preferably – and I will see what I can do."
The Elder Dragon smiled.
"Thank you, meister hêrre," he said. "I am Wilhelm Bombastus von
Hohenheim."
Sal's eyes narrowed at that.
"This is not your original name," he accused. He knew that back then the
magicals all over Europe had still used three first names – and creature-
borns mostly followed that custom still.
The Elder Dragon smiled.
"No," he said. "It's the name I have currently taken as my own."
Sal inclined his head.
"Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire," he said. "The same circumstances as you."
The Elder Dragon laughed.
Then he gestured for Sal to follow him.
He led them to a house at the outer circles of Nuremberg, near the wall.
"This is where my wife and I live," he said before opening the door and
leading Sal deeper into the house.
The living room was occupied by a woman with sharp features and fangs.
Vampire, Sal immediately recognized.
"My wife Serafina," Wilhelm said.
Sal inclined his head.
"Frowe," he greeted her and she smiled before looking at her husband
inquiringly.
"He's a healer," Wilhelm replied. "And he's my elder."
Her eyes widened at that, then something akin to hope started to show in
them.
Sal instead turned to the Elder Dragon.
"Now," he said, after Wilhelm had invited him to sit down and Serafina
had brought some wine. "Can you please explain to me why you need my
help?"
The couple exchanged a look.
"We can't have children," Wilhelm finally said sighing. "It might not be
often that it happens with creatures as us, but it happens."
Sal inclined his head. Creatures had a lower birth-rate than wizards or
muggles, but the chances of one of them being unable to have children
was lower as well. Mostly, it would just take a lot of time until they
conceived, but that didn't mean that they were unable to.
Regretfully even with creatures it could happen – and he guessed that the
couple had used the spell and potion that could confirm things like that
already. Both, spell and potion weren't infallible, but together you could
mostly trust them.
Sal was just glad that both, spell and potion would only start to be semi-
reliable after the magic of the children had matured fully and if they
were taken with the their full conscience, meaning that by then, the
children normally were already married and considered adults –
otherwise he wasn't sure if some parents wouldn't have disowned their
child when they found out.
"We found a baby boy," the vampire woman added. "We want to make
him our own."
Sal's eyebrows furrowed.
"The potion –"
"Gives him access to our family magic," Wilhelm interrupted him. "But we
are both creatures. He wouldn't be our own with the potion – because if
he was he would have part of our soul."
"Of course," Sal thought while shaking his head inwardly. "A Firbolg gives
part of their soul to create a child. A normal adoption potion would not
give him access to his parents' creature inheritance. He would be able to
use a gift or two, but he wouldn't be considered their full child in the
eyes of the other Firbolg."
"We heard that there once was a ritual that made sure that even people
like us could adopted a child fully," Wilhelm said. "The rumour said that
he would be reborn as my son if we used that ritual – and we want it. If
there's a way –"
"How old is he?" Sal interrupted the Elder Dragon.
The couple exchanged a glance.
"A few weeks," Wilhelm replied finally. "We found him abandoned in the
woods just shortly after his birth – at least that's what we guess. We don't
even know if he has magic or not, currently."
Sal nodded.
He knew that with the adoption it didn't truly matter. He would inherit
the magic of his parents – the Firbolg-soul parts he would gain would
ensure it.
"This won't be easy," he warned them, remembering the ritual that had
given him a father all those years ago. "But he's young, he shouldn't have
any problems to accept your soul-parts as his own. His soul is not yet
formed enough that it can't accept another soul-part as its own."
Wilhelm and Serafina exchanged a surprised and even more hopeful look.
"You know the ritual we were talking about," Wilhelm said amazed. "You
know how to do it!"
Sal inclined his head.
"I was trained as a druid," he said. "I also was part of it once before."
The couple smiled.
"Will you do it, meister hêrre?" Wilhelm finally asked. "I promise you that
we will make it worth your time. Just tell us what you want and we will
try to give it to you!"
Sal sighed and shook his head.
"I don't require anything," he said truthfully. "I am a healer. It is my
calling to help those people who need me, and while I never object to an
offering since I have to live as well – I won't ask for anything."
The couple exchanged another look, then Wilhelm nodded.
"We will pay you anyway," he declared. "Now tell us what you need!"
It was three weeks and a half later when Sal and Wilhelm and Serafina
met again. They had found an old stone-circle not far from Nuremberg
and Sal had cleaned the circle thoroughly for the ritual. The ritual was
planned for nightfall – something that was required for this ritual – and
slowly darkness ascended the sky.
It would be a long day, today. The ritual would take some time and the
return to the city would take a lot of time afterwards as well. Sal couldn't
believe that the ritual he was now doing, hidden away in the woods, had
been once done openly on the hills.
The whole thing was odd, to him.
It had been centuries since he had last used a ritual circle – and even
longer since he had done this particular ritual.
It was like a look into a long forgotten memory – and it hurt, considering
that the people in that memory were long since dead and gone.
When the couple and their little future son arrived, Sal was just finishing
the runes and circles he had been drawing into the earth.
"Pull of your and your son's clothes and put them down somewhere
outside the circle," he said. "No clothes within the circle."
The couple nodded and did what he told them while he drew the last of
the runes into the earth. When they were finished, they stopped right
outside the circle, looking a little bit nervously at it. Sal's lips twitched in
amusement when he remembered that he hadn't been different when he
had been part of the ritual all those years ago.
"Don't step on the drawn runes," he told the couple before gesturing for
them to enter the stone-circle and walk into its mid where a stone-bed
was waiting for their son.
"Put him down in there," he said. "Then Serafina will kneel behind his
head and Wilhelm will kneel at his feet."
The couple did as they were told and Sal pulled out a knife.
"I will have to slit one of your wrists each," he told the couple. "And use
your blood to draw runes on your son."
Then he frowned.
"I did tell you to bring a third person for the godfather part, didn't I?" He
confirmed a bit confused.
"You did," Wilhelm said. "But we decided that the least we can do is to
give you the place as his godfather. You are the one who's giving us our
son, after all!"
Sal frowned at that.
The responsibilities and rights of a godfather were nearly as important as
the ones of a parent.
His last godchildren had been Helily, Nicholaos and Antioch, the
Founders' children.
It hurt to think about them.
And yet, he would be exposed to that hurt yet again.
He couldn't reject the offer of Wilhelm and Serafina – even if he knew
that it would hurt in the end when their son would die sometime in the
future…
"Thank you," he finally settled on and the future parents smiled at him.
Sal was quite sure that he would get to know them quite well in the end.
He had always been a responsible father and godfather, meaning that he
would make sure that his children and godchildren wouldn't have to
grow up without him.
"Then let's do this," he finally said. "You know what you have to say?"
The couple nodded and Sal stepped closer and then slit first the vampire
woman's then the Elder Dragon's wrist.
Then he took their blood to draw the runes on the confused looking baby
boy.
He stepped back and out of the circle.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, then he took a deep breath and
activated the circle. White light filled the woods around them.
Then Serafina took the head of her child into her hands, kissing his
forehead.
"You are my son," she intoned and the ritual started.
The stone-circle lit in a blue light, blue flames dancing in the night sky.
"You are my flesh."
The runes Sal had written with Serafina's blood on the boy lit up in blue
fire before spreading beneath the child's skin. Sal was quite happy that
there hadn't been a Horcrux involved this time around. He wouldn't have
fancied the idea of carving runes into the skin of a little child. He even
shuddered jus at that thought.
"You are my son," Serafina continued.
The fire enveloped the little boy, but clearly didn't seem to hurt him in
any way or form.
"You are my soul."
This time the boy whined, clearly a little uncomfortable, but not truly
hurting at the same time.
Serafina swayed for a moment before she continued.
"You are my son." She said, her grip tightening.
"I give birth to you today."
This time the boy started to cry when the changes in his heritage started
to affect his body.
"I name you today. You are my son, your name is Philippus."
This time Wilhelm joint in. He kissed the feet of his son.
"You are my son," he intoned. "You are my flesh."
The light surrounding the boy changed and he wiggled a little bit more,
still crying softly. It was clear that the parents wished nothing but to
sooth the boy, but as long as the ritual was in place, they couldn't do
anything.
The ritual would have to finish first or it would kill the child.
"You are my son," Wilhelm continued. "You are my soul."
The little boy's crying turned into sobbing.
"You are my son," Wilhelm said. "I give birth to you today."
Again, the changes in the boy's heritage made the little boy cry louder.
"I name you today. Your name is Theophrastus," he said.
Sal stepped up next to the father. One of his hands got hold of the little
boy's right shoulder.
"I name you my godson," He intoned, like his own godfather Ollivanneder
had spoken so long ago. "Your name is Aureolus."
Sal actually didn't know where he had gotten that name from, but it had
been the first one he had thought of, and it somehow seemed fitting for
the little boy, so he gave it.
"So be Bombastus" Serafina finished. "Because I named you my son. Be
von Hohenheim, because your father Wilhelm named you his son, be
Malfoire, because Salvatio Malfoire named you his godson."
Sal winced a little at the last bit, but full names didn't matter in this
ritual. As long as the parents first names were right and the magic could
find a way to connect to the people the little boy should be connected to,
the names in this ritual were not that important – with the exception of
the name of the child itself.
Since Sal was Salvatio Malfoire and had been named it by his parents, it
wasn't a lie, and therefore legal for the ritual. There were other rituals
were names mattered a lot more, but normally, as long as you considered
the name you were using yours, it didn't matter in the adoption ceremony
if you weren't the child.
In that moment a dazzling bright light erupted form the little boy's body
– and then the light stopped. The darkness of the early night returned.
The ritual was done.
Immediately, Serafina scooped up her child and soothed it.
Wilhelm on the other hand turned and hugged Sal.
"Thank you," he said while swaying on his feet. "Thank you, thank you,
thank you, meister hêrre!"
Sal, a little bit uncomfortable, patted the other man's shoulder.
"You're welcome," he said. "You're very welcome indeed."
With that he helped the new little family home before returning to his
grand-daughters house.
The moment he opened the door, Andromeda already accosted him.
"You're just in time," she told him. "Emilia has gone into labour!"
Sal groaned.
It seemed that this would be a long day, today – and even longer than he
had anticipated…
But in the end, Sal didn't mind it at all. He smiled when he helped to give
birth to his first great-grandson.
"His name is Maximillus," his granddaughter said smiling.
Sal smiled tiredly at the little boy.
"Welcome to the world, little Maximillus," he said smiling. "Welcome to
the world."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1505
When Andromeda died, it happened without any warning.
One day, she had been pottering around like always, the next, she simply
never woke up.
It was a heart-breaking experience for Sal.
"I'm sorry, son," his Oncle Nick told him when they buried her. "I'm
sorry."
Sal just smiled at his Oncle who had started to work at Hogwarts about
ten years ago.
"It's alright," he said before taking a deep breath. "It's alright. I knew she
was old. I'm not that surprised that she died."
His Oncle just patted his back.
"If you need sum we're here," he told Sal and Sal nodded.
For the next months, he buried himself in work. He worked as a healer in
Hogwarts and took over his wife's position as a potion's master until
someone else could be found. His wife had loved to work as a potion's
mistress and therefore held the position in Hogwarts until her death.
Anastasius had left Hogwarts and was currently somewhere on the
country – Sal had no idea where – and Sal's grandparents also weren't at
Hogwarts, but somewhere else in the world – Sal guessed the Sahara. Sal
didn't mind too much that the rest of his family wasn't there, even if he
had a hard time to console his daughter and granddaughter at the same
time.
And maybe, Sal would have stayed at Hogwarts for a little bit longer, if
the rumours hadn't started to spread again.
Then rumours about unnatural coldness, ice and bad memories.
"Perdita," Sal said finally to his daughter who had started to help him in
the hospital wing for quite some time. "Would you mind taking care of
the hospital wing alone?"
His daughter looked at him warily.
"You don't plan on dying, do you, Father?" She asked, fear in her eyes.
Sal just smiled and shook his head.
"I don't," he said. "But I want to go wandering. I can't continue to stay
here – I need to get out and wander. I promise, I will return, but I don't
want to stay."
His daughter looked at him confused.
"Father," she said hesitatingly. "You're two years older than Mother. Do
you really think that you should go wandering at your age?"
Sal smiled and shrugged.
"Why not?" He asked lightly. Except of his uncle and aunt nobody knew
that he would not die for a long, long time. His wife had known that he
would live a lot longer than she, but even she hadn't known the full
extend and the reason why he was different. In his children's eyes, he
looked as old as he should look if he had aged somewhat naturally.
Sal didn't plan to tell them anything different than they knew. It was
better if not too many people knew of his continued existence –
especially considering that some people might come after him just
because of it.
So when his daughter just gawked at him, he smiled at her, touched her
cheek and caressed it.
"I will be fine," he said. "Don't worry about me. I will write you ever so
often."
Perdita blinked, then she sighed.
"If that's what you wish, Father," she said. "Then I wish you well."
"I will return," Sal said earnestly. "I promise."
With that he left the castle to hunt down the newest rumours about the
dementors.
Not even two days later, Sal had reached the sea.
Over the last few months he had gotten more and more reports of people
being found in a coma, of icy lands and fog. It had taken him a while to
remember why he found those findings suspicious, and the moment he
did remember, he knew he had to go there and stop them.
Unsurprisingly, when he found them, they weren't alone.
"Oh, look who goes there," the man in their mid giggled. Sal had never
met that man before – but he remembered the boy from all those years
ago – and considering that he was wearing human skulls as jewellery, Sal
didn't think that he was that eager to make the man's acquaintance. "Oh,
how beautiful! Seems like someone came here to meet the old Ekrizdis,
after all! How lovely to make your acquaintance! Looks like my babies
will be well fed tonight!"
Sal let his gaze roam over the dementors surrounding the man – Ekrizdis,
if the man was to believe.
It also didn't look like the man remembered Sal – but then, Sal looked
now a lot younger than he had at their first encounter…
"I don't think that they are your babies in any way or form," he
commented.
The man just snickered.
"They listen to me, child," he said with the logic of either the evil of the
insane – Sal wasn't yet sure which actually applied to the man. "That
means they are mine."
"I doubt that they will listen to you anymore when your entertainment
factor has vanished," Sal replied dryly.
The other man just giggled.
"If that's what you think, child," he said. Then he gestured at Sal. "Feed
from him now. I'm tired of his babbling."
The dementors immediately eagerly came at Sal – at least until the first
actually touched him.
Sal could only look at the dementor in surprise, when it suddenly
screeched in fear and then continued to burst into flames. Over the
flames, the soft thrills of a phoenix could be heard.
The other dementors at that floated backwards.
The man in their midst frowned.
"That hasn't happened before," he said, sounding a little confused.
"He's a child of our blood," one of the dementors rattled. "Unnatural!
Half-breed! Soul-destroyer!"
Sal looked at the dementors in interest at that. He had only once seen a
dementor dying – but the combusting had been a lot different than the
death of the current dementor. Yet, the moment one of them had tried to
touch him, they had burst into flames. This hadn't happened when he
was still in the future…
"I guess something definitely changed since the future and now," he
thought surprised. And that something had not only made his patronus,
but also himself basically toxic for dementors…
"Wonder how that happened…"
Before he could muse about it further, Ekrizdis, half-dementor, half-
human, spoke up.
"Unnatural?" The human asked confused. "Why? He's just the same as all
the others…"
"Phoenix-breed," the dementor hissed. "Phoenix-breed with our blood.
Deadly! Bastard! Unnatural!"
Sal looked surprised at his hands at that.
It had been his adoption by his atr that changed his danger-status towards the
dementors?
"Kill it! Destroy it! Can't let it live!" the dementor rattled. "Danger!
Deadly! Unnatural!"
And with that, the other dementors glided forward towards Sal.
Sal frowned at them.
He had originally come to just see what was happening – but now he was
actually facing those creatures alone.
"Ironic," he thought bitterly. "That it has to happen here again. The last
time I was forced to stop the Vikings in this very place – and now I'm
here again to stop another threat. Why by wind and fire am I always
alone when I have to confront a new might-be conqueror of Britain in
this part of the country?"
Sadly, nobody dared to answer that question…
Sal sighed, then he closed his eyes and concentrated on the fire within
himself.
He wouldn't be able to do a lot, but maybe he would be able to do
enough.
With that thought he ducked out of the way of the advancing dementors,
before pulling out his wand.
"Expecto patronum!" he whispered.
Instead of a stag, an already known phoenix burst from the tip of his
wand.
The phoenix was alight with golden fire and it dove into the dementors
as if they were candy. All around Sal, the dementors caught fire. Some of
them tried to kill Sal's phoenix with their fog, but the fury Sal felt drove
this construct of fire and positive emotions further.
Those creatures had attacked Sal's people again and again.
Those creatures had dared to invade the kingdom of Sal's father, no
matter how often Sal had driven them of.
Those creatures had threatened and attacked Sal's loved ones and Sal
himself in the past or future without mercy.
Sal had enough.
They would pay for it.
When his phoenix started to flicker, Sal knelt down onto the earth and
pressed his hands into it. Like Peverell had done it once, all those years
ago, Sal concentrated and then fed his flames and his fury into the earth
itself, willing it to burst out of the earth all around him to encircle his
opponents.
For a moment, he could feel the drain that not only the spell but also the
fire-circle had onto his magic, then the circle burst into the open and
took two more dementors down before encircling the rest.
"I am Salvazsahar Pendragon," Sal said icily. "And this is my country to
police, to protect and to rule. You, who have trespassed on these lands,
have no right to be here. Be gone!"
The dementors screeched again, this time their fear nearly visible.
"Please, Pendragon," one of them whispered and Sal was surprised that
the dementor even knew that word. "We will leave this land – just don't
kill us!"
Sal thought about it.
He hadn't actually planned to kill them all. They, like any other Firbolg,
had a place in the world. They just didn't have a place in Sal's country.
Still, Sal definitely wouldn't tell them that he had never planned to kill
them all.
He was a healer first, after all. He killed to protect the innocent from
their clutches, he killed when they attacked him – but he definitely
wouldn't murder them in cold blood.
Also, there were too many to kill – and too many to control with just his
own magic.
No, he had to do it differently if he wanted to win in the end…
Right now, he had the upper hand. He had to use this chance – who
knew if he got another one like that, after all?
"A contract," he finally said. "Between you and me. No dementor will ever
cast anther shadow on this country – and I will let you be."
The dementors didn't actually speak with each other, but a few minutes
later, one of them spoke up for all of them anyway.
"We agree," the dementor said.
Sal just shot another look at the wizard in their midst.
"And you will take your pet with you," he added. He didn't need another
evil wizard on the Isles – especially if said wizard might actually be evil
and insane.
"Agreed," the dementor said again.
"The moment one of your own enters these lands, I have the right to kill
them," Sal added.
Again, there was a short bout of silence, then the dementor spoke again.
"Agreed."
And with that started the contract that would govern the interactions
between Sal and the dementors until way in the future.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
1509
"Wilhelm," Sal greeted the man when the door was opened.
The Elder Dragon smiled at him the moment he recognized him.
"Salvatio," he said. "You look a little bit younger than I remember you."
Sal just answered with a smile of his own.
"Magic," he said, not interested in explaining if he meant his older form
or the currently younger form with that reply. Sal again looked like
twenty-something – his preferred age, mostly.
He had come to the future Germany to meet Wilhelm and his family,
after the Elder Dragon had ask him to.
"Philippus wants to learn to be a healer," Wilhelm told Sal when he
opened the door further. "I hoped that you would be willing to take over
his training."
Sal just inclined his head.
"If that's what he wishes to do, then I'm quite willing to help," he replied
unconcerned. "But if I take over his training, he will have to leave and
wander with me. I… currently feel a little bit… restless. I fear that I can't
imagine myself to stay in one place for quite some time for now."
The Elder Dragon just nodded.
"That's fine," he said. "You're his godfather, and it's not as if my wife and I
won't ever see Philippus again."
"We will visit every so often," Sal promised.
Then they stepped into the living room where a young boy and Wilhelm's
wife Serafina were seated.
The boy saw Sal and jumped to his feet.
"Gevatter!" He greeted his godfather enthusiastically. "How good to see
you again!"
Sal had been visiting the child regularly – sometimes even with
Andromeda, when she had been still alive.
"Philippus," he greeted the child. "I heard you want to be a healer?"
"I do, Gevatter! I do!" The boy said enthusiastically. "Are you here to
teach me?"
"If that's what you want, then I am quite willing to do so, Philippus," Sal
replied amused.
Many years later, the name 'Philippus Theophrastus Aureolus Bombastus
von Hohenheim' would be nearly unknown to most mundanes and
magicals – Paracelsus on the other hand, would never be forgotten. Not a
lot of people would ever know that those two names were the name of
one and the same person.
In the end, Sal would wander with Philippus until the boy finished his
training and way beyond that as well. In 1524 Sal finally left Philippus in
Salzburg where the young boy, by then man, continued on until he would
be known to history as 'Paracelsus'.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Sal meanwhile started to wander alone again. He went to France where
his uncle, aunt, daughter and granddaughter had started to live and
stayed with them for a while. When his daughter died, he moved on.
All in all, he wandered alone for about ten years – and then he returned
to future Scotland, never knowing that he would be dragged into a new
kind of terror the moment he reached the borders between the magical
and the mundane world of Scotland.
The one thing that led him there, was a simple letter.
"My dearest opponent," it said.
"I came by some information that I thought you should know. Don't worry, I
kept our treaty, neither I nor my companions set a foot on the Isles at all. We
stumbled over this particular information near Rouen. I am also quite aware
that you have no reason to trust me, but then I have no reason to write you as
well. It doesn't actually concern me, after all.
Yet, there is one thing I truly abhor. I don't mind killing people, I actually
enjoy it, if you remember – but I abhor the mistreatment of children.
There's something grave going on in that magical academy on the Isles. My
informant spoke of 'the head doing things and using children for things that
should never be done – let alone to children'.
I wouldn't have bothered if it had been an adult against another, but even I
draw the line with children.
I urge you to take a look. I'm even willing to help you, just this once, monster
child.
Sincerely
Ekrizdis of Azkaban."
And as much as Sal would have wished to see the letter as a trap, he
couldn't ignore it – so he headed towards Hogwarts.
It was autumn in 1534, when Sal would reach the outer skirts of
Hogwarts' surrounding grounds. It would be there that he would be
forced to do something, he had never done before.
"A healer on warpath," Sal thought amused. "That's not what you'll see
every day."
And yet, here he was, ready for battle…
He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile.
"But then," he thought. "Sometimes it needs to be a healer who goes to
war. Sometimes, only a healer will be the one to do the right thing, not
the easy."
And today was a day like that.
Sal squared his shoulders.
"Ready?" The man next to him asked.
Sal took a deep breath.
"Ready," he affirmed.
His hands touched the black iron of the gates of Hogwarts.
"Hello, atr," he greeted Hogwarts. "I've come to take your master down."
And the old, black iron gates slowly opened.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
That's it for today.
sSs
1400s French used:
mieux amicx: my beloved
donzelh: miss
sSs
1400s German used:
Entschuldeget er: excuse me
hêrre: my lord/ mister/ sir
meister hêrre: could be translated to 'esteemed master'
crêatiure-nachgeborn(e): creature-born(s)
frowe: my lady, also used as flattery for Mrs./Ms.
Gevatter: in this case 'godfather'
sSs
And please: don't rant that those words aren't like the words of German/
French currently in use. I actually researched those, and even if I can't be sure
that they're absolutely correct they should be correct enough – for the time the
story takes part in, that is.
sSs
Sorry that it took so long, but this was one of the hardest chapters so far, since
it has a lot of information in it and has to bridge quite a lot of time and
scenes.
I also actually made two chapters out of the one I planned, so I'll warn you
now: most likely, there will be three chapters in the past, this time around.
Anyway, I hope you liked it.
Ebenbild
50. Chapter 49: 1534AD Erased
History
Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.
Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.
xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx
1534 AD
Erased History
The Assault of Hogwarts
sss
He was running through the night. His heart was beating loudly in his
ears, his breathing was laboured and his feet tired.
He stumbled, caught himself and continued running.
It was dark already and the longer he ran, the darker it got.
He was inside a forest, far away from any kind of civilisation he could
see, but he dared not to stop, dared not to relax his guard and give his
body the rest it needed.
"Ralston, please!" a young girl's voice begged him when he stumbled
again. The voice sounded even more tired than he felt. "Please! I can't run
anymore!"
"But you have to, Móna," he replied while forcing himself to keep
running. "We're still far too close. They will find us if we don't keep
running."
"But I'm tired, Ralston," the girl replied.
Then she stumbled as well and only Ralston's grip on her hand prevented
her fall.
"I know," he huffed. "But we have no choice. We have… to get… away
from here."
"But –"
"If we stop, they will come and drag us back there," Ralston argued. He
felt the girl shivering behind himself when he said that and for a moment
he regretted his blunt words.
He knew that she was terrified of them – and he couldn't fault her.
If they had done to him what they did to her, he would have been
terrified as well.
"I'm… sorry… Móna," he apologized anyway.
"'S alright," she answered instantly. "You're right anyway."
But Ralston wished he wasn't.
She was only a girl of eleven – she shouldn't be running through the
night in search for safety.
"But then," Ralston thought bitterly. "I'm twelve, going on thirteen – I
shouldn't be running as well."
And yet, here they were, running through the night, fearing even the
shadows on their way.
What if they were caught by them?
What would happen to them if their pursuers would catch them?
And pursued they were, Ralston couldn't hear them over the wind, but he
knew they were there. He had seen their shadows not too long ago.
How long would it take until they were caught?
Their pursuers were close. One false step, one second of hesitation and
they would be caught.
But they couldn't go back – not Ralston, and especially not Móna.
Ralston shuddered inwardly.
Even yet, hours after they fled, he could hear the Headmaster's voice
cutting through the wind to reach their fleeing forms.
"Running away, my boy?" He had called after them. "That's not the
Gryffindor thing to do, Ralston!"
At those words, Ralston had faltered for a second.
He was a Gryffindor.
He was proud to be a Gryffindor – and yet, he was running…
Then Móna had stiffened next to him and he was reminded of the eleven-
year-old girl who had suffered at the hands of the man who should have
shielded her.
Ralston picked up speed, pulling the girl with him by their clasped hands.
He wouldn't sit by and watch her suffer again!
Yes, he was a Gryffindor!
Yes, he was proud to be sorted in the House of courage!
But sometimes… sometimes it needed courage to run away as well – and
Ralston had shown that courage that day.
He would not force Móna to return to people who tortured her!
"Ralston, please," she pleaded again with him.
"Just a bit longer," he reassured her. "Just a bit! We just need to find a
place where we can hide from them… we need to stay safe… we can't
return to them… we can't!"
But it was fruitless, and Ralston knew that.
They were still far too close, with their pursuers right behind them. They
had no chance anymore. Even if they kept running, their pursuers would
get them soon.
In that moment Móna stumbled and Ralston was too late to catch her.
She tumbled into him and they both fell to the floor – and down a steep
slope to their left.
In the end their fall was broken by the most unexpected thing.
A body.
A human, living and breathing body.
The man – because the body was definitely male – had been walking
until the two children basically tumbled on top of them.
To Ralston's surprise the man beneath them actually grabbed both
children and broke their fall with his own body deliberately so that they
wouldn't get hurt further.
They ended up in a heap on the floor, the man mostly buried by Ralston's
and Móna's limbs.
"Meh," the man said. "That's not how I imagined my not quite allowed
trip onto the Isles would go."
Ralston blinked confused at the man, but before he could even think
about saying something, other voices could be heard in the wind.
"We're close," a voice that send shivers down Ralston's neck called. "I
heard them over there!"
They were done for.
Next to him, Ralston could hear Móna crying and whispering. She was
praying while at the same time apologizing for her clumsiness.
The man on the other hand didn't seem amused at all by the voices.
"Are those beasts pursuing you?" He asked, outrage in his voice.
"They are," Ralston said before he stiffened further.
He could hear footsteps on top of the slope now.
Just a second or two and they were caught…
"Pursuing!" The man hissed in outrage. "Children?!"
And suddenly the temperature around them fell until Ralston could see
his breath fogging in front of him.
Then feelings creeped up inside him, telling him that he was in
immediate danger.
The footsteps on the slope faltered and stopped.
"Why are you stopping, you moron?" Another voice hissed. "We have to
catch those two brats and bring them back to the castle."
"Th… there's something there, boss," the man who had been on the way
towards the slope stuttered.
"Of course there is, moron! Those two brats are there!"
"S… something else, boss," the man replied, his voice shaking more and
more. "S… something d… dangerous."
Ralston couldn't object to that assessment.
The unnatural coldness in the air and the feeling of dreed surrounding
him told him as much.
He shivered and the man pulled him closer before patting his hair as if
Ralston was a pet.
"Don't worry, little one," the man beneath him said. "Old Ekrizdis will
look after you."
The man patted his head again.
"Even without my pets I will make sure that nothing'll touch you," the
man crooned. "Don't worry, little ones. Old Ekrizdis knows what he does!"
And with that, thick, unnatural fog started to well up around them.
Ralston shivered even more.
His whole being was screaming at him that he was in danger.
Then the coldness seeped into his clothes, flesh and bones.
He gasped and his breath was even whiter than it had been before.
Then he heard the boss's voice again.
"Something dangerous?" He scoffed. "Something dangerous?! Are you a
baby that you're afraid of a small slope in the dark?"
"No, sir!" The man replied immediately. "But there's something else –"
"Nothing in this forest is even the slightest bit dangerous for a wizard,"
the other man barked out. "This is a non-magical forest!"
"O… of course, sir," the man stuttered and then his footfalls could be
heard again, making their way through the dried leaves on the floor
towards the edge of the slope.
Ralston wished that he could stand up and run, but the coldness was
paralysing him and the man's hands kept him in place as well. He
shuddered again and buried his head into the man's chest. He wasn't
willing to watch them being found and dragged back from where they
came from.
Silence reigned around them, the only thing moving were the dried
leaves beneath their pursuer's boots while he climbed down the steep
slope.
The footsteps came closer and closer.
Ralston shivered again.
He felt cold to the bones – and yet, there was something oddly… soothing
in the coldness of his body. It was like coming home after being away for
a long, long time. And yet, at the same time it felt like a sledgehammer
coming down upon him, trying to knock him out and he had to actually
fight to keep his consciousness.
There was also the fact that the longer he stayed entrenched into this
unnatural cold, the more the whole experience gained a dreamlike
essence.
Then the boots of his pursuer crunched down the dried leaves just two or
three steps away from them.
Ralston shivered again.
They were found.
Ralston pressed his eyes tightly together.
One second went by, the next.
Silence.
"Th… they're gone, sir," their pursuer said stuttering. "I… I can't see them
anywhere."
The voice of his boss could be heard a second later from atop of the
slope.
"That's all your fault, moron!" The boss accused. "If you had followed
after them immediately they wouldn't have been able to flee!"
"But, boss!" The man objected.
"Shut up, moron!" The boss's voice cursed. "We're going further and try to
catch up to the brats. Join us as soon as possible!"
And with that, the whooshing of several brooms could be heard when the
other wizards returned to their search which led them further and further
away from Ralston, Móna and the man who rescued them.
"Sir!" The pursuer who had been forced to go down the slope cried out.
"Sir! Please don't leave me here alone!"
Ralston opened his eyes.
Just two steps away stood the man who had followed them down the
slope, his face terrified, surrounded by unnatural fog and coldness.
"Those other thirty to fifty might be too much for me alone," the man
beneath Ralston whispered. "But you alone, my dear, are easy prey even
with my pets so far away!"
With that, the fog around their pursuer thickened even further until
Ralston couldn't see the man at all.
"No, no, no!" He could hear the man praying. "Please no!"
Then there was a gasp, hitched breathing.
The fog and cold got even stronger and took on an unearthly shine.
The breathing hitched even further.
Then a muffled scream, nearly silenced by the fog around them.
And suddenly silence.
Utter and undisturbed silence.
Then the sound of something heavy falling onto the dried leaves and the
earthy ground around them.
Ralston stared blindly into the night.
"What… what happened?" He whispered fearfully.
The answer was as soft as his question.
"Nothing I will ever regret, little one," the man beneath him said while
baring his teeth in an expression which could have been a smile if not for
the utter wilderness in the man's gazes. Like it was, it looked more like a
challenging grin than a true smile. "Nothing I will ever regret."
Ralston shivered.
"You killed him," he accused.
The man beneath him shrugged, Ralston could feel the shoulders shifting.
"They're guilty," the man said. "Like every other adult they're guilty. I
don't mind killing the guilty."
Then he send Ralston another fearsome smile.
"Guilty?" Móna asked in that moment confused. "Guilty of what?"
The man bared his teeth.
"Of prejudice, of arrogance, of self-centredness. It doesn't matter. They're
guilty – that's all you need to know," he replied unconcerned and
absolutely self-assured of his beliefs.
Ralston frowned.
"But," he started to say and the man laughed.
"Don't worry, little ones," he said. "You will learn soon enough."
Ralston doubted it – but at the same time he couldn't object that the man
who had pursued them had been dangerous and maybe even evil. As
much as Ralston abhorred needless killing, he could understand that the
man had to die.
If he had found them, it would have been them who had died at his hand,
after all.
Then the man beneath Ralston and Móna shifted and tried to sit up.
He had removed his hands from Ralston's body and was now using them
to help him sit up.
Ralston took that as his cue to scramble to his feet.
Móna, next to him, did the same thing.
"So," the man who had been beneath them asked them with an interested
gaze while the fog and coldness surrounding them slowly vanished. "How
did you two end up here on top of Old Ekrizdis?"
Ralston and Móna exchanged a glance.
Then Ralston squared his shoulders and answered.
"We ran away from Hogwarts," he said while fearing the man's reaction.
Most adults never asked why, they simply wanted to bring them back
there.
Would this man be the same?
"Ah," the man said. "Seems logical to me."
Ralston blinked in confusion.
"Logical?" He asked with a scrunched up nose. It wasn't that he wasn't
thankful for the man's reaction… but logical?!
The man, Ekrizdis, nodded.
"Of course, logical," he said. "Adults are in charge of that school. It's quite
logical that children with brains flee from there."
Somehow Ralston got the feeling that the man didn't like adults for
whatever reason…
"It's not because of the adults that we decided to flee," Ralston objected.
"Well… not all adults, I guess. It's mostly because of the Headmaster and
his cronies!"
"Sounds like I was right, to me," Ekrizdis pointed out and Ralston rolled
his eyes and sighed.
"Believe me," he said. "If it had just been because Hogwarts has adults in
it, I wouldn't even have thought about running. Those people – they
might look like adults, but they're actually monsters."
That made the man blink.
"Monsters?" He repeated before looking at Ralston thoughtfully. "I know
about monsters. I met a monster child some years ago. He's the reason
why my pets refuse to even set one foot on the Isles, you know, little
one?"
Ralston wasn't quite sure what the man was actually talking about.
Ekrizdis on the other hand tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"I understand the fear of monsters. I wouldn't dare to tell the monster
child that I was walking about on his Isles without his permission… and
I'm even abbeding his rules while walking here!" Then the man looked
into the direction of the fallen and dead body of one of the pursuers.
"Well," he amended. "I at least try to follow his rules…"
Ralston just looked back at the body in confusion.
"Huh?" He asked while grimacing at the body. At least it was intact. It
even looked more like the man was simply sleeping instead of dead – if
he had been breathing, that is. Even from three feet away and in darkness
Ralston could see that the man's chest wasn't moving anymore.
"No killing," Ekrizdis explained and grimaced himself. "The monster child
doesn't understand that adults are all guilty by default."
Then the man shrugged.
"Oh, well," he said. "I guess there is a reason why my pets still call him a
'child'. I wonder how long a monster like him needs before he's grown
up? Not that he will ever be an adult. He's a decent born creature like me
– even if he had the audacity to be born with phoenix blood in his veins."
The man looked at Ralston.
"Your Headmaster," he said. "He was born with phoenix blood in his
veins, wasn't he?"
Now Ralston was utterly confused.
Somehow, he got the impression that the man wasn't… quite right in the
head.
"No," he finally decided to say. "Why did you think he was born like
that?"
The man shrugged.
"You called him a monster," he pointed out. "The only monster I know
about is the monster child – and he is a monster because of the phoenix
blood in his veins."
Why would somebody be labelled as a monster because he had phoenix blood
in his veins?
Ralston decided to ignore that direction of thought.
"I called the Headmaster a monster because he decided to experiment on
us children!" He said instead. "Some of them even died! And Móna…"
He stopped and looked at the girl with him.
She returned his gaze with her now calm and dreamy eyes.
Ralston hadn't seen that expression on her face for quite some time – not
since the Headmaster had put her under that curse…
Her silver-blond hair was a bit tussled and her robes were dirty, the
Slytherin crest nearly lost within the dried dirty surrounding it.
And yet, she looked better than she had for months…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It had been Samhain in his second year at Hogwarts when Ralston finally
made the decision to run. Before that he had never even thought about
running before.
Ralston wondered if it had something to do with potions.
In his first year, he definitely hadn't even considered running and telling
somebody. He was a Gryffindor and Gryffindor's shouldn't run.
They should stay and fight.
They should show true courage.
Yet, on Samhain, the day of the dead, his decision to stay and endure
broke suddenly like a potion's induced haze fading.
In the morning the day before, Ralston had been sure that he would stay
and act like a true Gryffindor.
It was his legacy to act like that, after all.
His family had been brave for generations.
Ralston had gotten the heir's ring of his family last summer.
His parents had told him that 'it was time for him to get it', but Ralston
had known the true reason: He had finally proven that he was brave
enough and grownup enough to bear a burden like the heir's ring all by
himself.
His life in Hogwarts was just part of that burden.
At least, that had been his thoughts just the day before.
Then Samhain had happened…
And suddenly, nothing was like it had been before.
"Bravery sometimes also means to run away and get help," his ring
whispered to him the moment he woke up after Samhain. "Didn't you feel
the dead reaching out to you last night and urging you to run?"
"I'm a Gryffindor, I don't run," Ralston had tried to tell himself, but his
sudden and odd connection with the dead made him falter in his beliefs.
Ralston's family had always been special. They were descendants of the
first. Descendants of the grim. No rules bound them like other immortals.
No creature-born was ever like them.
Ralston knew that as Olde ones, his family had lost a lot of their power
and only the heir's and lord's ring was capable of rekindling the flame
that made them Olde ones – but it didn't matter.
His family was different and even while trying to hide their differences
towards the world, they still stood out in one way or another.
"But sometimes, bravery means running," his ring whispered, relaying the
words of the dead. "Sometimes running is the bravest thing you can do."
And this time, Ralston couldn't find it in himself to object to those words.
Whatever potion or spell it had been that had kept him at Hogwarts and
made him decide to suffer in silence had been broken by the protection
his ancestor Peverell Grim had woven into the heir's ring.
So that evening, on the day after Samhain, Ralston confronted his dorm-
mates with his plans…
"We have to get out of here," he said while looking at the others in his
dorm. "We have to go and find someone who will believe us!"
"Ralston," one of his dorm-mates said with a sigh. "There's no one who
will believe us. Don't you think that others haven't tried? Those who ran
died – and those who talked were silenced before someone believed
them."
Ralston, a young second-year Gryffindor frowned.
"But someone has to believe us!" He objected. "We just have to get away
and speak up for us – then someone will believe us!"
"You're a dreamer, Ralston," another one of his dorm-mates said sighing.
"Believe me – others tried to tell their parents or somebody else! Not one
of them listened!"
"But what about the dead?" Ralston asked confused. "What about –"
"All explained away as accidents and whatever," the third dorm-mate said
darkly. "I didn't even think about questioning it before coming here, you
know?"
Ralston frowned.
"But we are Gryffindors!" He objected. "If we aren't brave enough to run
and get help – who else is?"
They argued back and forth afterwards, neither giving in, neither giving
up. Ralston, for whatever else he was, was a stubborn child of twelve.
He was the heir of his family and he had grown up with the burden that
came with his family name. For him, thanks to the unique inheritance of
his family, the fear of dying was nearly non-existent and he simply
couldn't understand why others feared people who threatened them with
death.
So of course, he couldn't see the point his dorm-mates were trying to
make.
In his eyes, you should respect death and live your life to the fullest – but
you shouldn't fear it. When it was your time, you should accept it and
greet it like an old friend.
This was something his dorm-mates couldn't understand at all.
"Just let it be, Ralston!" One of his dorm-mates finally snapped after
minutes of fruitless arguing. "Nobody is stupid enough to go through with
your plans and get themselves killed! Just be glad if we don't go to one of
them and tell on you!"
Ralston just frowned at the other boy.
"Go and do it," he said. "I won't back down – and if I have to do it by
myself, so be it. You are the ones who will have to live with the fact that
you acted like cowardly lions."
And yet, it would take another week and a revelation he had previously
not known about that finally forced him to go through with his decision.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Ekrizdis was now frowning at Ralston.
"So… that Headmaster," he said slowly. "Killed some children?"
Ralston nodded while making himself a little bit more comfortable on the
ground. It seemed like the man wasn't in a hurry to go his way or let
them leave, so Ralston could at least be comfortable if he had to sit on
the ground for a while.
"That he did," he said.
"He's experimenting on us," Móna added nearly silently. "Those new
spells – he's the one who created them. He's trying to find out their limits.
He's hoping that he's right and there are no counters for them nor a way
to make counters."
She shuddered at that and Ralston reached out to take her hand in his
and squeeze it.
He knew what she was thinking about.
Her suffering had been the reason why he grabbed her and run in the
end.
Oh, logically he knew that others were suffering ad well – but he couldn't
take everybody. So he decided to take her and run.
He was sure that if they just escaped he would find a way to stop those
monsters permanently.
"Experimenting?" Ekrizdis said, not sounding put out at all at those
words, but then his mien darkened. "On children?"
Ralston didn't know what Ekrizdis had against adults – but whatever it
was, it didn't seem to affect his belief that children were… good.
"Yes," Móna said shivering. "Experimenting. It's horrible!"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Ralston had been on his way to the dorms when he heard the voice
coming out of one of the unused class rooms.
"Imperio!" The voice said. It was male, belonged to an adult and
definitely sounded like the Headmaster's.
Ralston frowned.
For a moment, he wanted to close his eyes and just walk by and ignore
the classroom, then his suspicion forced him to take different actions.
He pulled out the invisibility cloak he had inherited from his father and
slipped beneath it.
Then he creeped towards the unused classroom.
"Don't scream," the Headmaster's voice was heard commanding through
the door.
"Do you truly want her not to scream?" Another voice spoke up in that
moment. It was the potion's professor's voice and Ralston shivered at the
tone of voice the man was using. It was beyond creepy and implied a
wish for pain, suffering and worse.
"You can make her scream after I'm done with this experiment," the
Headmaster replied dismissively. "But I want this done first. I'm not sure
how much longer this one will make it and I want at least some data
before I need to find another one. So, let's see which one of those two
spells is stronger. Will you?"
"Of course, Headmaster," the potion's professor replied.
For a moment, there was silence, utter silence.
Then "Crucio!"
Ralston reached the door and looked inside the classroom.
On the floor was a girl.
Silver-blond hair.
A fair face and grey eyes.
Ralston had seen her before but never truly interacted with her.
She was a first-year, and a Slytherin one, that is.
With the slight rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin he would have
been teased mercilessly by his dorm-mates if he had interacted with her –
especially since she was a girl as well.
Nevertheless, he knew her from seeing her in the hallways.
Over the last two months her once so dreamy eyes had dulled and lost its
dreamlike condition.
Until now, Ralston had never noticed that little fact.
But watching her from the hallway while she was trashing around,
silently crying in agony made him notice her like he had never noticed
someone ever before.
It also made him angry.
Very, very angry.
"Alright," the Headmaster finally said in that moment. "I think we can
safely say that both spells are about the same strength. We can finish this
experiment for today."
And with that he released his spell.
The potion's professor released his spell as well and the girl slumped onto
the ground as if her strings were cut.
Neither of the two man looked at her.
"I'm going," the Headmaster said. "Finish up here and then leave her
wherever. Just don't kill her tonight."
"Anything else I'm not allowed to do?" The potion's professor asked and
Ralston shivered again. Whatever that monster had planned to do – it
would only increase the little girl's suffering even more. And increasing
her suffering was what the potion's professor wanted to do…
"No," the Headmaster replied uncaring. "As long as she lives, I don't care
what you do."
With that he turned and strode towards the door.
Ralston hurriedly stepped aside, suddenly very glad that he was hidden
beneath his invisibility cloak.
For a moment, Ralston wanted to attack the Headmaster, but then logic
stayed his hands.
He had no chance to win against two grownup wizards with only a year
of learning magic beneath his belt.
But there was something else he could do.
He could do what he should have done a week ago.
He would flee.
And he would do it tonight.
Somebody would listen to him – and if it was just Ralston's father.
Ralston would find a way to end the suffering of the children who were
basically imprisoned into Hogwarts.
But first he had something else to do.
He had to end a suffering immediately tonight.
The moment Ralston was sure that the Headmaster was well and truly
gone, he took a deep breath and then threw open the classroom door
again.
It had been hard to way the minute he gave the Headmaster to leave.
From the inside of the classroom, the desperate begging of a girl's voice
was heard.
Still, Ralston forced himself to wait long enough for the Headmaster to be
out of earshot before he entered by throwing open the door.
Ralston had not yet any spell in his arsenal that could take out another
person permanently, but with his fury empowering his stunning spell, the
potion's professor was nevertheless catapulted through the classroom and
against the opposite wall as if Ralston had used a banishing charm
instead.
The potion's professor hit the wall hard and slit down to the ground
unmoving.
The tortured girl on the other hand stared at him dazed and confused.
She was obviously in no condition to act on her own, so Ralston grabbed
her wrist, pulled her up to her feet and then forced her to follow him
running down the hallway.
He felt his invisibility cloak dislodging while he rounded one of the
corners in the castle, but before he could even think about grabbing it, a
voice could be heard at the other end of the hallway.
"There they are! Get them!"
Ralston doubled his speed, his hand grabbing for the invisibility cloak,
but missing it.
The cloak sailed to the floor and beneath one of the armours and Ralston
had no time to pick it up again.
The Headmaster who obviously hadn't been away far enough to truly not
hear Ralston rescuing the girl was behind them and shooting spells at
them.
Ralston forced himself to double his speed, running away blindly while
dragging a bewildered girl with him.
They rounded another corner and another – and suddenly there was
nothing but stone at the end of the hallway they were in.
"Now we have you cornered," the Headmaster behind them crooned.
"Let's see what kind of punishment I will be able to think up for you…"
Ralston shivered, and he shivered even more when he turned around and
saw that the Headmaster wasn't alone.
There, next to the Headmaster was the potion's professor who was
bleeding from a head wound.
Both adults smiled at them nastily.
The girl next to Ralston whimpered.
"Please, no," Ralston pleaded – not with the two adults but with fate.
"Please, no! We can't stop here! Our flight can't end here already! Please!"
With that he pressed himself against the wall behind him, the girl still
shielded by his body and now trapped between Ralston and the wall.
Ralston's empty hand touched the wall, his other pointed his wand at the
two adults.
Those two smirked, one of them raising his own wand to disarm Ralston.
The next moment, Ralston and the girl fell backwards through the wall
and into darkness.
The last thing Ralston saw before the wall closed in front of him was the
shocked face of the teachers who had chased them.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"We need to get help," Ralston explained to Ekrizdis. "We need to get to
London. We tried Hogsmeade already, but those people… they belong to
the Headmaster and those who don't are far too afraid to do something."
"You want to get help," this time, the man sounded incredulous. "From
adults?"
"Not all adults are bad," Ralston argued while wondering what the man in
front of them had encountered when he was young that he thought all
adults to be… 'guilty'.
Meanwhile, while Ralston was trying to figure out Ekrizdis, Ekrizdis was
trying to figure out Ralston.
In Ekrizdis' eyes, Ralston was an odd boy.
Here was a child who had been betrayed by the adults who should have
cared for him exactly like Ekrizdis – and yet, unlike Ekrizdis he was still
willing to reach out to other adults for help.
"Meh… It's a pointless wish," Ekrizdis thought, feeling a bit sad for the
naivety the child still displayed. "Adults – adult wizards, that is – are only
good for one thing: food for my pets."
Regretfully, Ekrizdis couldn't call his pets down upon them anymore. The
dementors were far too afraid of the monster child to step out of line.
But then, until tonight, Ekrizdis hadn't stepped out of line as well. His
eyes went towards the dead man lying basically next to them.
"I think he might forgive me for that one," Ekrizdis thought. "He's all for
saving people, after all…"
It was the thought of the monster child that brought another idea to
Ekrizdis' mind – one that would be less fruitless than running to London
to ask adult wizards to help.
Ekrizdis already knew how that endeavour would end: They would be
left standing, as alone as before.
It had always been like that, after all.
Ekrizdis had learned his lesson after being thrown away by his wizarding,
mortal mother and her family. They had cursed him, called him
unnatural and a demon child. The only one who had never seen his
unnaturalness was his older cousin – until the day she grew up and
changed.
It was then that Ekrizdis had fled home in search for his father.
He had never found his father, but he had found his father's race. The
dementors had taken him in and welcomed him as one of their own even
if he was but half a dementor-child.
So Ekrizdis had gone and embraced his unnaturalness and had started to
hunt with the other dementors for the souls of those they crossed. In his
eyes, adults, especially adult wizards and witches weren't good for
anything else.
Ekrizdis couldn't understand that the boy in front of him was still fighting
this universal truth…
"We could do something less fruitless than running to London," he finally
suggested. "We could write the monster child. I'm sure he will come if we
tell him that something horrible is going on inside this school you came
from."
Ekrizdis wasn't about to suggest that he could handle something from this
magnitude alone. Well, maybe he could – but then the chances of having
the monster child after his hide would be quite a bit higher than they
were now… and frankly, Ekrizdis liked to live.
The boy just shook his head.
"My father or someone else will help us," he said with sureness in his
voice. "We just have to get to London first."
There was no reasoning with the boy…
"Reminds me a bit of the monster child," Ekrizdis mused. "Wonder if
they're related somehow…"
"Alright," he said aloud. "I help you to get to London."
Normally, Ekrizdis wasn't the most helpful of all people, but these were
children, so Ekrizdis guessed that he could make an exception for once.
The boy looked at him in surprise.
"How do you plan to help us to London?" He asked.
Ekrizdis waved it off without saying anything and the boy's eyes
narrowed.
"Apparation?" He asked a little bit fearfully. Ralston definitely wasn't
fond of apparition. The last time his father had taken him side-along,
Ralston had… decorated the very expensive carpet of the Slytherin family
new. They had to throw it away afterwards. Some smells couldn't be
gotten rid of with cleaning charms and the carpet had not been made to
be washed…
"No," Ekrizdis replied before pulling out a thin chain from beneath his
clothes. He searched the chain and then removed one of the little charms
that adorned it.
This charm he offered Ralston and Móna.
"What -?"
"Put your finger on it. Make sure that you touch it," Ekrizdis replied and
Ralston noticed warily the half-insane grin the older man spotted.
"What's this?" Ralston asked hesitatingly while reaching out and did what
he was told.
"I call it a port-key," Ekrizdis said proudly. "I can teach you how to make
one later if you're interested, little one. It's a good way to get away from
adults before they hurt you. London."
And with that they were off.
Whirling and twirling through the air, only kept together by the little
charm and their fingers attached to it.
Then their wild ride ended and Ralston and Móna tumbled to the ground.
Móna blinked and looked around dreamily.
"What a splendid way to travel!" She exclaimed while standing up.
Ralston on the other hand groaned and hugged the ground.
"I'm never doing that ever again," he said muffled.
This was as bad as apparation.
Ekrizdis just snorted and returned the charm to his chain before hiding it
away again.
"So," he said. "We're in London, as you wished, little one. Where do you
want to go now?"
Ralston blinked and then forced himself to look up and actually search
the street they were in for something known.
He had no trouble finding it.
They were within the entrance to Diagon Alley which had been shielded
from non-magicals for a few years now.
"We're not far from home," Ralston finally said. "We should go there first."
The man nodded, but when Ralston finally stood, he spoke up again to
say something Ralston hadn't expected.
"If it's near, I will stay here," the man looked around with a grimace,
clearly unhappy that he was anywhere near adult wizards. "If they
believe you, you can come back here and fetch me. If they don't come
back and we find another way."
With this, the man grimaced again as if he couldn't fathom that he was
even thinking about rescuing anybody. Ralston was sure that the man
would have long since left them if the victims weren't children.
But then, Ralston had long since understood that the man he was dealing
with wasn't one of the sanest people around. He guessed that he should
be happy that the other man was helping at all.
"Alright," Ralston said and then dragged away Móna towards his parents'
house.
It nearly felt like when they had fled the castle and he had been forced to
drag her with him – just that this time around they weren't running but
walking and Móna wasn't hesitating because she was dazed but because
she feared to leave their protector behind.
Ralston grimaced at that thought.
Oh, how he wished he could have protected her earlier than he had!
Oh, how he wished he could have left her behind in the safety they found
unexpectedly within the school itself!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When the shock of them falling through a wall had worn off, Ralston had
forced himself to stand up and then pulled the girl he had saved to her
feet.
The moment he moved, the narrow hallway they were in lit up in one
direction.
Ralston frowned at that, but in the end shrugged and decided to follow
the light – hopeful that it wouldn't lead him into another trap after
springing him from the last.
It took another twenty steps until the girl next to Ralston finally spoke
up.
"Where are we going?" She asked him fearfully and Ralston shrugged.
"Following the lights," he said. "Hopefully they will lead us somewhere…"
So they started walking.
About fifteen minutes later Ralston finally recognized what kind of
narrow hallways they were following.
"The servant's stairs," he thought surprised. "I didn't even know that
Hogwarts had any!"
But then, you obviously couldn't enter them that easily, so Ralston
guessed that it was no wonder they had been forgotten.
"I wonder who hid them," he mused. This answer he gained another half
an hour later.
At that time, they suddenly ended up at a door.
Ralston hesitated and first listened on the door to ensure that he couldn't
hear anything behind it.
There was nothing to hear.
So Ralston opened the door slowly to take a look inside.
Behind the door was a huge chamber, lit in green light and adorned with
snakes.
It also was empty.
Ralston opened the door and they slipped inside, the girl's eyes widened
when she saw the chamber.
"The Chamber of Secrets!" She whispered in awe. "There's a legend in
Slytherin that our Founder build a chamber inside the school to ensure
that his children could find safety. I never thought that it was real!"
"It obviously is," Ralston said dryly.
The girl shot him an amused look while Ralston looked around.
"So this is built to keep the students safe?" He ensured and the girl
nodded.
"Yes," she said. "It also has a tunnel to somewhere outside the wards if
you believe legend."
Ralston nodded and looked around.
He needed that tunnel.
"Do you know where?" He asked her interested.
She shook her head.
"No," she said. "But it's password protected."
"Password?" Ralston asked with a little bit of dread in his voice.
She nodded.
"According to legend you have to say: Father, give me passage!"
The next moment there was a grinding sound of stone meeting stone and
then a door opened at the base of one of the snake bodies.
"Huh," the girl said surprised. "Guess Daddy was right when he told me
the legend of the Chamber."
Ralston on the other hand couldn't feel more thankful that the girl was
with him.
"Thank you," he said before hurrying towards the exit. "I go and get help.
You on the other hand stay here and keep your head down, alright?"
"I'd actually prefer to come with you," the girl replied in a dreamy but
oddly enough at the same time steely voice.
Said voice stopped Ralston in his tracks.
He stopped, turned around, blinked in surprise and then stared at the
young girl in Slytherin clothing who was now in front of him.
"What?" He asked confused.
"I said that I'd prefer to come with you, if you have me, Potter," she
replied.
It was the first time that she actually acknowledge that she knew who he
was.
Ralston could only stare at her.
She was tiny, blond haired and grey eyed – more like a fairy than an
actual human of blood and flesh – and yet so determined to come with
him.
There was an expression on her face that told him that she would follow
if he left her behind – and that was something he couldn't risk if he didn't
want her to be caught again.
So Ralston stared at her some more.
Then he opened his mouth and she frowned.
"Don't you dare to object just because I'm a girl," she said.
That stopped Ralston in his tracks for a moment or two. It actually wasn't
the fact that she was a girl that disturbed him, but the fact that she was
tiny, ethereal and looked like a doll and the knowledge that she had been
tortured barely an hour ago.
"You're…" he finally started to say but was interrupted by the girl in front
of him.
"Móna Lovegood," she said airily. "And I'm not willing to stay anywhere
inside the castle any longer. I'm coming with you – if you want it or not."
He eyes, still full of pain, now also filled with determination fixated on
him.
Ralston shuddered.
There was something supernatural in her eyes now that she actually
stared him into the eyes.
In the end he could only do one thing: He gave in.
"Alright," he said. "But we will have to run long and far."
She nodded and together they left Hogwarts.
Barely another two hours later the Headmaster's cronies found their trail
and the prowl was on.
Another half an hour later, Ralston nearly faltered when the Headmaster
called out to him.
"Running away, my boy?" He had called after them. "That's not the
Gryffindor thing to do, Ralston!"
And yet, Ralston would never regret that he decided to run away that
day.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
While the children were fruitlessly off begging adults to help them,
Ekrizdis decided to do something useful with his time and wrote and sent
a letter.
"My dearest opponent," it said.
"I came by some information that I thought you should know. Don't worry, I
kept our treaty, neither I nor my companions set a foot on the Isles at all. We
stumbled over this particular information near Rouen. I am also quite aware
that you have no reason to trust me, but then I have no reason to write you as
well. It doesn't actually concern me, after all.
Yet, there is one thing I truly abhor. I don't mind killing people, I actually
enjoy it, if you remember – but I abhor the mistreatment of children.
There's something grave going on in that magical academy on the Isles. My
informant spoke of 'the head doing things and using children for things that
should never be done – let alone to children'.
I wouldn't have bothered if it had been an adult against another, but even I
draw the line with children.
I urge you to take a look. I'm even willing to help you, just this once, monster
child.
Sincerely
Ekrizdis of Azkaban."
After he had written the letter, Ekrizdis looked it over again.
"Meh," he said. "That should do it. I'm sure that as long as he doesn't find
me here, I'm safe from his wrath."
With that decision he decided to send the letter off like it was. It was
after all never too careful if you decided to lie about your whereabouts to
the man who was the magical lord of the Isles and who had basically
banned your pets, even if he hadn't truly banned Ekrizdis…
"At least he will be willing to help," Ekrizdis thought while waiting for
the children. "Unlike the wizarding adults he truly cares."
Then Ekrizdis frowned.
"But then," he thought to himself. "He's still a child, according to the
dementors – and not human on top of it. I couldn't count him as an
exception even if I wanted to!"
Ekrizdis was quite happy with that reasoning.
He didn't trust wizarding adults, after all…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When the letter reached one Salvazsahar Emrys, now known as Salvatio
Malfoire, the man was currently in London.
He frowned at the owl who had delivered the letter.
He had been wandering for the last ten years. His daughter and wife were
gone and he had drowned his grieve by taking up his wandering and
helping out people.
When the letter reached him, he had just returned to London with the
idea to integrate himself into London's society again.
But the letter changed everything.
Sal again frowned at the owl.
"You don't come from France," he accused it.
The owl hoot.
"You're far too well rested to come from France," he said.
The owl hoot again.
There was just one conclusion Sal could make from that.
Ekrizdis of Azkaban was in London.
"Rouen – as if he could deceive me with a few simple words," Sal
murmured with a tired head-shake. He wasn't too put out that the man
was in London.
Of course, if the man was there to kill people, then Sal would have
something to say to him, but considering that no unexplained deaths had
been happening, Sal doubted it.
The dementors, Sal knew, weren't on the Isles. Unlike Ekrizdis they were
bound by the contract and Sal would have been notified that they
entered the Isles.
"Guess it looks like I have to deal with 'clinically insane' again," Sal said
frowning to himself.
Then he looked at the owl which was wheeling around him happily and
not at all tired – which just confirmed to him that the other man had to
be in London or else the owl would have been at least a bit tired.
"Alright," Sal said to himself. "Where did he get you from?"
Sal looked around, then he shrugged.
"Best guess is Diagon Alley," he settled on. It was the most important
wizarding district around London – and one of the only places near here
where you could rent owls.
Sal shrugged and decided to apparate to the other side of London to
Diagon Alley. Sal was quite fond of apparating even if every time he did
it he was remembered of Andromeda's insistence that apparating was a
death trap.
It hurt still, but unlike with his brother's death, Sal was actually dealing
with it.
Nevertheless, apparation was quite useful – not that Sal used it too often
considering how fast the world changed in his eyes and his norm of not
coming to a place too often within a century.
But since he had been in Diagon Alley reasonably close in his past, Sal
guessed that he could take the risk of apparating into something and
apparated.
The first thing he actually saw when he landed in Diagon Alley was the
insane half-dementor Ekrizdis losing his footing thanks to a young girl
barrelling into him crying.
The boy that followed after her not too far looked as unhappy as the girl
but refrained himself from throwing himself in top of the two others
lying on the streets.
Ekrizdis on the other hand looked for a moment as if he wanted to curse
the girl before a resigned look crossed his features and he patted the girl's
head instead.
"There, there," he said. "Meh… It's exactly like I told you: Adults won't
listen to you."
"It's not that," the boy replied while kneeling down next to the still lying
Lord of Azkaban and the girl. "It's more as if they're all unable to actually
listen to us, you know? It's as if they're under the same influence of a
potion that the other students of Hogwarts are under. And Father isn't
home, so I can't talk to him."
The downed man frowned at the boy.
"You think that your father would be different?" He asked.
The boy shrugged.
"He's the Lord Potter," the boy replied and Sal's eyes widened. "As the
descendant of the grim and the wearer of the head's ring he should be
able to throw the potion of like I am as the heir."
Sal's eyes widened further at that second sentence.
He knew of only one family who was descended of a grim – and that was
Peverell's. It was startling to hear that the Potter's were descendants of a
grim as well.
"On the other hand, you knew that," Sal reprimanded himself. "You know
your own heritage, after all…"
And yet he had never connected Peverell's heritage with his own – even if
parts of it were identical.
Thunderbird and grim.
Peverell had been family.
This boy barely a few steps away was family – and not just because they
shared a last name. No, the boy was family because he was a descendant
of Peverell Grim.
"Hmm," Ekrizdis said in that moment. "Ah, yes. The Potters."
He crooked his head and looked at the boy thoughtfully.
"At least you won't grow up into an adult, little one," he said, sounding
satisfied. "The Potters always managed to prevent that from happening as
far as my pets told me. Something about having the ashes of the first
grim's blood in their veins. What a shame that you can't use those gifts
anymore. Having Death's son assisting us would be a blessing if we have
to assault that castle of yours…"
Sal raised an eyebrow at that and decided that it was time to speak up.
"Before you plan to assault anything, could you please explain to me a
thing or two?" He asked sternly while staring at the still downed man
coolly.
Said man yelped, half-jumped into the air while still lying down before
landing in another heap on the floor when the girl's weight on top of him
acted like a sledgehammer.
"It was an accident!" The downed man exclaimed in the next moment and
Sal raised an eyebrow.
The man blushed.
"Ah, well, not an accident," he corrected. "More like an act of self-defence
or whatever!"
But it was the legilimency probe that Sal send out towards the other man
that slipped through the man's mind's defences and told him what the
man was actually talking about.
Sal pulled back immediately after he had received the information.
"I'm not here to punish you," Sal said with hidden amusement in his eyes.
"You wrote a letter – I came."
The other man blinked at him blankly.
"But I send that letter barely half an hour ago," he said slowly. "And I
tried to make sure that you thought me to be in Rouen…"
Sal just raised an eyebrow.
"That lie was quite hard to believe considering that the owl who gave me
the letter was far too lively to have flown such a long time," he replied.
"Huh?" the other man looked at him blankly and Sal sighed.
"I was already in London," he elaborated and the man groaned.
"Why did you have to be in London," he whined. "I didn't want you to
think I broke the contract! It's not as if I brought my pet or killed
someone – well, I did, but it wasn't actually… well, it was deliberately,
but I did it in defence of me and the children!"
Sal just looked on in amusement.
"You haven't grown up at all, have you?" He said while at the same time
feeling relieve that the man in front of him – while still being quite
hateful towards other adults if Sal interpreted the looks the man send
them correctly – wasn't acting as unreasonably as he had when Sal had
met him the last time.
Sal could work with insane – but never with deliberately evil.
"Tell me what that letter was about," he finally demanded of the
spluttering man.
The children looked at him warily.
Ekrizdis on the other hand set up and rearranged the girl inside his lap.
"Er… monster child, these are my… informants," he introduced the
different parties awkwardly. "Little ones, this is the monster child I talked
about."
The children looked at Sal with unsureness clear in their eyes.
Sal sighed.
Then he wrote a quick rune sequence into the air and activated it to keep
their conversation quiet to the other people who walked through Diagon
Alley. Immediately the onlookers who had stopped when the girl had
barrelled down Ekrizdis started to continue with their shopping.
Sal loved the modified confundus he weaved into his rune sequence.
After ensuring that their conversation was private, he spoke up.
"I am Salvazsahar Pendragon," he said, using the same name he had used
back then to introduce himself to Ekrizdis. "Ekrizdis and I… normally
don't see eye to eye – but I guess I will have to make an exception to that
for now."
The boy started when he heard Sal's name.
"Pendragon?" He asked, surprise and hope waring in his voice. "As in
King Arthur Pendragon?"
Sal grimaced but nodded.
"Pendragon," he agreed. "As in Prince Salvazsahar Pendragon, heir to
King Arthur."
The boy just stared at him after his confirmation.
"I… didn't think that Britain still had a royal line," the boy finally settled
on.
"Oh, I knew that we had," the girl spoke up airily and suddenly a lot less
nervously. "Daddy spoke about them. He said that our Prince is simply
giving us a chance to live our lives without his interference. If we muck it
up too much he will come back and take control again."
Sal winced a bit at that.
He had no, absolute no wish to take up the crown!
"Something like that," he agreed. "That's why I normally don't use
Pendragon as a last name."
The girl nodded gravely.
"Then I call you Basiliskson," she said airily. "Salvazsahar Basiliskson, I'm
Móna Lovegood."
Sal blinked for a second when the girl called him 'Basiliskson' but in the
end decided to just let it go. He had no intention to connect his old name
'Malfoire' to Pendragon and he actually didn't want to go through the
whole trouble with explaining himself as 'Emrys' again…
"Well met, Miss Móna," he said instead and she smiled. Then he looked at
the boy next to her. The boy had brown eyes, and the typical black Potter
hair. Sal was sure that even without him knowing that the boy was
related to Peverell, Sal would have seen it. The boy's nose and chin
definitely just cried 'Peverell' to Sal.
"I'm Ralston Potter, my Prince," the boy said stiffly and a bit nervously.
Sal waved the title off.
"Master Sal or something akin to that is truly enough formality," he told
the boy. "Like I said: I normally don't tell people my family name."
The boy smiled hesitatingly at him.
"I guess you have a good reason for that," he acknowledged.
Sal snorted amused before his face turned serious.
"And now, please tell me what's going on in Hogwarts," he said, his
serious eyes fixing on the children.
Ralston looked at Móna.
Móna looked at Ralston.
"You won't believe us," Ralston said bitterly. "The other adults didn't
believe us as well. They're all acting as if they were under a potion."
The image the boy projected was so strong that Sal even if he wouldn't
have wanted to see it, would have seen it anyway.
From what he saw through the boy's eyes, the boy was right.
But Sal doubted that it was a potion.
In his eyes it looked like a modified version of an Imperius curse – and
wasn't that a dark thought considering that the Unforgivables hadn't been
part of the wizarding world until now?
He also didn't think that the curse was on the adults, but on the children
to keep them from telling anybody.
Sal could basically watch through the boy's eyes that every time the boy
brought up the school and the students treatment some kind of haze
lowered itself over the other person's eyes.
It was an ingenious curse – and Sal would make sure that this was the
last time this particular curse would be seen ever again. He knew that he
would already fail with the Unforgivables – not that he wouldn't try – but
he would make sure that at least this curse would be erased from the
history books…
"I will believe you," Sal said instead and looked at the boy steadily. "Just
tell me what's going on inside the castle and I will try and help you."
The boy looked at him sceptically, but spoke up anyway.
The moment he brought up the school, something seemed to reach out to
Sal's mind – just to shatter before even reaching his Occlumency barriers.
Whatever curse it was, it wasn't constructed to work on the mind of a
Firbolg-born like Sal and Ekrizdis.
When the boy was done, Sal was angry.
Very, very angry.
Sal couldn't even remember when he had been that angry the last time.
Maybe never.
That man – the man who called himself 'Hogwarts' Headmaster' dared to
practice the Unforgivables on children! He dared to experiment with the
Unforgivables on children!
Worse, that man dared to experiment with the Unforgiveable on Sal's
children.
Children that grew up in Sal's home.
Children that were Sal's to protect – as a teacher, as a prince, as the lord
of the castle.
It was his responsibility, bound by his oaths as he was – as a ruler, as a
guardian, as a healer.
Oh, Sal had fought before. But normally he fought with desperation,
normally he tried to protect. This time on the other hand he had to attack
to even be able to protect – something Sal had never done before.
But then, he had never been as angry as he was now before as well.
Even the letter hadn't made Sal as angry as those innocent words from
Ralston and Móna did.
That was the moment Sal understood that he would do everything to
eradicate that man from history. When Sal was done, Hogwarts would
bear no remembrance of said man.
Sal would make sure of that.
Sal was surprised when his gaze met Ekrizdis at the end of the report
Ralston and Móna had given.
"Will you let me help you?" The other man asked him earnestly.
Sal returned his gaze with the same seriousness as Ekrizdis' face showed.
"I will allow it," he said. "Just this once."
Ralston's eyes widened at that.
"You believe us?" He exclaimed surprised and happy.
Sal's gaze wandered to the boy.
"I do," he said. "And I will countervail his actions."
Ekrizdis answered that exclamation with a smirk.
The boy on the other hand looked at Sal with determination in his eyes.
"I want to help," he said and Sal knew that the boy wouldn't accept a 'no'.
Seemed like stubbornness might be a Potter gene…
"I want, too," Móna spoke up at that.
Sal sighed and closed his eyes.
"I could send for some of my pets," Ekrizdis suggested. "The little ones
could look after them and ensure that other little ones aren't harmed by
them."
Sal looked at the other man incredulously.
Sal had been right.
Ekrizdis was insane…
"You want children to command the dementors," he said blankly.
The Lord of Azkaban shrugged.
"The boy has the ashes of the grim in his veins," he said. "He's an Olde
one – and the one who isn't bound by the immortals' rules. I'm sure that
he can control them. And the girl? Meh, she's weird enough that she'll get
along with them splendidly."
Sal wondered if insanity was infectious, because he actually started to
truly think about the offer.
In the end he sighed and inclined his head.
"I allow one exception from them as well," he said slowly. "If they do this,
I will give them one boon – one time I will close my eyes and look away
when they enter the Isles. One time when I won't kill them but only force
them to leave after this time. If they come again afterwards, I will go
through with my threat and destroy them all without mercy."
Ekrizdis nodded.
"I will ensure that they won't kill any of the little ones and I will make
sure that they know to obey those two little ones orders," he told Sal.
Sal closed his eyes and slowly nodded.
He couldn't believe that he was about to enter a pact with an insane man
so that two children could go to war and were safe at the same time.
But then, Sal also couldn't believe that he was about to assault Hogwarts.
"Do that," Sal said, knowing that if he didn't give the children the
possibility to work with them, they would do everything in their power
to come anyway – and that might just end with the children being hurt or
worse, dead.
So he turned to the children to look at them seriously.
"If you are the ones to command the dementors, I don't want you to take
an eye off of them. You are responsible about who they will and won't
attack – that's not something you can take lightly, do you understand?"
Ralston and Móna looked at each other.
Then both nodded.
"We will ensure that only those who are guilty are attacked," Móna said
dreamily. "Everybody else whose loyalty is in question or who is innocent
we will make sure is either just apprehended or not harmed at all."
At that Ekrizdis pouted.
"It's not as if the adults aren't guilty anyway," he said slowly.
Sal stared at the man.
"We will do it as the children said or not at all," he replied. "If you want
to do it differently, I will stop you and do it alone."
It was mostly an empty thread – at least until Ekrizdis reached Hogwarts.
Thanks to all the time Sal had lived there and all the magic he had cast
there Hogwarts was one of the few places all over Britain where Sal could
act like he had more power than an above average witch or wizard.
Adding to that that Sal was the master of the wards… well, it might be a
better idea to challenge a dragon in their nest than Sal at Hogwarts.
Regretfully, that was exactly what the current Headmaster had done…
"Go and get your dementors," Sal finally instructed Ekrizdis. "The rest of
us will meet you tomorrow at the gates of Hogwarts."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It was late autumn in 1534, when Sal reached the outerskirts of
Hogwarts' surrounding grounds.
Now, he was standing in front of the front gates of Hogwarts,
contemplating his past. It had been years since he had been last seen the
castle in front of him – and yet, throughout all his life, all those centuries,
millennia he had lived, he had always returned to it. It was his home –
and it felt definitely odd that he was now thinking about breaking and
entering into it…
"But needs must," Sal thought darkly, his eyes searching out the one
tower that once had belonged to Peverell. "Needs must..."
Nevertheless, it was odd to Sal that after all these years working at
Hogwarts, after all these years learning and living at Hogwarts, after all
these years defending Hogwarts, he had now come to conquer it.
"A healer on warpath," Sal thought amused. "That's not what you'll see
every day."
And yet, here he was, ready for battle…
He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile.
"But then," he thought. "Sometimes it needs to be a healer who goes to
war. Sometimes, only a healer will be the one to do the right thing, not
the easy."
And today was a day like that.
Sal squared his shoulders.
"Ready?" The man next to him asked.
Sal took a deep breath.
"Ready," he affirmed.
His hands touched the black iron of the gates of Hogwarts.
"Hello, atr," he greeted Hogwarts. "I've come to take your master down."
And the old, black iron gates slowly opened.
Once again, Sal took a deep breath, then he stepped forward and entered
the grounds.
The moment he crossed the wards, they settled heavily on his shoulders.
A wind caressed his cheek, welcoming him home after the decades he
had been away.
Sal smiled, but his smile was more the goblin expression of baring your
teeth in challenge than an actual smile.
Then an alert went through the wards and told the Headmaster that
somebody had entered the sanctuary.
Behind Sal the children and Ekrizdis stood silently.
Sal's smile broadened and then he started his way up to the doors of the
castle.
The others and the ten dementors they had with them followed him
silently like guards.
Not even ten minutes later they were intercepted by the Headmaster, the
Deputy and the potion's professor.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" demanded the Headmaster.
Sal looked at him, his face still adorned by an insincere smile.
"I am Salvazsahar," he said. "And I came to take you down."
For a moment, the Headmaster actually gawked at him – then the man
burst out laughing.
"You?" He asked amused. "I can feel your magic, moron! You don't even
have enough magic to be considered at an adult's level and yet you want
to take me, one of the most powerful men on the Isles, down?"
Sal bared his teeth further.
"It doesn't matter," he said and fury laced his voice. "It's what you can do
with your magic that counts – not how much magic you actually have."
"How about you face me first, weakling, and then try your hand on the
Headmaster – if you're still standing after that, that is!" The potion's
professor scoffed and stepped forward.
It was the Lord of Azkaban who bared him his way.
"How about you play with me, my sweet," Ekrizdris crooned. "I'm sure we
will have a lot of fun!"
The potion's professor sneered.
"And who are you?" He asked with contempt.
"Ekrizdis of Azkaban," Ekrizdis replied.
"Never heard of Azkaban," the potion's professor replied.
Ekrizdis smiled.
"Oh, good," he said. "The more fun for me!"
And with that he raised his arms and suddenly unnatural fog started to
creep up from the earth.
The Deputy and the Headmaster turned their wands on Ekrizdis, but Sal
intercepted the Headmaster's spell with a ward while the Deputy fell to
the dementors commanded by the children.
"We're going inside!" Ralston declared with a determined expression.
Móna next to him nodded and together with the ten dementors they left –
unhindered by the spells of the Headmaster and potion's professor that
splashed against Sal's wards.
The Headmaster turned to Sal at that, his expression furious.
"I will kill you – and then I will kill those brats!" He raged.
"Try," Sal countered icily while weaving one ward after another with his
left hand. In here, inside the wards build by his blood and sacrifice it was
quite easy for him to weave other, new wards. The ground was basically
drowning in Sal's magic already, so connecting wards through the
ground, weaving rune chains was basically child's play.
It didn't need a lot of magic.
Then the Headmaster shot his first spells at Sal.
Sal ducked and drew one of his daggers.
The Headmaster laughed.
"You don't even have the power to use true spells!" He scoffed. "You're
weak! Absolutely weak!"
The next thing he had to do was to duck when he saw a shadow jumping
at him out of the corner of his eye.
But when he looked where he had seen the shadow, there was nothing
there.
Sal smiled grimly before sending another illusion towards the
Headmaster.
Again the man ducked and Sal used his distraction to come at him with
his dagger.
The man managed to avoid being hit by Sal's weapon and started to shoot
spells at Sal again. It was Sal's turn to duck away from the spells, all the
while still weaving runs with his left hand.
Then Ekrizdis next to him was hit by a curse of the potion's master.
The half-dementor stumbled, growled and pounced at the potion's
professor.
The Headmaster shot a spell at Ekrizdis to stop him, but the spell
splashed again against an invisible barrier.
The Headmaster growled.
Sal used his distraction to come at the Headmaster with his dagger again.
When the Headmaster stumbled back and away from the weapon, Sal's
smile turned feral.
The next moment Sal twisted his left hand and a single, golden glowing
rune left his fingers.
The rune flew onto the ground in front of the Headmaster.
The Headmaster laughed.
"That's it?" He chortled. "One mangled rune – the only magic you can
manage?"
Sal couldn't fault the Headmaster's logic. The man was far stronger
magically than Sal ever was, considering that he was basically stuck with
his fifteen-year-old body's magic. But Sal had learned one thing in his
long, long life: He didn't need a lot of power. He had more than enough –
and what he didn't have, he could make up by his incomparable control
over every drop of magic he had in his body.
Sal wasn't weak – but even if he had been, his control would have made
up for it more than enough. Wandless creating illusions was tiring, but
manipulating wards that were already his?
Child's play.
The lightning bolt which looked like golden, electrified light came down
from the wards surrounding Hogwarts and hit the Headmaster by
surprise. Not that the Headmaster had time to actually feel the surprise.
One minute he was laughing at Sal, the next he was lying motionless on
the ground, killed by the interacting wards he had been meticulously
withdrawn from by Sal. The moment he was removed from the wards far
enough – meaning he had basically lost his position as Headmaster to Sal
and was seen as a hostile intruder – the wards had come down upon him
and had killed him.
The potion's professor was so distracted by his employer's sudden death
that he didn't even notice Ekrizdis ripping out his throat with his teeth
until it was too late.
Sal just stared at the two dead bodies in front of him for a moment or
two.
"Let's go and help the children," he finally said and walked away from the
battle towards the doors of the castle.
Ekrizdis also looked at the dead bodies, wiped his mouth to remove the
blood and then he laughed.
"Oh, monster child!" He crooned. "Now I know why my pets fear you!
You are truly scary when you're angry!"
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
When people of later times asked what happened in the year 1534 they
would get a lot of different answers.
"The Act of Supremacy," they would say, "the beginning of the Church of
England."
"Luther," they would say, "His complete Bible was published in Germany
in 1534."
"France starts to prosecute the Protestants," they would say. "And Pabst
Paul III started his time as the head of the Catholic Church."
Maybe other things would be named as well, but if you asked a wizard or
a witch, their answer would be simple.
"Nothing," they'd say. "Nothing important happened in 1534."
Over time, the whole wizarding community would forget the Assault of
Hogwarts in 1534. Ralston Potter, Móna Potter née Lovegood and
Salvazsahar Basiliskson, Headmaster of Hogwarts for the next few
decades until one Antiona Creaseworthy would take up the mantle,
would make sure of that.
Ekrizdis of Azkaban on the other hand would vanish back into Azkaban
where he would die sometime in the future. Only after his death the
wizards of Britain would find out about the Island of Azkaban – and it
would take even longer until they would turn it into a prison to the
happiness of the dementors.
But until then, Hogwarts would return to being a safe place of learning
for little witches and wizards.
"Look out! Dung bomb!"
"Harold Ralston Potter! What were you thinking throwing a dung bomb
through the girl's wash-room's window?!"
Well, as safe as it could be with Potters in attendance…
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Tanslation:
Móna: old English for 'moon' - which I just thought fitting considering her
relation.
sSs
I'm sorry that it took such a long time (yes, I noticed the 'please continue
Basilisk-born' reviews in my other stories! xD) but writing over thirty pages
simply takes its time… especially with real life also rearing its head.
Anyway, that's it for today. I hope you liked it.
'Till next time,
Ebenbild
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