Theoretical Mass

by SeasonVelvet

Summary:

Years after the Chamber of Secrets incident, Ginny Weasley is a young adult returning to Hogwarts for specialized magical training. She’s grown stronger, but the memory of Tom Riddle’s diary still claws at the edges of her mind. When whispers spread of a cursed artifact resurfacing in the castle, Ginny must decide: will she confront the diary for closure, or will the shadow of Tom Riddle lure her into resurrecting him — whether she admits that’s her intent or not?

Chapter 1: Prologue

The castle screamed.

Not with voices, not at first, but with the sudden crack of wards unraveling like glass splintering in her bones. Ginny staggered against the stone wall, wand clutched tight, as the corridor darkened. The torches burned wrong, fire spitting out smoke as black as ink. Someone shouted her name, muffled, distant.

Her lungs burned. The smoke coiled around her throat, tugging at something deeper than breath, deeper than flesh. For a heartbeat she thought she was back in the Chamber again, her body not her own, her will spilling like ink across a page.

And then she heard it: the low, velvet whisper curling from nowhere.

“You’ve grown stronger, Ginny…”

Her stomach turned. She slammed her eyes shut, forcing the sound away. But the air shuddered, and the castle itself seemed to lean closer, listening. She raised her wand, heart hammering.

The stones beneath her feet pulsed. The shadows thickened. A bird, small and frantic, beat against the windowpane beside her until it cracked its skull and dropped, lifeless, at her feet.

Ginny woke and the vision shattered.

Chapter 2: The Seed

Summary:

Foreword: This fic started off as more of a rumination that I mostly wrote for myself. The next two chapters are not necessary reading, they're more like poems. You can skip to chapter 3 for the start of the actual "story". But these chapters are how this idea actually started so I'm keeping them in even though they are a lot more esoteric than later on as the plot develops.

It was in moments alone that she felt the deadness within her, the emptiness, the boredom. The laughter and gaiety of those around her sounding tinny and hollow like the sound of a tv playing in another room. The gay, ambient noise of another world so close and yet so remote, untouchable. An unreal fantasy like a living dream, but someone else’s.

Her friends and family knew about what happened to her in the chamber of secrets. Intellectually they knew of it, at least. Did they stop to understand it? Did they give it so much as a passing thought? She didn’t think so.

How many times did she watch Harry, Ron, and Hermione act like they were the only ones who had been touched by the unspeakable darkness of he who must not be named. In a quiet fury she had scolded Harry that he was not the only one who had ever been possessed by Lord Voldemort. He’d had the grace to look chagrined.

But it was different with her. Harry might see through Lord Voldemort’s eyes, but he did not see himself there reflected. His abyss did not have eyes peering back. Hers did.

Tom. The diary.

Her soul was poured into that book and was met there in equal passion by another soul. It could have been mistaken for desperate love, and it had been. By her. Of course only a woman would know this type of possession, this kind of unique horror. To be touched by an evil that was so genuine in it’s fervent desire for her that it felt like being loved. That a woman might confuse being consumed with being loved. Tom had needed her in order to live.

They think she was merely a little silly girl who had been tricked, misled. A talking diary had lied to her and taken over her body. Just a bit of flat writing on a 2D sheet of parchment; a characterization as depthless as their understanding.

It’s not that those things weren’t true on their face. She had been a silly, naïve girl. She was misled. What they didn’t know was that it was an exchange. It was not just a piece of paper as flat as a one way mirror. It was a mirror the way the reflective surface of a vast, infinite ocean was a mirror. When you peer into its depths, all you can see is your own face until something reaches out of the deep and pulls you under the surface.

It was a pool. An endless, depthless, mutualism. A soul for a soul. A snake eating its tail.

What things in this world are without limits? The indomitable human spirit? Our creativity? Unconditional love? A black hole?

Tell me what it would be like to speak into the void of your own subconscious and have it speak back to you.

It’s not something the others would ever understand and she didn’t really want them to.

She only wished this great and terrible thing they had in common would have connected her and Harry but she was left forgotten. Maybe he didn’t want to recreate his horrors in her. It was too much for him to share his mind with Voldemort and have to see that tragedy in her eyes as well. See Voldemort in her. Maybe he couldn’t.

The most horrific thing that had ever happened to her was evidently the most easily forgotten by those closest to her.

She wasn’t broken, she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t lamenting. But there was a frost somewhere in her heart, a chill. A feeling like being plunged into icy water, stunning her lungs, unable to move or breathe if she was caught by a memory of it, a thought. A withering coldness that stole her breath, the kind of cold where nothing could long survive. A cold so fierce it strikes you with mortal fear. To feel it once and know somewhere in your most primal instinct that a timer has begun; get out of the cold or die.

Somewhere deep inside a dark seed gestated, not living and not dead. A root of blue that should it bloom, would overtake her and leave her a desolate, frozen winter land. As petrified as the victims of Tom’s revenge, the basilisk, made manifest.

The diary might have been destroyed but it did not kill the memory of Tom Riddle.

That still lived within her.

Chapter 3: The Stir of Echoes

Summary:

We find Ginny now in present day. Her and her colleagues are given a last assignment that takes them back to Hogwarts.

A memory is like a wisp of gossamer as it catches light just out of sight. The touch of unseen hands. The slow killing of the present as it dies each moment it spends in the past. A stain of ink that leaves its mark even when the pages have been torn away.

Moving through her life like a ghost is how she sometimes felt. It’s funny that Tom was supposed to be the thing that wasn’t real while she feels like a walking, hollow haunting as she drifts through rooms, passing by like a forgotten thought behind the eyes of her classmates.

Bones moving by rote, the marrow sucked out.

At first she was valiant. She was younger, young cells still fresh, ready to transform and grow, casting off the experience like shedding a skin that’s been outgrown.

But as the years have passed, creases have settled in. A wrinkle in her brow, the echo of worries past. The suggestion of lines at the corner of her mouth like someone who might have smiled often. Or scowled. Crow’s feet reaching her eyes, even if the smile doesn’t.

She feels like this is a good metaphor for Tom. For him, his horcrux. Something that reached beyond it’s time to leave a mark in the future, the way a wrinkle forms at your first expression, even if it takes 20 years to appear on your face.

Trauma that was buried deep within bubbling up to the surface like a frightening secret. A dark dream in the dead of night that leaves only your shallow breath and the beating of your heart as its remnants even as your mind casts off its memory. It lives in the lingering…

Is the secret that she’s more broken than she thought? Or something worse, darker. Not merely an ink blotch. Not merely the ink which stained her hands as she signed her soul away, the ink that ran like water as it overflowed, bubbling up and over the diary as Tom writhed and faded in the chamber.

Not something that is skin deep, easily cast off as surface cells fall away to reveal the immaculate new growth underneath. Something more permanent.

A tattoo. Marked, forever. A dark mark.

Sometimes in dreams she looks down at her hands, wondering where the ink has gone. Seeped into her skin the way her words submerged into the diary. The parchment pages the sandy color of a dusty sun with the untold dark night of ink inside.

It dawned on her that it was not healthy to ruminate like this. She tries to shake off the call of echoes but she is stuck now in her permanent skin.

 

PRESENT DAY

 

“Ginevra, are you with us?”

Ginny looks up at her boss. He is looking at her with all the softness an old grizzled bear might muster, his face lined like the upholstery of a well-loved leather couch, its dents and wrinkles telling the story of countless life’s moments.

“Earth to Ginny,” jibes her colleague amicably, shooting her a crooked, impish grin. She grins back with a quirk of her lips and looks back at her boss.

“My apologies Dan,” she says, coming back to herself and schooling her face into her usual serious expression. “Yes, I am listening.”

“Okay,” he breathes, getting up from sitting on the edge of his desk to walk around the back. He reaches into the top drawer and takes out some papers. “These, my friends,” as he hands one to each of the two women then walks the rest of the room, handing out a paper to each one of her fellow trainees.

“Are the details of your next assignment.” He stands with his hands on his hips, looking at them expectantly, his stance as strong and wide as an ancient tree trunk.

They all look down at the assignment in their hands, quickly scanning the words. Something seems to still or else beat so wildly it stops time. Like a humming birds wings, whose frantic movements are so fast it appears not to be moving at all, but simply floating in midair, giving the illusion that in their endless motion lies a single, eternal moment.

One symbol drifts up through the cascade of words. A coat of arms with the likeness of a lion, snake, badger, and eagle.

She skims through the rest of the parchment, coming to the end along with the rest of the aurors-in-waiting, and they all look back up at Dan like reverse dominos coming back to standing attention.

“As you’ve read, we have been given the task of updating Hogwarts protective wards! As you know, these are extremely important protections for the staff and students of Hogwarts and I expect no less than perfection.” Some of the trainees looked around and caught each other’s eyes discretely, barely containing the glee behind their masks of professional indifference.  The small mahogany room buzzed with anticipation.

“The protections require precise, delicate casting. While you will be given directions and oversight,” he peered at them sternly under his caterpillar eyebrows and over the rims of his rectangular spectacles as if daring them to require either one, “and the aid of the Hogwarts staff as needed, I am expecting a level of self-sufficiency befitting Aurors of your rank and training. This will be your final assignment before you begin preparations for your end of program evaluation.”

He spared them a quick, supercilious sniff which almost made her smile, before turning and moving back around to the rear of his desk. The meeting was coming to a close.

“Headmaster McGonagall has been kind enough to offer the use of the Castle library as a resource for you all during the course of your assignment. She has also extended an invitation for anyone who wishes to remain at the castle to study and prepare for your final assessment in a few months.” He waited for his words to sink in. As he looked them over, comfortable now in his command chair, a twinkle grew in his eyes. He knew as soon as the doors of his office closed the rookie rabble outside would explode in whispers of excited exclamation and nostalgic wonder.

Another, more somber feeling that he welcomed like an old friend was bittersweet melancholy. These young adults, so filled with enthusiasm and optimism, given one last chance to walk the grounds of their childhood before the austere and lonely offices of adulthood drew them away.

One of his aurorees raised their chin to ask, “So we’ll be staying in the old castle? Are we staying in the dorms or…” he spared a flick of his eyes to some of the people closest to him, sure they were wondering the same thing.

Dan nodded once with import, “You’ll be staying in a wing of the castle reserved for adult guests, not in the dorms with the students. There are enough rooms for each of you and a common area. You can sit in on meals in the great hall, however a section of the kitchens will also be accessible at all times.”

He once again looked the stern, grizzled father. “And one last thing! You are now adults, with greater freedoms and permissions than the students. However. The same safety precautions still apply. You may be aurors in training, but don’t let that get to your head. The grounds of Hogwarts are still home to dangerous and mysterious creatures. You will heed caution. You should be more than familiar with Hogwarts ground rules, but if you need a quick refresher,” a mildly menacing look from him, “that means no unauthorized exploration of the forbidden forest. Beyond, that is, what is strictly necessary for the wards, especially at night. No disturbing of the peace and absolutely no inappropriate relationships with each other or students. No dark magic and no misuse of library and potions materials you are so generously provided.”

Another look. “But I trust this warning was not needed.” Unspoken in his tone of voice was a threat of what would happen to them if they disobeyed any of these friendly suggestions.

The boy who asked the question, Morrigan Duskbane, answered for them all. “Understood, sir.”

“Very well.” He shot out their names, “Catterwick, Weasley, Pritchard, Blenning, Duskbane, Quickelbee.”

They looked round at each other. “I expect no less than what I have come think of you all.” He bestowed on them a kingly, magnanimous smile before dropping it instantly in mock disapproval, “a group of hopeless delinquents who couldn’t find their way around a patch of grass as green as their ass.”

They all dissolved in laughter and he raised his hands for quiet after a moment, his still serious face betraying his pleasure at having made them laugh.

“Go. Pack your things. We’ll be leaving tomorrow at zero six hundred hours. We’ll meet here, apparate as close as we can to the grounds, and make the voyage from there by thestral carriage. When you arrive you can let Headmistress McGonagall know if you plan on staying for the duration of your studies or not.”

They turned, some placing their mission papers in bags and shoulder satchels, and made their way out into the busy Auror floor of the Ministry of Magic. There was a never ending scurry of employees going to and fro, a mixture of expressions from harried to austere, and soft whispered voices an unceasing undercurrent to the constant cacophony of noise from the numerous Aurors and other workers.

“I can’t believe we’re going back to Hogwarts” breathed Morrigan in awe. Draven exclaimed, “The first thing I’m going to do is get a butterbeer from the Hog’s Head.” Saphron looked scandalized, “Can you at least try to remember we are on official business as representatives of the Ministry” – “Oh come off it Saphron, like you aren’t giddy to revisit the Greenhouse why can’t I have a little fun too…”

“I really need to study up on my protective charms,” interjected Barnaby to himself, who was constantly worried about everything.

Ginny smiled, her head lowered as she walked. She listened to her mates talk back and forth as they made their way through the Auror main chamber and out into the ministry halls. There was a brief, ambivalent feeling of deja vu as she listened to their banter, the ghosts of her as a girl, listening to Ron, Hermione, and Harry. And she couldn't forget poor Neville, as lost and lonely as her. 

Before she could snatch a look back at Barnaby, someone nudged her side. Ginny looked up at Pruewell’s expectant face, giving her a grin as she nudged her back playfully. “So what do you think? Are you just absolutely AGOG at the chance to strut your stuff in front of some snot nosed first years, the famous Ginevra Wesley, Harry Potter’s famed beau, returning to the birthplace of legends.” She fluttered her eye lashes and brought a fanned hand to her face, mimicking the false humility of a starlet as Ginny rolled her eyes at her antics.

“You sound like a miniature Rita Skeeter. If this Auror thing doesn’t work out you have a definite future in press.”

“HA HA HA,” she guffawed exaggeratedly, “Yeah right. How rude.” Another smile from Ginny. “But really though,” she needled, without the theatrics this time, looking suspiciously perceptive as she stared at her friend.

Ginny avoided her eyes, reaching forward to press the call button for the lift. The others were still engaged in animated chatter to their right.

“I have absolutely no problem going back to Hogwarts Prue, why would I?” There was silence from her friend as the lift opened and they stepped inside.

The doors closed behind her and she began her descent with an unexplainable feeling of equilibrium, as though she were leaving and arriving all at once.

When it opened into the entry hall of floos, she seized a fistful of green powder and tossed it onto the waiting hearth. The die was cast. Stepping forward, she was swallowed by emerald flames, her red hair lifting and suspended in the air around her like hummingbird wings.

Chapter 4: Thread of Gossamer Memories

Summary:

Ginny packs for her stay at Hogwarts with a little help from Molly.

Back at the burrow, Ginny paced her room, picking up and tossing clothes onto the bed, the floor, the back of her desk chair. She had a nervous, excited energy and could hardly stay still. It was really not like her.

Her mother appeared around the frame of her open door. “Ginevra, how’s the packing going?” Her expression told Ginny she was trying valiantly to appear nonchalant and not at all meddling.

“Good. Can’t you tell?” She grinned at her Mom and some of the stiffness beside her eyes seemed to relax.

“Well, you’re not going to a ball dear, I think your regular outfits will suit just fine,” she said, still standing at the doorway like it was no man’s land, the way parents do when their children reach a certain age and suddenly they aren’t sure if they have permission enter.

Her hand was on her hips, her eyes peering down and around at the chaos of clothes and belongings strewn about the room.

“But,” she coaxed in a conspiratorial lilt, “If there was a ball, I might just have a dress for you…”

Ginny stood up straight and stared at her Mom. “What do you mean? You have a dress?” She breathed a laugh of disbelief.

Molly twitched her lips and wheeled around, a curled finger trailing behind her as she said, “Well come on and see.”

Ginny followed out of the room and into the twisting, craggy hall, their house as gnarled and misshapen as the hands of an old crone, with halls and rooms and secret alcoves as multitudinous as the reaching branches on a piece of electrified driftwood.

She watched as Molly swished her wand and a set of stairs descended from the ceiling, revealing the attic “Ron” had languished in with his awful (ly fake) bout of spattergroit during the war. There were dozens of boxes piled on each other, odd bits and bobs scattered around, stuff they seldom used but were not ready to part with.

A warm yellow lantern overhead spilled its light across the stacked boxes, their shadows bending strangely. Some shrunken and warped, others stretched long and disproportionate.

“Ah, here it is!” There was a plume of dust as Molly blew on the top of one box before fishing inside, her arms swinging up to reveal a long, wrapped garment. Ginny remained stoic and not yet impressed but her Mother was not to be discouraged.

Reaching up, she loosed a dusty ribbon and the wrapping fell away to reveal a breathtaking gown. The dress shimmered like spun gossamer, pale as silver moonlight, yet with an undertone of blue that shifted and darkened like moonlight caught upon the surface of deep water, rippling with hidden depths.

Her mouth fell open. “Mum! Where on earth did you get that.” Molly beamed and then faltered, her fingers fiddling with the fabric of the dress. “Well, I had thought, you know,” she stammered, “what with you and Harry and…” she trailed off, looking up at Ginny finally, and falling silent.

There was a moment of choking weight as though something colossal had suddenly weighed down all the air in the room, and not even the tiniest corner was left unfilled.

“Oh…”

Her mum picked up the frail thread of conversation and continued, “So what do you think?” She shimmied back and forth for a second, the dress in front of her a mime of dancing.

“This is just for a mission Mum, for work. I hardly think there will be anything more exciting going on than having a cup of tea in the commons.”

Molly began exasperatedly rewrapping the dress, folding it up under her breast, “You never know Ginevra. Besides, with all the clothes it seems like you aren’t taking, I think you’ll have the room, don’t you?”

Ginny rolled her eyes as they made their way towards the staircase and out of the attic, the lone lantern casting a last light across the back of their bobbing heads before flickering out, returning the boxes and bobs once more into the quiet darkness of forgotten childhoods and dust-laden memories.

Chapter 5: Deeper and Deeper into the Frantic Shoal

Summary:

Ginny arrives at Hogwarts

Ginny leaned, her body slightly concave against the window frame, looking out onto the countryside that stretched below her window and beyond into the distance. The morning sun had not yet risen and the world lay dim and expectant.

Despite the wide expanse of wild terrain that stretched out beyond sight, in her chest was a strange feeling of claustrophobia. Instead of giving her the feeling of freedom, the endless space seemed to collapse inward, like a hallway whose ending recedes further and further away until it dissolves into a single vanishing point of infinite length with no escape.

She turned away from the window, the coffee mug she was nursing cupped in her hands. She set it on her bedside table and picked up her luggage, heading lopsidedly to the door. The rickety stair creaked under her tiptoeing steps, knowing her family would like to say farewell but thinking, let them sleep.

Just as the thought faded, a glow of light grew steadily stronger as she reached the bottom, accompanied by the familiar clatter of pans and muted tones drifting from the kitchen. She swung the door open to reveal her Mom at the stove like a maestro overseeing a chorale of moving utensils stirring sizzling pans, her Dad sitting calmly at the table reading a copy of the Daily Prophet, and George and Ron engaged in an animated discussion *cough argument cough* in-between Ron stuffing his face with breakfast sausages. Ginny bit back the urge to roll her eyes, fondness tugging at her lips.

“Ah, the sleeping beauty graces us with her presence at last,” said Arthur, smiling at his daughter. He folded his paper in two and set it on the table, rising and bringing Ginny in for a hug before holding her an arm’s length away. Looking proudly down at her face, “Best of luck my girl, you’re going to do great.”

Molly rushed forward, enveloping her. “Do you have everything packed? Time for a plate before you go?”

Ginny pursed her lips in a Mona Lisa smile, holding back the swell of feeling in her chest at finding them all waiting just to see her off.

“Am I really the reason for this little family reunion? You guys know I’m only going for a couple of months at most, don’t you?”

Her mother looked affronted. “Only a couple of months! It’s like you going off to school all over again.” Her eyes began to glisten, but George cut in quickly, “Honestly Mum what are you going to do with yourself when she really does move out? You’ll be inviting the garden gnomes in to supper and tucking the pixies in at night. Dad, you’d better keep an eye on her.”

“Oh, you.” Molly remarked halfheartedly and smiled at her daughter, giving her one last hug.

“Oi, Ginny. You better write to Mum or else she’ll start sending letters to the prisoners of Azkaban next out of loneliness!” Ron laughed, the joke falling flat just slightly, an opportunity George was definitely not letting go to waste.

“Careful, Ron. If you keep murdering jokes like that, we’ll have to get you a cell in Azkaban too.” Ron glowered and sent a kick under the table at George which was nonchalantly evaded.

“Could you two act your age for ONCE! Not a moments peace between the two of you, it’s enough to drive anyone mad.”

Ginny shook her head and shifted the strap of her bag where it dug into her shoulder. Time to go.

“I’d better be off, Mum. I have to apparate to the Ministry for six. We’ll be apparating close to the castle and then taking the carriages up.”

Although she didn’t say the word thestral, it hung unspoken in the air. The momentary silence reminded them of who in the room was missing, knowing now they could all see what was pulling the once self-driving carriages.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well. Yes. You’d best be off! Good luck, sweetheart, and write to us if you need anything.”

Ron swallowed his mouthful and got up to give her a rough side hug, talking down to the top of her head. “You’ll do great Gin, don’t worry. If Harry and I could pass the exam, you’re a shoo-in.”

She smiled at them all before walking out toward the fireplace in the den. “Good luck, Gin!” George called after her.

She threw a handful of powder on the fire. “The Ministry of Magic!”

 

--

 

Ginny materialized in the inglenook of the floo floor. That brief disjointed feeling of floo travel passing in the time it took for her heel to hit the mezzanine after her first step out of the hearth.

She had a classic traveller’s pose as she looked around for her colleagues, hip cocked and one arm up under the strap of her bag. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she spotted the team a short distance away near the centre fountain, gathered together and waiting for headcount before leaving for Hogwarts.

“Hey, Ginny! Over here.” She walked up and joined the others, standing beside Pruewell. She was surrounded by two rolling suitcases, a backpack, and a purse. “Really Prue, did you even leave anything at home?”

Prue gave an affected ugh, as if look. “These are all essentials, I’ll have you know. If you think I won’t be accessorizing for every season you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Are those muggle suitcases?” butt in Morrigan.

Ginny spared him a quick look and their eyes met. She continued, “Season?? Prue, it’s September. It’ll be fall then winter, and winter, and more winter. We’ll be lucky if we see spring at the castle.”

“Exactly! Except you’re so wrong.” She turned to Morrigan, “and yes, they’re muggle, Morrigan. Muggles do a few things right you know, and one of those is fashion.” As soon as the word fashion left her mouth he looked like he was contemplating his life choices.

Continuing to Ginny, she said, “There’s late summer, then early fall, can’t forget Halloween, late fall, then winter, Christmas, and winter again but with different outfits obviously.”

Ginny cracked and her eyes crinkled as they laughed together. Some of the others looked curiously over at them to see what the commotion was.

Just then there was a surge of flames in one of the floos and Dan stepped out into the hall, his large visage immediately authoritative.

“Okay ladies and gents, everyone here?” His archer’s eyes peered quickly through the group, making a mental tally that everyone was accounted for.

“Right, let’s go. Form a line,” he gestured to the floo closest to them, “we’ll be apparating to an interim stop of the train, just outside the no apparition zone, authorized by Headmistress McGonagall. Taking the train from there, we’ll arrive at the usual stop and travel the rest of the way by thestral.”

Draven looked confused, “I thought we were apparating directly, somewhere near the castle grounds?”

Dan shrugged his shoulders offhandedly before unzipping one of his bags, presumably checking to see that he had everything and replied, “Change of plans. No good place to apparate that wouldn’t be a bigger pain than just taking the train up through the wards.”

“Why couldn’t they just lower the wards to let us apparate directly into the castle,” Morrigan mumbled under his breath but it was picked up by Dan. “Because, Duskbane, that is an extensively tricky piece of magic and the wards are already in a delicate state. There’s no way Professor McGonagall is risking the castle just so you can avoid taking the train.”

The others smirked and shared a look. Morrigan walked quietly to queue forming at the floo without further comment, looking somewhat embarrassed. 

“Okay,” declared Dan, “first up! ‘Mydweye Station’ is the destination!”

Ginny looked over at Prue beside her, “This really is just like the first day of term.”

“You’re telling me. Once wasn’t enough, now I have to go back to school even as an adult. Don’t even talk to me about those classes with Professor Pyre we have to do before our eval. Will it ever end?!”

Ginny thought not.

 

--

 

On the train, Ginny found herself again drawn to the scenery rushing past outside. A blur of green leaves and open fields met her eyes. The sun had risen slowly as they arrived at Mydweye and dawn light began to pepper the sky like slow loading pixels while they took their seats in 2 booths, Dan in his own at the back of the carriage. “Always choose a strategic vantage point,” is all he said. Ginny heard CONSTANT VIGILENCE.

She had a book on Protection Spells and Casting in her lap, rifling through it in between gazing out of the window. A murmuration of starlings twisted across the sky in the distance. Wheeling as one body, they twisted together, coalescing into one solid mass, before scattering apart like a controlled explosion. They looked like a moving charcoal drawing, or ink dipped in water, dark streams coiling and unfurling before dispersing away. The fluid aerial display drifted in and out of cohesion, a living cloud, until at last the flock dissolved out of sight as the train sped forward.

They were getting closer to the grounds, the great grassy fields being replaced by a thickening forest. As they moved ahead, the train was soon eclipsed by the large, ancient wood that surrounded the castle.

Dan rapped on the door of their booth and slid it open to peak his head inside. “About 5 minutes to the castle guys, make sure you’re ready to depart.” The door slid shut.

“Ready to be sorted?” joked Prue, sticking her tongue out sideways.

“Oh yeah,” she drawled, “I’m thinking Slytherin this time around, how about you?”

“I’m in a class of my own sweetheart.” supplied Draven without prompting. Pfft was Ginny’s bemused response. Prue followed up with, “You would look good in green and silver though with your red hair, you think? If I didn’t despise the very definition of Hufflepuff, I’d love a good black and yellow stripe.”

“I’m shocked with a name like Quickelbee you’d be drawn to black and yellow stripes,” Morrigan deadpanned.

Prue’s mouth dropped open in feigned insult, “I take it back! You,” pointing at Ginny, “can keep your Gryffindor red. Enjoy clashing. And you two are definitely Huffepuffs.”

Draven look affronted, “Hey, you leave Barnaby out of this.” making them all laugh.

The train slowed to a stop and they rose from the benched seats, picking up the straps of their bags and hauling them out into the corridor.

Saphron and Barnaby emerged from the second booth, their study materials and quills all packed away.

“Okay folks, let’s get crack-a-lackin.”

The group exchanged looks with each other behind Dan’s back, adding this to the very long list of unexplainable Dan Griffin behaviour.

They marched in the grass, trees surrounding them on either side, and up to the small clearing a short distance away. Pruewell struggled comically with her wheeled suitcases and bags, now they were off smooth man-made terrain, with little specks of mud caking up the sides of the trunks.

As they rounded on the modest glade, Ginny could see the carriages and thestrals come into view, waiting for them on the dirt road that led up to the castle gates and onto the grounds.

Walking up to the carriage felt like accepting an invitation.

For as the swift monster drags you deeper and deeper into the frantic shoal, you bid adieu to circumspect life and exist only in a delirious throb.

Chapter 6: Red Sky at Morning, Sailors Warning

Summary:

The group arrives at Hogwarts and meets their new teacher.

Nearing the great entrance doors of the castle was a surreal experience. It was just as magnificent as she had remembered. What a poignant sadness it had been to leave, and now the same sadness felt upon returning. The passage of time, innocence lost, the good memories making the bad ones all the more wrenching and vice versa.

A great, warm light burst through as the doors were opened, illuminating their guileless faces as they stood waiting to climb in through the entrance. Outside on the terrace, it was not quite dark, but the sky had begun to take on the faded quality of approaching dusk, as though it wasn’t sunlight that slowly disappeared but pigment.

Dan stepped aside, holding one door open as they came through. They were greeted by Professor Pyre on the other side. A tall, slender man made of smooth lines that ended in sharp angles. His greased hair was black and pin straight, slicked back over his skull and held together at the back with a silver tribal pin.

“Welcome! A little bird stopped by my office to let me know you had arrived. Your luggage has, of course, been taken up to the guest wing.” He offered them a tight, thin lipped smile under his hawkish nose. His eyes however were lively, like an amber crystal in firelight.

“Professor Pyre.” said Dan tersely in acknowledgement.

Morrigan stepped forward and gave a diminutive bow, “What an honour it is to be in your class, sir. I look forward to our first lesson,” and stepped back with the others.

“Oh,” laughed Professor Pyre gaily, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Not at all my boy, the pleasure is all mine. Come in, come in! Please,” he corralled the group with an outstretched arm, directing them to continue down the hall into the castle. “I trust you know your way! We are in the middle of the sorting ceremony at present, I should like to return promptly. You may join the feast or continue on to your rooms to unpack your things of course.”

Prue sped up to Ginny and joined their arms, looking over and opening her mouth to scream without sound as if to say, I can’t believe this is happening.

“I’m getting the biggest room.” Draven warned to no one in particular.

“They’re all the same size Catterwick,” replied Morrigan. “Oh yeah, how do you know that? Oh that’s right, you don’t. Keep your paws off my room.”

Saphron looked around studiously as they walked beside the antique accoutrements, magical artefacts behind glass, and moving portraits that lined the Hogwarts walls.

“While I still think Beauxbatons had a superior curriculum, I can’t deny the wealth of magic in this place.” She smiled over at Ginny and Prue. “I’m really looking forward to visiting the library! And of course the greenhouses, right, Barnaby?”

“The greenhouses, yes. Definitely. Hey, you don’t think they’ll have venomous tentacula, do you?”

“Crawling with it I expect, Barns and Noble.”  Barnaby gulped.

“Give it a rest, Draven,” came Saphron, but he only grinned. “I’m kidding Barns. It’s only the devil’s snare and snargaluff you’ll have to worry about.”

“Draven! You are positively incorrigible.” “You love me.” Her curled lip said otherwise.

For a split second before they turned the corner, Ginny looked back to see Dan and Professor Pyre standing together back at the entrance to the hall. At the last moment Dan pressed forward, obscuring both their faces from view. She felt a peculiar prickle of unease but it was quickly overshadowed and forgotten by far greater feelings of novelty and nostalgia as they began their descent up the moving staircases to the guest wing.

 

--

 

They had only hurriedly agreed on rooms and thrown in their things before speeding down to the great hall, hoping to catch the last of the start of term feast.

As they entered the hall, there was a noticeable drop in decibels. Eyes peered over at them from each house table, from first years up to seventh. All curious about the group of extended education students. Rumours had swirled since Kings Cross station, through the train booths one by one, whispers following students through the castle like poltergeists, until finally congregating now in the mass of students who sat staring with intrigue and suspicion.

Bits and pieces of gossipy murmurs drifted over to her ears as the 6 of them took a seat at the far end of the least occupied table, closest to the exit. It’s Ginny Weasley!...Aw man, no Harry…What are they doing here?...study under Professor Pyre… aurors… trouble?….

The babble stopped as Headmistress McGonagall rose, hand in the air as she waited for calm in the centre of the pulpit where Professor Dumbledore once stood.

“Thank you. Now that I have everyone’s attention,” her characteristically severe look daring anyone to disagree. “I would like to take a moment and introduce some guest students we will be hosting at the castle for the foreseeable future. They are in training, as you may have heard,” she said sardonically, scanning the crowd with an arched brow, clearly aware of the rampant rumours, “with our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Pyre. They will also be assisting the faculty with the maintenance of our schools protective wards. A number of senior Aurors and Ministry Officials may also be joining as needed.” An excited buzz swept through the sea of students. They looked around at their friends, thinking, who could it be? Everyone knew that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger worked for the Ministry.

McGonagall continued, “Do not be alarmed! This is routine upkeep of the magic that safeguards our school. I expect you all will make them feel most welcome, and a caution! Be on your best behaviour! I won’t have Hogwarts students making a mockery of our fine institution in front of visitors or Ministry officials.” She paused for a beat, softening her expression. “Welcome, and enjoy your first night back, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

There was a spattering of applause, although not as much as after her first speech. The students were far too preoccupied questioning what they had just heard and speculating on what it all meant. At the very least, this was shaping up to be a very interesting year.

Ginny and the others were in good spirits, the occasional looks from nearby students notwithstanding, and were able to enjoy the rest of the feast. Draven regaled them with tales of his own hijinks in school, making them laugh as he described his many failed attempts at invention and skirting trouble by the tip of his nose.

“As I attempted to set the dung bomb, I had the truly unforeseeable misfortune to set it off in my face…Last time I try anything with the word ‘dung’ in it, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Oh, but anything with the word bomb is okay, naturally.”

“What is there to live for if you don’t set off the occasional bomb every now and then.”

“Gosh let me think, literally anything else?”

“The sheer lack of innovation that surrounds me is tragic. Plebeians, all.”

Morrigan seemed even more sombre than usual, lost in thought, while Saphron and Barnaby were engaged in an earnest discussion of herbology principles.

“Yes, but you must take into account the synergistic effects at play. You could wind up with something unintended by the sum of its parts. This is really at the heart of all potion making – “

“Understanding the essence of each plant through careful tending is a fair start to avoiding a bad mix,” replied Barnaby.

“Of course, but even a mixture of otherwise inert materials can have unknown consequences…”

Their conversations continued lightly as the food and plates disappeared from the long tables, students exiting the great hall a little at first and then swathes departing in a growing stream. It was late now after a long day and everyone began to head back to their dormitories.

As they made their way from the great hall to their wing of the castle, they passed a balcony aperture that led onto a midsized loggia, something like an open observatory that looked out onto the grounds through supporting stone pillars and gothic arches.

As they walked out to the stone balustrades, leaning their elbows on the top to look out into the quiet night, another flock of starlings was spotted in the sky above the courtyard below.

Their shapes could just be discerned in the light of the rising moon behind. “Hey!” They turned at the voice, a large silhouette cut out of castle torchlight approaching. As it neared the features began to take shape to reveal Dan, having sought them out after the feast.

“I just came to let you know I’m heading off for now, I have some business back at the ministry. I’ll return in the next couple of days or so, so best behaviour.” For some reason he looked at Draven as he spoke, who looked around like what did I do?

Something caught Dan’s eye and he looked out past their heads into the starry sky. They turned to look with him, Saphron supplying “It’s a murmuration of starlings! We were just looking at it before you arrived.”

“A murmur what?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a display of power. The birds have chosen where they will rest for the night and are marking the territory to deter predators. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Dan mutters, “War flocks together. It’ll scatter soon enough.”

Ginny looks on as it convalesces like living ink. To her, it feels like an omen.

They watch for a moment more before heading back inside, Dan going the opposite way. As they walk, groups of students pass, some of them looking over at them quickly before talking amongst themselves, crouched and hushed.

A scrap of parchment paper falls gently to the floor like a fallen feather, settling just in front of her foot. She reaches down and picks it up, intending to ask who it belongs to when the writing on it catches her eye.

 

Still waters lie

A reflection of the sky

Peer in its depths yet guard your soul

The truth revealed may take its toll

And come the darkness of the night

A kraken looms just out of sight

Doom is swirling in the deep

Reaching up the depths while you sleep

Storms converge from either side

A fragile keel could soon capsize

Though all the stars may fade from sight

True north within still shines its light

Into those depths is where you’ll go

To face the monster down below

 

Her breath catches in her chest for a moment, her fingers on the page suddenly chilled as though the blood has run out. She looks up to find the student who dropped it but the hallway is suddenly deserted and she stands alone. How? With alarm, she walks quickly, feet moving faster and faster until finally she breaks out into a run, down the hall and up the staircases. The portraits she passes do a double take, scandalized.

Turning a corner, she collides with Prue’s back almost knocking her over. “Ginny! What the hell. Where did you disappear to, weren’t you right behind me?”

For no reason she can explain, it’s Morrigan who gives her a disquieting look. Her eyes drag away from his and she laughs, a little breathless. “Sorry, I must’ve got turned around.” Why am I lying? The hand in her pocket crumples the note into a tight ball and squeezes.

 

--

 

In her room, she sits cross-legged, her chin cradled in her palm. She has a far off look in her eyes, like her body is here but her mind is somewhere else. She’s roused by a knock at the door. It opens and Prue sticks her head through the crack for a moment, perhaps checking the temperature like dipping a toe in a pond, before coming in and making herself at home on the bed.

Ginny turns to face her but instead of sitting she stretches out on her side, her right arm bent to hold her head up and smiles at Prue.

“I counted all the way to 5 seconds before you came in here. I think that’s a personal record.”

“And what were you doing in here that was so important? Meditating?” she giggles.

“Astral projection actually.”

“Ooo and where did you go?”

“To your room.”

Prue falls back, laughing. When she looks back at Ginny she has a tell tale glint in her eye, and Ginny can tell she’s going to ask something she may not want to answer.

“Spit it out Prue, you’re looking at me like you’re a mouse and I’m made of cheese.” Prue scoffs. “Well, what did you think of Professor McGonagall’s announcement?!” She waits a beat, still watching Ginny intently, looking for any trace of impact from her words.

When she doesn’t answer, Prue continues, “I mean about some of the senior Aurors coming back to the castle.”

Ah, there it is. Ginny grins ruefully, and flops onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. She squints over at Prue. “So you want to know if I think Harry will show up.”

“I mean, aren’t you wondering as well?”

Staring back up at the ceiling, there’s nothing to distract her from what she feels. She sighs and rolls over onto her side again, head cocked. She looks quietly at Prue for a moment before answering. “I don’t know, I guess. It’s not like I haven’t seen him since, Prue. He is best friends with my brother after all.”

“True. I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“No, you’re not wrong anyway. It’s different here. It’s like…where we met kind of, you know? Where everything started, really. It’s like revisiting a shrine or something.”

All the artifice is gone from Prue, and her sympathetic character is all that’s left expressed in her eyes. She looks down at the blankets for a moment, swirling a pattern with her finger. She says, not looking up right away, “What do you think it’ll be like, if he shows up?” Ginny shrugs.

“Can I ask, why didn’t it work out in the first place?”

“You mean why didn’t we get married right after the war like everyone thought we would?”

Slightly sheepish, “Yeah.”

Ginny buries her head in the mattress before looking at Prue again, her hair slightly ruffled. They grin at each other. She raises her eyes to look up, her eye brows arching, her shoulders coming up for a moment of tension before relaxing back down. The movement is both exasperated and unsure.

“It’s hard to put into words Prue. He kind of…needed to belong to the world. Not just to me. We didn’t know where that left us, so…we left us.”

“Do you think he still has feelings for you?”

“I never really could read Harry as much as I wanted to. It’s hard now, we’re both so polite and distant and awkward when we’re around each other it’s impossible to tell with him.”

“Well, I’m sure he does.”

“Prue.”

“Sorry, is that not helpful?” She laughs and chucks one of the pillows at Ginny, hitting her square in the face with a muffled brrmph.

Ginny plops the pillow down and stuffs it under the arm she’s resting on. “You think everyone is in love with me. It’s actually kind of sweet in an insane sort of way.”

“Thank you,” Prue replies, grinning wildly. They both laugh and talk a little more about work, and their classes, how funny and strange Professor Pyre seemed and many other things until it got so late Prue finally had to slink away back to her own room.

Ginny was so tired from the long day that sleep took her quickly, heavy and dreamless. The castle around her lay dark and still.

Chapter 7: Deja Vu

Summary:

Ginny's first lesson with Professor Pyre and a surprise visit.

Waking up in Hogwarts again felt like she was still dreaming. There was a lancet window in her room, outlined in grey stone, as though she were a princess in a high tower. She marvelled at how slowly life can feel at times, like a single water droplet inching long until suddenly, the current picks up and before you know it you are swept away by a deluge of torrents. Days bleed together, no cause for new memories as each new day was just like the one before it. Time passing excruciatingly slow and yet looking back, days or weeks or months have passed without remark or renown. Yet now, one day difference and here she was, looking out atop Hogwarts from a window out of a gothic novel instead of from her little room in the Burrow with its familiar pasture below.

She turned away and made for her en suite bathroom. Thank you private dorms. I love being an adult. Looking into the mirror after her shower, she brushed her wet hair and applied some face cream. Staring at herself for a moment, she catalogued changes she saw looking back at her, but they were hard to pinpoint. She thought she should look different, different than the reflection she had when she started school at 11, as she survived the war and after, but all the versions of her blended together so that the reflection she saw was always the same.

She didn’t put a lot of effort into her appearance. If you asked anyone, they would not have known. She was naturally beautiful. Rare, red hair that had darkened somewhat closer to auburn through the years, but still as fiery red as ever in sunlight. Skin still young, she was only in her early 20s after all. Sculpted face, still round with youth but the promise of refinement in age.

Sparring little more time except to apply moisturizer and get dressed, she gathered up her parchment, books, and quill and stuffed them in her satchel. Exiting into the common room, she saw Morrigan coming out of his room on the other side, the boys rooms having been chosen on one half of the common room and the girls rooms on the other. Old habits die hard.

“Hey, Morrigan!” She said cheerily. He looked up, having been busy ruffling in his own bag. His shoulder bag was made of mahogany leather, in the shape of a messenger bag or something you could put large documents in without folding in half, knowing they would emerge pristine. He almost looked more like an apprentice teacher than a student, his dress shirt an immaculate white poplin cotton with a starched, crisp collar and French cuffs. His hair reminded her of someone she refused to dwell on. It was a rich, dark brown, like deep ash toned east Indian rosewood or roasted coffee beans. The Ivy League cut was typically brushed back, but a natural wave ran through it, so that when ruffled it tumbled forward in loose strands over his forehead.

His complexion was alabaster; a lively pale like if you looked closely enough you could see the blue veins underneath and hot with blood despite a cool touch.

He didn’t respond right away but walked towards her, getting taller with each step until she had to look up at his face. As he brushed closely by her, unnecessarily close, he said simply, “Ginny.”

Before she had even a second to process, the others began to pop out of their rooms. Saphron walked out in her typical dignified waltz, Draven his devil may care saunter, a seemingly permanent elevation to his chin, Barnaby was frantic and rushing like someone who’s forgotten something, and Pruewell with the air of someone who knows everybody’s secrets but won’t tell even if you beg.

Walking down together to the great hall, Morrigan having disappeared ahead, the castle was bustling with students and chatter. They past professors on their way as well, walking purposefully to their classrooms to set up lessons for the first period of the day.

Breakfast was largely uneventful, except that Ginny was intercepted in the hall on her way to their first lesson with Professor Pyre by a sixth year Slytherin student named Stockton Keir who, after introducing himself, asked to take her photograph.

“I’ll see you in class!” Prue’s parting words as she continued on with the rest.

She eyed Stockton guardedly. “Take my picture for what?”

The approachable version of her that she reserved for friends and family was completely gone, replaced by the full imperial glower of famous Ginevra Weasley, bat bogey hex expert, war survivor, and soon to be Auror. He swallowed quickly but, in a classically Slytherin way, schooled his features into a calm mask, his tone appropriately respectful for someone of her station. An acknowledgement of hierarchy and shows of proper deference are practically second nature to Slytherins. As slimy as she found it, she had to admit it was effective.

“Excuse my intrusion Miss Weasley.”—“You can call me Ginny.”—“Ginny. I work on behalf of the Restricted Espistle. You could say it’s our Hogwarts newsletter. Strictly confidential.”

She opened her mouth but before she could respond, he read her mind. “It is completely anonymous. Reports are submitted via a charmed lock box on the seventh floor. No one knows who writes the stories.”

She shut her mouth and marvelled at the innovation. She supposed it you were responsible for a clandestine student paper, you would want to remain incognito.

Unexpectedly, she felt a pang of displacement. The knowledge that this really wasn’t her school anymore suddenly hit her. She felt more like an adult in this moment than she had in a long time, so obviously a guest in someone else’s coming of age story. I guess each class of students will make their own mark on the school.

She put her weight on one foot, hands on her hips. “So what do you need my picture for.”

“No idea. I received a parchment requesting your photograph for the paper; I take the pictures for it. I can only assume it’s a piece about you and the other aurors in the castle.”

She bit the corner of her lip, considering. She was going to be late for class. ”Fine. Here?”

“As good a place as any.”

“Great because I have class in about five minutes.”

He held up his camera and she was momentarily captured by a flash of white light. Before she could ask to see it he had stowed his camera away, and turning on his heel said, “Much obliged!”

She watched him walk away for a beat before heading to class herself, wondering what the hell that was all about. She had a definite feeling of regret. Dammit why did I agree. Now my picture is going to be all over school. That’s just what I need, more attention.

Arriving at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she slipped into a seat and waited for the lesson to begin. Professor Pyre was nowhere to be seen. They looked around at each other quizzically but just then he strolled in through the door, his jet blue robes billowing animatedly.

“Greetings, all. I am much honoured to be your final instructor before your Auror program evaluations!”

They respectfully kept their faces blank, some wanting to smile at Professor Pyre’s contagious verve.

“Today’s lesson: Protective Wards. The reason that you are here.” He waggled his brows. “Although you’ve had some experience with deploying wards in past assignments, as I was informed by Auror Griffin, these classes will serve as a means of refinement. To deepen your understand of the complexities of the magical world around us and the powers we each wield as spell casters.”

“As I’m sure you know, there are many different types of wards. A more accurate description would be energy barrier. The basic categories include wards for detection, trigger wards that deploy a reactive action, typically defensive, wards to repel or repulse, and finally containment wards, to attract and trap something inside.”

“Enslavement wards you mean.”

Everyone turned at the unexpected voice to find Hermione Granger standing in the doorway. As she stepped inside, the red hair of her brother was the second thing she saw. The third was the familiar round spectacles of Harry Potter. The three of them stood slightly apart at the back of the classroom.

Her eyes rounded slightly, almost the way they had the first time she’d seen Harry at the Burrow the summer before she started Hogwarts. His eyes glanced at her briefly before skirting back to Professor Pyre. Behind her turned head, in the first row of desks, Morrigan noticed silently.

“Miss Granger! What a wonderful surprise. And Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit to my class?”

“It’s a private matter, Professor Pyre.” she said. “If you don’t mind stepping into the hall for a moment? We won’t be needing much of your time.”

“Assuredly! Of course, of course. Right this way, my office is just across the hall. I’ll be back momentarily class, pardon the interruption.”

Hermione and Ron smiled at Ginny as they left and she smiled back. Harry attempted one but it came out more like a lopsided grimace and he stalked out awkwardly like he had just been petrified.

“Oh. My. God. Harry Potter! Wow, so Professor McGonagall was talking about them!”

Instead of matching Prue’s excited incredulity, Saphron looked apprehensive.

Ginny looked at her. “What is it?”

She was contemplative as she answered. “Odd we’d have the Golden Trio here for routine ward maintenance. I was expecting senior Aurors but nothing at this level… There’s something they aren’t telling us.”

Once something was proclaimed by Saphron, it was taken as undeniable truth. They looked between each other, not ready to admit they just felt a fluttering of fear.

“It’s probably nothing,” reasoned Prue, more to herself than anyone else. “It might not be related to the wards at all.”

“It’s a pretty big coincidence, you have to admit.” said Draven. Barnaby nodded.

Ginny looked back toward the empty doorway as if she could conjure the truth if she yearned hard enough for it. Or was she searching for something else?

 

--

 

Inside Professor Pyre’s office, the trio gave him the reason they were there. “Professor McGonagall is away for a meeting with the Ministry of Magic, she asked us to stop by while we’re here to update you on the wards.” began Harry.

“Is there something amiss?” He asked, looking between the three of them. “Do tell me. I am always here to be of service.”

Hermione picked up where Harry left off. “There appear to be some incongruences we would not have anticipated for a simple matter of renewing warding casts. The magic is unstable…Professor Flitwick and Headmistress McGonagall have made some attempt already at recasting the protection spells around the grounds and were met with magical resistance.”

Professor Pyre looked alarmed. “You’re certain?”

Ron shrugged. Hermione verbalized the sentiment, “No.” She looked like she wished she were.” It could simply be a matter of more advanced degradation than we had foreseen from the aftereffects of the war. Or… “ she paused, “the horcruxes that were destroyed on the grounds.”

There was a weighty silence. Although no one else would be able to tell, Hermione could see Harry looked pained at the word. He still carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The idea that his actions, even though they were necessary, continued to affect the people and places he held dear was something he could scarcely allow to pass.

The professor looked thoughtful, sitting back in his chair and stroking his chin. “It could be…” He looked at Hermione. “Horcruxes are a little studied realm of magic, for reasons I need not relate. I don’t believe there is anyone alive who knows the long term ramifications or the afterburn effect of their destruction. Destroying a dark artefact can often be far more dangerous than creating it.”

Hermione nodded to his words. He continued, “It wouldn’t surprise me if there were grave consequences when destroying such a piece of dark, powerful magic. The trouble is no one knows, not even so called experts in the field.” He said depreciatingly, referring to himself.

“We wanted to bring you in on this and make sure you are aware. Auror Griffin believes the trainees can benefit from witnessing and aiding in the restoration, however they will need to be supervised at all times by yourself, Dan, us, or another faculty member.”

“Understood.”

Hermione looked at him perceptively. “And what was today’s lesson, might I ask?”

“Wards, naturally!” He laughed, causing them all to crack a grin. “And I agree with your last point about containment wards, a nasty business. Still, it’s important to understand dark magic so we have the best chance at counteracting it.”

“I agree,” said Harry.

“Well, we’ll let you get back to it. Professor.” Ron held out his hand to shake, followed by the others.

“We’ll see you around Professor! Thanks for your time,” Hermione said as they walked back the way they had come.

 

--

 

“Right! Let’s continue where we left off, shall we?” He clapped his hands together. “Wards! One interesting, often overlooked element is their constitution.” He looked at them fervently, his enthusiasm for his dark subject rubbing off on them.

“Many people conceive of a ward as a great, invisible wall, something that is whole, that is one. A common misconception. A ward is like a layered veil…to get inside one, you don’t punch a hole through it as if it were a simple wall of mounded bricks.” He looked disgusted at the very thought.

His brow smoothing, his hands raised, he said, “They are unravelled, layer by layer.” his fingers wriggling as they spread apart. “Picture a goldsmith sanding down the nacres of a pearl. The more intimate you are with the maker’s signature, the signature of their magic, the easier it is to wind back the clock of their casting, peeling it back layer by layer, imprint by imprint, memory by memory.” He trailed off eerily.

“Let’s practice! Today’s lesson will be spent casting a simple energy barrier over a small object: your quills. This will be tricky and require precise concentration and precision in order to affect only the quill. I don’t expect perfection in one day, and you may continue to practice on your own time. Next lesson we will try tearing them down. You may begin!”

Each of them raised their wands over the quill laid out on their desks. “Protego objectum!”

Out of nowhere, Ginny felt a great gust of magic whoosh around her. In the blink of an eye, her quill flew off her desk like a dart, propelled with such force it hit the wall opposite and burst into tiny shards like fireworks.

The girls jumped in their seats, the boys swivelling their heads slowly to look at Ginny as if she might attack them next.

“What was that!” exploded Draven. “If I ever need a protection spell I’m nominating Barnaby for the task. I’d rather take my chances with it not working at all then blowing my head off.”

“Hey!” was Barnaby’s disgruntled response, smoothed over by a roguish grin from Draven. “I’m only joking mate, I’d trust you with my life.” He crossed his hands over his chest.

Morrigan snorted, earning him a glare from Saphron.

Professor Pyre walked over to inspect the wall and the wood shards that littered the floor. “Curious…” he muttered to himself. Straightening, he said, “Perhaps we should call it a day. Mayhaps the spirits are in a mood.” He looked at them meaningfully as if they should know what on earth he was talking about.

Saphron and Barnaby shared their bewilderment. “Spirits?” she mouthed.

Prue was looking back at Ginny who avoided her eyes for now but offered, “I’m sorry Professor, I have no idea what happened.”

The professor shrugged, hands in his robes. “The more I’ve studied magic, the less I know, and the more I know I don’t know. Why do surges of uncontrolled magic occur? Not an easy question to answer. Keeping track of any such occurrences, in a journal for instance, might be helpful. With that thought, why don’t we all start a progress journal. Your feelings, what you sense in yours or others magic, even your dreams. All good ideas. In the magical world, despite being born with our gifts, it’s little understood were magic actually comes from. Keeping a diary is a long held tradition by many respected wizards and witches throughout history and a rich source of knowledge for us today. It would serve you well to do the same.”

A diary, Ginny thought, and almost shivered. Talk about déjà vu.

Chapter 8: Exectus Veritas

Summary:

Harry, Hermione, and Ron investigate the disturbances in the wards. Ginny and the team learn how to cast and destroy a protective barrier.

After the lesson, the six more or less went their own way, Ginny and Prue off to walk in the courtyard, Saphron and Barnaby hoping to see the Greenhouses as they’d discussed, Morrigan off to the owlery to send a letter, and Draven attempted to seek out Madam Hooch about the possibility of a little flying.

The courtyard is still green this time of year, though cool enough for sweaters and a posh scarf for Pruewell. Walking arm in arm, they traced the perimeter with their steps, both silent. The area was deserted except for the two of them, the rest of the study body still in their first class.

“So do you want to talk about it?”

Ginny scratched her nose, looking down at the grass under her feet. With one eye brow raised, she looked over at Prue. “Which part? My spell going haywire in front of everyone or Harry showing up my second day here.” Prue pressed her lips together in a valiant effort not to laugh but failed, Ginny soon joining her.

She sighed as the laughter subsided. “A fantastic start. I hope Dan doesn’t find out about this, I don’t want him to think I’m an ‘operational weakness’.”

Prue shook her head. “Pish posh, that’s not going to happen, not after the last year.”

Ginny was silent at this, unsure. Prue continued, “But what happened? I’ve never seen uncontrolled magic from someone who wasn’t, well…”

“A child.” Ginny supplied.

The walked along quietly. Students began to appear between the columns of the colonnade as first period ended with some cutting directly across the courtyard.

In quieter tones, Ginny struggled to put her feelings into words. “It was stranger than that, Prue. It felt like the magic…wasn’t mine. Like it was around me but not from me.”

Prue’s head made a quick movement to look at her. “What are you saying?”

She didn’t answer right away, waiting until a student close to them had walked out of ear shot. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I don’t know what happened or how.”

--

Elsewhere in the castle, the trio headed to one of the castles oldest ward stones. A large stone pillar, it stood in a miniature ruin, what was left of some ancient structure from long ago on the very outskirts of the grounds. A difficult to reach spot, seldom if ever explored by students as it was surrounded on one side by the boundaries of the forbidden forest and a cliffs edge on the other.

The stone was carved with ancient runes, a challenge to decipher even for Hermione as a number of the old runic transcriptions were lost to time. This pillar was one of the corner stones of the earliest protections. It was hard to say which came first, the pillars or the castle.

Reaching out to trace the runes, Hermione had a look of consternation as she inspected the work. Ron and Harry stood nearby like sentinels. Her hair whipped in the wind, the sky beginning to take on a grey hue, a foreboding sign of approaching storm. The very air communicated disquiet.

“I don’t understand it. The energy feels…distorted.”

Harry’s footsteps crunched in the parched long grass as he approached, the surrounding turf beginning to yellow until finally nothing lived at the base of the pillar, only bare earth. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Hermione continued, thinking out loud. “Almost like it’s…being siphoned away? How could that be possible?”

Ron and Harry exchanged looks, two protectors in mutual agreement.

She shook her head, stepping back from the pillar. “I’ll need to consult my books. Come on, let’s go back to the castle.”

As they departed, Hermione looked back. “Harry, are you coming?”

“Just a moment.”

Harry stayed behind as they walked off together, trusting him to follow when he was ready. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the stone. He snatched his hand back when he thought he felt a pulse of recognition.

Unsettled, he stared out over the edge of the bluff, the surface of the black lake below choppy and foaming as crests rose and collided.

--

Ron was the first to speak. “So, do you think whatever’s going on, you’ll be able to find an answer in the school library?”

She let out a puff of air. “I hope so. Maybe something in the castle’s history, or maybe the runes? Oh, I don’t know, there’s so many possibilities.” She looked over at him, attempting to be reassuring. “But I’m sure I’ll find something that can help us.”

“Not a doubt in my mind.” They smiled at each other.

Afterwards there was a brief, awkward pause. The memory of another time, another life settling over the moment like double vision.

To bring them back to the present, Hermione ventured, “So how’s Susan?”

Ron cleared his throat. “Good, she’s good.” Cheer returning at the thought of his wife, he said more animatedly, “She’s still in training at St. Mungo’s but it’s going really well. It’s hard work but she really enjoys it.”

Hermione smiled, “That’s good.”

“What about you? How’s work in the law enforcement department?”

“Ongoing.” She breathed, beleaguered. “So much still to do with the sentencing.”

“I don’t know why they can’t just toss the lot in Azkaban. We know they’re guilty.”

“I wish it were that simple Ron.”

“I know.”

Tiny raindrops began to fall on their faces as they walked so they picked up speed, trudging quickly now through the grass. Hermione brought her hand to the top of her head, shielding her eyes, the castle coming into view up ahead.

“And personally?” His eyes slid over in one of his rare displays of sagacity, always a surprise to her since he typically kept his powers of perception to himself.

She quirked her lips ruefully. “None of your business Ronald Weasley. I have so much work to do I hardly have the time to do anything else, and certainly not…that…sort of thing.”

He grinned then rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Hermione. Just make sure you take care of you as much as you take care of everyone else.”

She had no reply to that, the rain coming down heavier now. With a great belt of thunder, there was a moment of suspension before a torrential shower fell from the sky. Breaking out into a sprit, they ran together up to the castle doors, two tiny specs in a sea of green.

--

Back in the common room, the fire crackled as rain pattered softly against the glass windows.

“So how was the greenhouse?” Draven asked Saphron, looking eager to say something that would engage her.

She spared him a look up from the quill over which she was attempting the ward spell.

“It was awesome!” Answered Barnaby instead, and Draven struggled to maintain interest now that the opportunity to converse with Saphron seemed to slip away. “There were a number of unique plants we were surprised to find.”

Morrigan unexpectedly looked up from his tomb of a book. “Like what?”

Saphron answered, “Asphodel, for one.”

No reaction from Draven. Saphron sighed and expanded, “Primarily used to brew the draught of living death.”

She placed her wand in her lap with a long suffering sigh. “If you must know, Professor Longbottom showed us a few new exciting cultivations. Whisperwillow, for one. Its leaves emit fragments of thought when disturbed. He says it’s valuable for potions. And Bloodroot Vine, obviously.”

“Oh, right, obviously.”

She grinned, “It strengthens protective wards if handled correctly. But, of course… destabilizes them if it’s brewed even slightly wrong.” She paused, thoughtful.

Barnaby chipped in. “Don’t forget the Silvershade.”

“Oh, yes. Breathtaking. It’s a pale, silver-white flower that only blooms at night. Apparently it shines like moonlight. He said they’re notoriously difficult to keep alive past a single season. He seemed rather proud this crop is thriving.”

Prue finally showed some interest and shared an intrigued look with Ginny. “That sounds worth seeing.”

Saphron shook her head ligtly. “We couldn’t really go inside the nursery, just look in. I doubt he would let anyone close enough to see the flowers bloom, sadly. It’s a delicate business growing magical plants.”

Prue shrugged, “Worth a shot.” She tossed her hair back as if she’d flirt her way in and smirked when Ginny rolled her eyes affectionately.

They each went back to their own studies, the day growing late and the energy to talk dissipating from them all. Instead of practicing her protego spell, Ginny sat with a blank journal in her lap. She found herself unable to focus, her eyes drifting up to stare into the fire. The wood was slowly consumed by the flames, getting smaller and smaller until it became coals and then finally ash.

--

On the way to breakfast, Ginny and Prue couldn’t help but notice a number of students huddled together in small groups, hunched over and whispering together.

“What is all this about?” Having no patience for being excluded from something juicy, Prue approached two nearby students huddled together. “Oi! You!” They started, nearly dropping what they were holding.

She smiled sweetly, all charm. “Can I ask, what is everyone looking at?” Her eyes narrowed in on the paper in their hands. “What is that?”

The two looked at each other as if debating whether to tell. “It’s the school newsletter. They just came out with a new issue.” Looking at Prue like they felt sorry for someone so out of the loop, one held out her copy. “Here, you can have it, I’m done with it.” As soon as the paper exchanged hands they hurried off to the great hall, snickering.

Ginny came over to look down over Prue’s shoulder. The parchment was just a list of magical items like books, robes, and benign potion ingredients, something you might find in the pocket of a first year at Diagon Alley.

Realizing, “Hey, wait!” Prue called but they had already gone. She pointed her wand at the paper. “Revelio!” They stared down but nothing happened.

Searching around, she grabbed the collar of a nearby fry of a student who couldn’t have been more than second year. “Can you disenchant this for us? What is it, only genuine Hogwarts students can read it?” He gave them a weary look like they were spies sent to test his loyalty to the party.

Ginny huffed and towered over him. “Unless you want to be hexed into next year, I suggest you do as she asks.” Resignedly, looking around for anyone watching, he held his wand overtop and said, “Aperta epistula.” He glared at them before saying snottily, “It’s not about being a Hogwarts student. Only people under the age of eighteen can read the paper without the spell.” Casting a last dirty look he stalked off.

Prue’s mouth fell open. “As if we’re ancient crones because we’re over eighteen?”

Her words faded out as the letters on the page began to swirl and finally settle into their true form. With a shock, she realized she was looking down at the regretful picture of herself taken outside the great hall along with another picture but this one of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with an article beneath.

 

Special Feature: Why Are Aurors Back at Hogwarts?

This week, several sharp-eyed students spotted a small group of Auror trainees walking the castle halls, including Ginny Weasley, famous sister of Ron Weasley, known for her role in the Battle of Hogwarts. Also present is none other than pureblood descendent Morrigan Duskbane. The Duskbanes, long remembered for their murky ties to dark magic and blood supremacy though their image has been rehabilitated after many years of careful philanthropy and public service. Or has it?

 

Sources say their training now includes lessons with our own Professor Pyre, though no one seems quite certain why their program has been brought inside the castle walls. Officially, it’s said to be “practical training,” but whispers in the corridors wonder if Hogwarts is under threat.

 

Adding to the intrigue, hailed heroes Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were also sighted near the Defence corridors. Is it merely official Auror business or something more? One might suspect a lovers’ reunion in the making. Are they simply here on official business or could this be a reunion of another sort? A lovers’ tryst rekindled, perhaps? We’ll let our readers decide.

 

A feeling like egg yolk running down her back spread. “You can’t be serious! How did they even get your picture?”

“Well…” Prue’s eyes were a mixture of horror and disbelief. “You let them take your picture? Have you not had one iota of media training? You’re one of the most well-known people in the wizarding world and you don’t know to never agree to have your picture taken unless you’ve pre-approved the story?”

She looked down at the article. “At least you look good.”

“The important thing.”

“Would you rather you looked awful and that’s the picture everyone in school is looking at?” When there was no reply Prue went “Mmhmm.”

At the table, the others were absolutely beside themselves looking over a copy of the Epistle but it was tampered quickly and replaced with condolences when she and Prue took a seat.

“I wonder who wrote this. They are very perceptive,” observed Saphron serenely. “They are echoing my thoughts on why we are here. I have half a mind to speak to Dan about this. It could be dangerous for us to try and mend the wards if we don’t know the full story.”

“We’re not children anymore Saphron, maybe they think we can handle it.”

Saphron peered shrewdly over at Morrigan. “If that were true, we’d have been the first to be informed. You keep children in the dark while adults fight the battles.”

Ginny felt a prickling of anger bloom and grow as she listened. Being kept in the dark…that certainly reminded her of someone. Someone who had made a visit to the castle just yesterday. Harry.

Pushing away from the table, her meal untouched, she stalked out of the great hall with her heart beating in her chest.

She reached the hall closest to dark arts classroom and leaned against the wall, wanting a moment by herself to think. Why else would he have come to the castle instead of another senior Auror? Not even together anymore and she could still feel his need to protect her like a cage, strangling her. She was certain he had some part in this…

A door opened ahead and Professor Pyre appeared out of his office. He stopped for a moment when he saw her. “Ginny! Class doesn’t start for a few minutes. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry Professor, just early. I can wait in the hall until the rest arrive.”

“Nonsense, come in. Actually, this might be a good time to practice your protego. Maybe being alone will help you to concentrate?”

She walked up to her desk and placed her quill on the wood surface. Stepping back, she raised her wand, unsure of what to expect. “Protego objectum!”

She felt a surge of power through her wand arm and a burst of light surrounded the quill, glowing for a moment before fading. Astonished, she looked at the professor. “Did it work?”

He had a pleased gleam in his eyes as he stalked over to the desk. Reaching towards the quill, his fingers attempted to penetrate an invisible force field but were repelled. He raised his hands up to clap exuberantly. “Bravo! What an extraordinary display of prowess Miss Weasley. Well done.”

She stood looking at the quill and then at her wand. Without even a single practice spell she had managed it on the first try…

She heard voices reverberating down the hall outside, her fellow aurors arriving to class. She looked quickly at the professor. For some reason, she didn’t want them to know she had cast the spell. Understanding her thoughts, he raised his wand, “Ego adimo.”

“Is that the counter spell we’ll be learning today?”

He smiled mysteriously, moving back to the head of the classroom. “One of them.”

As her friends arrived she saw they were not alone. Leading the pack was Headmistress McGonagall.

“Good morning. I thought it prudent to find you all at your first class rather than attempt to track you down somewhere within the castle.” She looked as fierce and regal as ever, if not a little more ancient. Her eyes were still sharp as a tack.

“Please, take your seats, this won’t be but a moment of your time.” They sat and waited for her to continue, their unease and displeasure restrained to listen for now.

“I understand these classes are unorthodox for the Auror program. There is a reason for that. You may be wondering why you haven’t begun your assignment.” She breathed deeply. “We have encountered what we, at this time, believe to be magical interference of some kind. The nature of it is not known. As you know, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley have been visiting the castle in their official capacity as Ministry employees. Due to their history with the school, and the events which took place here, they have been given permission to investigate the source.”

She waited for her words to sink in. “There is still, however, work to be done to keep the wards up even as they are. After your classes today, please head down to the library. The caterwauling charms in the restricted section need to be recast. More will be discussed as the situation unfolds.” She gave them a curt nod as goodbye.

“Well!” said Professor Pyre, drawing back everyone’s attention. “As promised, today we will be peeling back the skin, so to speak, of a protection spell. One such incantation is ego adimo. The rough translation means I take away. Another is exectus veritas which, in English we might say, cut away the good. In some respects, to undo a thing is to necessarily understand it more than by those from which it was made. The name for this school of thought is scire quid sit vincere. Translated literally, it means to know what it is to conquer. Ideologically, it more or less implies to know a thing is to conquer it. Why do I tell you this? The spell exectus veritas. If we are merely removing a ward, why does the spell imply we are removing good, specifically? The intention of a protection spell is in its very nature, and thus its exploitable weakness.”

“Please, begin again with your objectus cast from yesterday’s lesson. Once these are mastered today, we will move on to removing it.”

It was a long but rewarding two hours as they cast spell after spell. Finally, with 15 minutes left, Professor Pyre called a halt. Still with his hand raised he said, “Excellent work! Truly excellent. I would like now pairs. Your aim will be to cast a protego objectus charm and your partner will attempt to disable it. Barnaby and Draven,” he pointed, “Saphron you’re with Prue, and Morrigan and Ginny you two together. Begin!”

All six raised their wands in unison, shouting “Protego objectus!” All six successfully cast the protective barrier around their quills.

Stepping back, one of each pair watched as the other attempted to break the spell. Morrigan, instead of stepping forward, stepped to the side and directly behind her. “Similia similibus curantur…” he whispered into her hair, his wand down by his side but pointed at her quill. A distortion, like a ripple, shivered across the quill’s ward. She made to turn to look at him, absolutely bewildered, but he stepped the other way and brushed her shoulder. His hand grazed hers as he did so. He leaned down to her ear. “It’s holding…but strained. Like a tether pulled too many times in two directions.” Before she could speak, he suddenly and fiercely jabbed his wand as if to stab, shouting, “Duratus!”

The barrier was ensconced in ice and then abruptly shattered, ice flying in all directions. There was a collective gasp across the room.

“Well done Morrigan! Very good example of sypatico magic, but used as foil instead of boon. Very clever indeed. If you were in a house I’d award 10 points!” Morrigan made a slight, respectful bow the way a dueller might at the end of a wand fight. He turned to Ginny and smirked. “Your turn.”

Fury filled her, burning and hot, having already been close to the surface all morning. A scarlet blush appeared on her ivory cheeks, her palm moist as she gripped her wand. He leaned in close again and said only for her ears, low and seductive, “I wonder if it falls apart so easily because it wants to.”

She snapped and shoved him back, hard. He stumbled and it was with satisfaction she saw the surprise on his face. Whipping back around to his quill, she raised her wand arm high and rang out, “Protego diabolica!” a shot of blue flame burst out of the tip of her wand. She felt it’s vibration through her entire arm like a second heartbeat.

His quill was encircled by a ring of blue fire, the flame growing incandescent as it burned hotter and hotter until a final surge of flame grew and diminished, leaving only a pile of ashes and a scorch mark in the shape of a perfect circle behind.

Prue stood on the other side of the classroom, her mouth wide open. For a fleeting moment, Ginny felt invincible, but in the silence that followed she realized her hand was trembling and the air tasted like metal. She looked around, swallowing hard.

Professor Pyre broke the tension by directing the rest of the group to finish the lesson. “Perfect! Now, the rest of you, continue! We have five minutes left until the end of class!” He made as if he were going to approach her but Ginny didn’t wait.

Stuffing her quill and notebook into her bag, she turned and walked quickly out of the room, not looking up at Morrigan although he was watching her. Out into the hall, she walked as fast as possible, her head spinning. Turning a corner, she stopped and sank against the wall. She put a trembling hand to her mouth, willing her heart to slow and attempting to control her breath.

For the first time since returning to Hogwarts, she felt true fear stab her heart like an icicle, spreading a cold like the dead. It was not unfamiliar. She knew this place. A fear as familiar to her as the rooms of a childhood home, a thing she recognized instinctively, even as every step inside chilled her to the bone. Fear of herself.

--

It took a moment or two regain control. She flexed the fingers of her wand hand and brought them back in to a fist before letting go. Her mind relayed the scene of her pushing Morrigan like an angry child in front of everyone with keen embarrassment. Underneath, however, she hoped he got the message. With six brothers, she wasn’t above a scuffle when the situation called for it. Let him know that now, in fact, let them all…

Blinking rapidly to clear away her malingering thoughts, she told herself nothing was worth jeopardizing her place in the Auror program. She left for the Library, knowing everyone else would be heading down there in a minute as well.

When she approached, she saw the others in the corridor outside already waiting for her. She must have been lost in thought for longer than she thought. She was apprehensive as she walked up, afraid of what their reaction would be. It was Draven who spotted her first. “Merlin’s beard, Ginny, I knew there was a reason you were fighting death eaters as a teenager!” With cautious surprise, she smiled a little. “What a smart use of diabolica, I’ve never seen a protection spell used defensively in quite that way. You’ll have to show us how you did it.” High praise from Saphron.

She cast a quick gauging look at Morrigan despite herself, but instead of angry or hurt, he smirked at her which made her feel disgusted at having looked in his direction at all. Beside him, Prue glowered in his direction before giving Ginny a wink.

“Shall we start?” asked Barnaby. “Lets,” came Saphron’s reply.

They followed Barnaby’s lead through sections of tables and bookcases to Madam Pince’s desk in the middle of the library by the far right wall.

“Good morning Madam Pince.” She levelled her usual pinched look at him. If any of the group had grown up muggle, they might think she was the only real witch in the whole castle with her thin, vulture-like face and hooked nose.

Barnaby swallowed. “We’re here to recast the caterwauling charms on the restricted section. It shouldn’t be much of a disruption…” he trailed off, unsure what else to say.

She sniffed. “I’ve been informed.” She said, as if she had disagreed.  “I expect the utmost care will be taken to ensure there is no damage to any of the books held in this library.”

Barnaby rushed to convince her, “Absolutely, the books will be safe in our care.” He followed up with a reassuring smile that was not returned. She looked back down at her book in dismissal.

They padded softly through the library until they reached the restriction section on the other side.

“How do we know it’s not going to go off the second we step inside?” asked Draven. They looked at each other. Saphron explained, “The caterwauling charm is age and time based. During the day when Madam Pince is supervising, there’s no immediate alarm if someone enters. That restriction is only age based, anyone under 16 requires permission. At night, the caterwauling charm activates for anyone without permission.”

Draven looked like he had some ideas and said with growing excitement, “So we could go in here anytime we want during the day?”

She gave him a dirty look. “Technically yes, but remember, Madam Pince is still watching. Students can’t just waltz in and out without it looking suspicious enough for a teacher to be notified.”

He rubbed his hands together, but before he could verbalize any ill-conceived plan, she warned, “These aren’t just normal books, Draven. Some of them are dangerous. Possibly even cursed. There’s a reason it’s restricted. You have to know what you’re looking for before you come in.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, are we done with the lecture? Let’s get this spell done so we can go.”

Moving the draw rope aside, they stepped in. Looking around at the bookcases, Ginny noted a number of strange spines. Some were scaled like a dragon’s hide, some furry like their book on magical beasts had been when Hagrid was teacher, one looked almost wet like it had been dipped in black tar. Shivering, she followed further in until they reached the top of the staircase that led to the lower level.

“Okay, this is probably as good a spot as any. It gives us casting points at all corners.” They raised their wands in tandem and began the incantations. “Clamor proditorum…obex de innocentia subter sedecim… ululate in aurora noctis…”

Suddenly, the books on the shelves began to shake. A piercing cry cut through the library like a shrill scream. Ginny clasped her hands over her ears, all of them panicked, not knowing what they could have triggered. The shelves creaked under the strain of the rattling books and tombs began to fall off the shelves onto the floor, splitting open. Wails and shrieks of cursed booked added to the chaos. One of the furry books skittered across the floor and flung itself at Morrigan’s shin and tried to tear at his pants. “Repellere!” It was flung across the aisle, landing with a thump.

Translucent vapor began to rise from one opened book, rising up like spindled silk trying to form a shape. Prue lunged at the volume and snapped its cover shut, then jumped up, her wand raised.

Stumbling back, Ginny knocked into the bookcase behind her. Looking up in horror, she saw a cascade of books beginning to fall, about to come down directly on top of her. She aimed her wand up, “Protego!” holding the spell as they bounced off her shield and landed on the floor around her.

“Ginny! We have to get out of here!” Prue. Saphron beside her was harried, trying in vain to control the madness, shouting spells. “Lenire delictum! Aestus exitum!” Nothing was working.

Just as Ginny made to step forward, she spotted a curious illustration on a page of one of the books that had fallen open by her feet. It was a grotesque drawing of two figures tethered by a black thread from heart to heart. She stared as if enthralled. One of the figures was surrounded by a halo of white light, on its face an expression of frozen anguish. The other figure was a black, contorted shadow. Surrounding the figures were crude drawings of jars filled with blood, hair…

Someone grabbed her arm, shaking her back to the present. She looked up into Morrigan’s distorted face. Roughly, he swung her around in the direction of the exit and they sprinted back towards the entrance, firing repelling spells at any books that tried to attack as they fled.

Madam Pince was beside herself, shrieking almost as loudly as the haywire caterwauling charm. “What have you done?! The books!”

They heard a familiar, booming voice above the racket. “All students exit the library at once!” The lumbering figure of Dan with Professor Pyre behind him came into view as they ran up to the restricted section.

Professor Pyre flung his robes back, bellowing, “Extinguo! Dormies sicut mortui!” The charm had already started to die down as they had exited the area, but it was now completely silent. He stalked up casually, flicking his wand to return the books to their proper places, “Reparo!”

Dan looked absolutely thunderous. “Do you have any idea what could have happened waking that number of cursed books from their slumber! You’re lucky none of you were cursed outright!”

Draven tried to explain, “We don’t know what happened! All we did was cast the caterwauling charms and it must’ve triggered, I don’t know…a defense mechanism? I swear, we didn’t do anything!”

Saphon stepped up beside him. “He’s telling the truth, Dan. Something is going on here that isn’t right.”

He looked between them all, at their worn and weary faces. Softening faintly, he said, “I want you all back in your dormitory. I’ll speak with Professor McGonagall and we’ll reconvene. Go.”

Leaving the library, they talked in hushed whispers.

“Dan’s right. We were bloody lucky something worse didn’t happen. After seeing the inside of some of those books, the restricted section is the last place in the castle I want to be in.”

Saphron looked at him like I told you so but it was tempered by a small, sad smile. “There is no doubt in my mind, something is messing with the magic in the castle.”

Ginny privately agreed but made no comment. The illustration she had seen popped back into her head. “Saphron, I saw something in one of the books.”

She looked over at Ginny, waiting. Walking together, Ginny put her thoughts into words as the rest of the group listened closely. “There was a drawing of two people. One was an innocent and one was like a demon. They were tied together by a black line from heart to heart. What was it?”

Saphron looked up, thinking, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Hogwarts has always had a deeper history with dark magic than Beauxbatons. I’m afraid there are a number of spells I’m not familiar with. Do you remember what the outside of the book looked like?”

“No, but I think I remember the inscription. It said… Maledicta Animae?”

She looked sorry she couldn’t help more. Prue offered, “Maybe you can ask Hermione if she comes back to the castle?”

“The only thing it reminds me of is, maybe, sympathetic magic.”

“What’s that?” asked Barnaby.

“It’s connective magic, which might explain the line from one to the other, if that’s what you saw? Maybe two souls connected together, or one drawing power from the other. Sometimes it can even involve restoration of material things, like a precious item that was destroyed. A lock of hair, a drop of blood, a treasured possession, anything that carries the imprint of a person becomes a tether. You use the tether to reach the person. Or,” she paused, “the person can reach you.”

Disturbed, Ginny walked the rest of the way to the guest wing in contemplative silence.

Chapter 9: Unchanged Essence

Summary:

Things are heating up as Harry, Ron, and Hermione make a discovery. Ginny and the trainees expand on their lessons and Ginny catches up with an old friend.

Not long after, Dan reappeared at the door of their common room. “I’ve spoken with Professor McGonagall. Despite you all accidentally triggering the caterwauling charms in the restricted section,”—“But we didn’t!” Draven protested—“ it seems the new wards were successful, so at least that wasn’t a complete disaster. Some of the teachers had similar success in strengthening the protective wards around the castle. It’s a band aid but it’ll hold for now.”

“As far as the root problem, we’re still investigating. Hermione believes it may have to do with the extent of dark magic that was used in the castle during the final battle, even connected to the destruction of the horcruxes or the death of Voldemort himself. But right now we just don’t know.”

--

The trio walked the streets of Diagon Alley, having used the private headmaster’s floo in Professor McGonagalls office to exit the castle.  The once bustling heart of wizarding Britain was almost returned its full former glory with many long years of slow reconstruction after the effects of the death eater’s reign.

“There was nothing about horcruxes or possible lingering effects of dark magic in the selection at Flourish and Blotts. We’ll have to go to Knockturn Alley.”

“Oh, joy.” said Ron.

They made their way through the alley, the bright, colourful atmosphere slowly transforming. “Wait,” said Harry, disappearing into a nearby crevice between leaning establishments. They stood, waiting for him to reappear and looked at each other when he did not. “Boo!” said a disembodied voice behind them. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly Harry, is that really necessary.”

“Now is when you decide to get a sense of humour?” joked Ron.

“You never know,” justified Harry to Hermione, never one to pass up the opportunity to be suspicious.

The cobblestone path began to narrow, shop windows became shuttered, the garments of the witches and wizard patrons changing from vibrant, gay attire to grey and black, with hunched shoulders and unfriendly stares. No one was happy to see Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in Knockturn Alley. They heard the sound of feet scampering on the stones and doors closing as they approached.

The sun seemed barely able to reach this narrow, twisting alley, the very air pregnant with sinister intentions. Finally they arrived at a shop called Die Naschkatze, the Knockturn Alley version of Flourish and Blotts. “Here goes nothing,” breathed Hermione, and the two of them ascended the entrance stairs. The third slipped away unnoticed.

The inside appeared to be a repository of antiques. If one were to trust appearances, that’s all you would think was sold here. As necessity had dictated in her line of work, Hermione was far more familiar with the dark arts and their suppliers than she liked. Even a casual acquaintance with some kinds of dark magic left a mark, a memory was enough. She repressed a shiver at having to step foot inside but through habit, assumed the air of someone in complete command. Ron followed closely at her heels like a dark cloud, his expression a menacing promise of regret should anyone make the mistake of provoking him.  

Hermione walked up to the owner who stood behind a desk in the middle of the shop. “Mr. Schnecke,” she inclined her head. “I was hoping to peruse your…special collection. There is matter of urgency and, I trust, confidentiality, if you would be so kind as to oblige me.”

He looked them both up and down. Despite being high ranking officials in the Ministry, there was no obvious acknowledgement of greater society down these dark streets. The underworld had its own ways. Still, he didn’t fancy an unexpected raid from the Ministry and in her eyes was a look of steel despite her fine words. He gestured to his right and what had appeared to be the back wall began to morph, revealing a door which had been concealed.

“You’re more than welcome…” he grinned, revealing a mouth of grey teeth as if all the calcium had been sucked out of them. She returned a strained smile, managing not to flinch at the sight. Her parents were dentists after all… Ron stood in the doorway as she scanned spines, careful not to touch anything she did not know. In her readings, she had come across reference to a few titles she thought might be helpful. She spotted a copy of the Leyden Papyrus, an ancient Greek text containing old knowledge of plants, spells, and assorted knowledge. Her second selection was a copy of the Poetic Edda, a transcription of runes found on one of the oldest magic rune stones in the world, the Kylver Stone.

With growing disquiet, she began to read the titles of tomes even more disturbing. Linguae Mortuorum..tongues of the dead..Decima Tertia Sectio..the thirteenth severing..Laudes Hominis Vacui..in praise of the hollow man..

With a growing sense that she and Ron needed to leave as quickly as possible, she grabbed the last two books she had stumbled upon in her reading, Corpus Umbra (The Body of Shadow) and Insriptiones Damnatae (The Damned Inscriptions). The books held to her chest, they walked briskly back towards the shop door.

A menacing smile from the shopkeeper only increased her feeling of foreboding. “I pray you find what you are looking for…” his laughter followed them out into the street. She turned, looking around. The street was deserted. “Harry!” she whispered, low. A tense few seconds passed, their worry growing to a fever pitch until a soft “I’m here,” was heard behind Ron.

“Bloody hell, mate. Where did you get off to.”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to the castle. You’re not going to like it.”

“Brilliant. Haven’t liked a single thing all day, might as well keep the streak going.”

Back in Professor McGonagall’s office, the trio debriefed. “Harry! What on earth were you thinking going off in Knockturn Alley by yourself!”

His face was severe. “I thought I had seen Malfoy slinking down one of the alleys, I could’ve sworn I saw his white head.”

Hermione threw her head back, “For goodness sake Harry, he was acquitted--” “I followed him only to run into Varo Selwyn and Dorian Tharros entering Borgin and Burkes, Malfoy nowhere to be seen but I managed to squeeze in behind them as the door was closing.”

“Hermione, they bought some kind of crystal orb. I couldn’t quite catch the name but there were drawings on it. It looked like a…pair of arms? A--a stork? And a cross but it had a circle on the top.”

Hermoine stared in consternation. “Those sound like hieroglyphs…” She reached into her satchel and produced a copy of The British Museum Book of Egyptian Hieroglyphs. Flipping through the pages, following along with her finger, she read out the meanings. “Ka, the life essence…Ba, the soul…Akh, the spirit of the dead.”

The room was heavy, the weight of deepening mystery settling around them. “A soul stone?” blurted Ron. “What would Selwyn and Tharros be doing with one of those? I didn’t even know you could get one in Britain. I saw a broken one in the History of Magic museum when my family went to Egypt.”

“You shouldn’t be able to. They are strictly illegal…it must have been smuggled in.”

Harry asked, “What’s it used for?”

“Well,” replied Hermione, “Nothing, really. A very rare and expensive collector’s item. No one knows how to channel magic through the crystal, as far as I know…the ancient rituals connected to those orbs have been long gone from the historical record.”

Harry said grimly, “Until otherwise, we operate under the assumption they know how to use it.”

“Agreed.” said Hermione.

“And if they did know how to use it…what would it be used for?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, looking frazzled. She reached up to twist her hair into a bun only to have to have it slither free. “Who knows. Anything. It’s like a prism…it could be used as a conduit or a repository, an amplifier…in theory, it could even hold a soul or resurrect one.”

--

Later in her room, Ginny laid on her bed, her blank journal in front of her. How could she begin to describe the events since term started. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to think too deeply about them. After Dan had stopped by the common room, she and Prue went out to the Greenhouses hoping to see a familiar face.

They walked along the outskirts of the greenhouses as the last class of the day finished, the sun beginning to lower in the sky as evening approached. Walking up timidly, she popped her head in. Seeing Neville, she broke into a beaming smile. “Neville!” He looked up from the plant he was inspecting and grinned. “Ginny! I heard you were in castle. Causing trouble, eh?” He laughed. “Hey, somebody has to now that I’m retired.”

She quirked her lips, “Fred and George also left some pretty big shoes to fill I’m afraid, just continuing on the family legacy.”

“As you should.” He stood, his dirt stained hands on his hips.

She gestured to Prue, “This is my friend Pruewell, she’s also in the Auror program.” They shook hands. There was a brief pause. Prue offered, “I believe two of our colleagues, Saphron and Barnaby, came down the other day? They told us about some new plants you were growing.”

“Yes, I was unexpectedly able to purchase some rare seeds at a Green Thumb convention in London just before the school term started. Herbologists from all over the world come together to share knowledge and showcase some of their rarer plant species. Many that can be hard if not impossible to find in Britain. I’ll show you the nursery.”

They followed him as he exited the teaching greenhouse and walked across to the nursery. “In here,” he said, opening the door and allowing them to walk in first, “You’ll find our more eclectic collection. The other two greenhouses there,” he pointed outside the window, “house some of the more common potion ingredients for student’s use. But here is something of a personal growery.”

Prue looked at him, “Can we get closer?”

He shook his head. “Best not get too close with this lot. They don’t take kindly to being disturbed, and if I have to step in, well… I’d rather not risk hurting them.”

“I can see the, what was it called? That silver flower from here.”

He followed her line of sight to the silver bulbs atop spiralled tendrils and curved stem leaves. “That is Silvershade, native to the Star Mountains of Papua New Guinea. Very rare plant. The area it grows in is hard to reach, even for wizards.”

Prue looked at it, amazed. “What does it do?”

Neville held up his hands, “I’m still researching some of them. It’s not native to England so it’s not listed in any of our common Herbology encyclopaedias. I’m waiting on a delivery from a Herbologist in New Guinea for a written herbarium index of that region, it should be arriving in a week or two I hope.”

“Wow Neville, it’s beautiful. You’ve really done so much with the greenhouses.”

Beyond the glass panes, twilight was sinking over the grounds, soft and heavy. With a start, they realized how late it had gotten. Looking up through the glass ceiling, Ginny remarked, “At night it’s almost more of an observatory than a greenhouse.”

“That’s the beauty of glass. It lets you see out by day…then lets the night look back in.”

His words unsettled her. Prue nudged Ginny gently, a reminder it was time to go. Did she feel it too? She stepped forward to give Neville a hug. “We best be getting back. I don’t know what the rules are for adults but I don’t want to push my luck.” They both laughed.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

Back in her room, she smiled to herself. At least one good thing happened today. Seeing Neville by itself was worth all the trouble she had found so far during her short stay. Interrupting her reverie, there was a scratch at the window. She got up and opened it, a package falling into her arms from a school owl she just managed to catch as it flew back out into the night.

Sitting on her bed, she held the bundle aloft, spotting a note attached via ribbon. Placing the package on her bedside table, she pulled on one end of the ribbon, undoing the bow, and slid out a small sealed envelope.

Running her finger along the edge, she popped off the waxed seal which had an emblem of a crescent moon with a leaf inside. Opening the note, she read, “Dear Ginny. I thought this sapling might do better under your care. Our secret? Love, Neville.”

Intrigued, she placed the note down and picked up the package, moving aside the wrapper that had been loosed by the slackened ribbon. It was a Silvershade plant in a simple, silver pot, the radiant white bulb seeming to glow faintly in the dim light. A brief moment of consternation passed as she stared at the radiating bulb, her memory of Neville saying its effects were unknown slipping away.

Smiling to herself, she walked towards the sill and placed it there, picking up the note and putting it away inside her bedside drawer.

Yawning, she absentmindedly closed her still untouched notebook and put it on the floor beside her bed, a small smile on her face, and buried herself under the covers. As she slept, the moon rose higher in the sky outside as the small bulb bloomed under the moonlight, its glow seeming to pulse.

--

Standing in the Minister of Magic’s office, Harry described everything he had seen in Knockturn Alley. Kingsley’s frustration grew with every word.

“Based on the illustrations I saw, we believe it to be a Soul Stone.”

“A soul stone?! Harry, that’s neither here nor there! What in the seven hells were you doing on an off the books mission in Knockturn Alley! There are rules! These things need to be approved, logged, people need to know where you are!”

He ran a hand over his mouth. “You’re not in school anymore Harry. I’ve given you and Ron a lot of leeway to pursue any lingering death eater threads, and for good reason, but there are still protocols to follow!”

Despite the verbal reprimand, and his still unshaken belief that he was on to something, inwardly Harry was relieved. He had all but insisted on discussing his suspicion that Draco Malfoy had been involved despite Hermione’s pleads that it would be a mistake. He was glad of her advice in hindsight although he hadn’t planned on listening to it. He could only imagine Kingsley’s reaction now if he told him the entire reason he’d gone off on an unapproved recon was to follow what he believed was a glimpse of his boyhood nemesis’s hair…

“They’re planning something Kingsley, I know it. That should mean something by now.”

Cringing imperceptivity, Kingsley relented only slightly. “What do you suggest I do Harry? Arrest them for buying an inert crystal ball?”

Undeterred, Harry said, “Authorize a raid. Their houses, their places of business.”

Exasperatedly throwing up his hands, Kingsley implored, “Under what probable cause?”

Harry wished he could remember all the legal mumbo jumbo Hermione had attempted to stuff into his brain before the meeting but it seemed to have leaked out on the way here.

In the silence, Shacklebolt stood with his arms across his chest, leaning back on the edge of his desk. With a flinty look, he began, “As it happens…this isn’t the first report I’ve received.”

Harry looked indignant. Putting his hand up in a placating gesture, he continued, “There have been a handful of suspected or known death eater sympathizers in places they shouldn’t be. Hogsmeade, for one.”

With alarm, “That’s close to Hogwarts...You know we’ve been having trouble with the wards, something…messing with the magic.”

“I know,” Kingsley replied. He sighed. “Luck is on your side today Potter. All things considered it might be enough to grant a raid. But that’s all it is, luck.” A warning look, his finger pointed at Harry’s face. “You better have more than that the next time you break protocol.”

--

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dan, and Professor Pyre stood in the Headmistress’s office. The room was largely unchanged yet there were subtle, jarring differences. Standing in here, all who entered felt keenly the duality of time. The superimposed memory of how things were with the reality of how things are now. As in all things, unseen karma gives with one hand and takes away with another. The benefit of wisdom that comes with growing older earned by the loss of times past, not only those you once knew but the person you might have been then as well.

Professor Pyre paced with one hand in his robes, the other held aloft in entreatment. To himself as much as to those around him, he questioned, “What possible use could a soul stone be to a death eater? If there can even be said to be such a thing as a death eater now that Voldemort is gone. Other than Voldemort, and those of his inner circle locked away in Azkaban, who among that rabble could command the power for such rituals?”

Professor McGonagall listened gravely. “A fair question.” She looked to Harry and the others followed suit.

Harry shook his head, adamant. “That doesn’t matter! What matters is they are attempting to use it! If it’s not this it’ll be something else. What matters is they are re-gathering their forces.” He met everyone’s eyes, always the one to stand alone in the end and used to it by now. He had lived a confrontation like this so many times his life may as well be this single moment repeated forever. “They’re planning something.”

“Dark forces are always gathering, Harry,” put forward Dan with careful inflection. “Behind every light is the shadow it casts. It’s important you don’t start seeing shadows everywhere you look.” He could tell Harry was resistant to his attempt at guidance. He continued, “If that’s all you see, you’ll become the very thing you’re fighting against.”

Harry turned to face him. “You know, I’ve heard that. That’s what people said about Mad Eye Moody but he was right wasn’t he. Kidnapped and impersonated by a death eater in this very castle!”

Dan nodded, his head hung over his chest before rising to meet Harry’s gaze in return. “Just a word of caution from an old Auror,” he said with a smile. Some of Harry’s anger was dampened at the words. “That said, I believe you.”

McGonagall proffered, “What has Kingsley proposed?”

“A raid.”

There was tension in the air at this pronouncement. Each of them knowing the gravity of the decision, the dangers it posed. This was not the first post-Voldemort world where raids on private residences could be undertaken as a matter of formality. The post-second war leftovers, such as they were, were unpredictable, dangerous, and as such any raid had the chance to quickly become a deadly situation.

Harry looked sideways at Dan. “Dan, you’ll be in charge of the mission. That means assigning Aurors for the task and drafting the mission parameters. Kingsley will be sending word to you on when it’s been approved and the planned location. You’ll be given blueprints if any are available.”

Dan nodded.

“Professor Pyre,” Hermione began, “I was hoping you might aid me in researching the stone. In your research, have you ever come across any references to rituals or spells in connection to it?”

“Certainly I have but all in the realm of myths. Ancient Egyptian magic is indistinguishable from its sacred beliefs. Trying to separate fact from fiction would be like attempting to split a unicorn hair down the centre. I don’t believe it can be done.” At seeing her face, he bowed, “But I will help you try.”

“Is there any connection between the death eater movements and the instability of our wards?” asked the Headmistress. “It’s awfully circumspect.”

Harry replied, “Kingsley implied it’s possible, with them being sighted as near as Hogsmeade, but…”

Hermione finished, “There’s no concrete connection and currently no plausible explanation for the wards. I haven’t ruled out any possibilities.”

“We may require your students’ assistance, Dan, more than we had hoped at this stage. If there is indeed a death eater faction, active, it will require the attention of the Ministry Aurors. We still need constant upkeep of the warding enchantments.”

Harry supplied, “It might be time to restart their training sessions. Combat.”

“Professor Pyre?” Asked McGonagall. “Do you have the time to supervise training and duels?”

“If that is what is necessary for the protection of the school, I am happy to oblige.”

“Good. I think that’s all for today?”

Harry nodded.

Leaving the office from the Gargoyle staircase, Harry and Hermione walked in silence until they were alone down the corridor. Professor Pyre back to his office, presumably, Dan to update Ginny and the rest, and Ron home to Susan.

“I better get to the library and start going through those books I picked up in Knockturn Alley,” said Hermione.

“Right.”

As she continued on to the library, Harry still following beside, she peered over at him out of the corner of her eye. Beside her physically but mentally miles away.

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to be researching too then?”

He looked over at her as if only just remembering where he was and that she was still there. He smiled sheepishly.

“Are you staying in the castle?” She almost succeeded in sounding nonchalant. Are you staying in the castle for work or for something else? was unsaid. He lived in Grimmauld place but seemed to have an aversion to living anywhere alone, which was in complete odds with his tendency to go off solo at every given opportunity.

“Ah, I don’t know. I suppose I should go home and get some rest. McGonagall offered me one of the unused teachers quarters…I might take a walk around the castle. I need to think. I’ll see you?”

“Bye Harry.”

--

That morning, Ginny woke as if she had been sleeping in a cloud. The worries of the past few weeks seemed far away as light shone in through the sheer white curtains hung at her window, birds chirping outside. Beyond the glass pane, leaves were still clinging to green though the mornings were starting to cool and the nights beginning to chill, marking the slow approach of fall.

The weekend had passed with little fanfare, after their discussion with Dan about combat training and the increased danger they might have to face now that they might have to repair the wards alone.

His words replayed in her head, intruding on the serene blanket of sunrise that beckoned her into this new day.

“Things are heating up out there.”

They sat around the common room, sprinkled across the couches and arm chairs, listening soberly.

“A raid is in the works to sniff out any death eaters that might be trying to regroup. We don’t have any details right now beyond that.”

Draven looked as serious as she had ever seen him, a vision of the future Auror he would become. “Do you need us?” Morrigan in the armchair beside him looked cut out of shadows, his long limbs taunt, the hand on the end of the armrest too relaxed to be anything but forced nonchalance.

Dan smiled at the offer. “No. But the castle does. Your training for the final evaluations will be getting fast tracked, starting with additional combat lessons with Professor Pyre. We lost a number of good Aurors in the war. Without knowing the extent of any potential death eater movement, we might need all hands on deck.”

A moment for them to digest. “I’ll update you when we know anything more.”

“Who’s going on the raid instead?” Prue, cutting through the extraneous to get to the heart. Another future.

“Potter,” began Dan, and Ginny closed her eyes. “Ron Weasley, myself, McManners, and Ward.”

“Only five of you?” Saphron, asking the poignant questions.

“We’ll make do. It’s only an exploratory raid, it’s possible we won’t find anything at all.”

The morning passed in a blur, a peaceful interlude, at the end of which loomed their anxiety like an encroaching dark cloud with the promise of storms. Today brought another class with Professor Pyre, this time a charms lesson, or so it became clear.

"Charms is another essential mastery for Aurors. Why? Among many other uses, it can help you to identify a cursed object. Charms may change or enhance something by changing its behaviour, modifying how it interacts with the world, by adding or subtracting qualities…but it cannot alter a things essential nature. Appearances lie…Dark objects often resist being changed in essence, if they can be changed at all. You can soften the surface, but not the will behind it. A cursed shackle will always bind, no matter how pleasant it seems."

"Today, laid out for each of you, are a selection of charmed objects. Some of them are cursed. Your task will be to safely determine which ones are cursed by cleverly deducing which essential element remains unchanged."

Arranged before Ginny were six objects. A pristine dagger, a flower vase, a rattling chest, a floating necklace, and an inkpot with a quill.

She stood before the items, unmoving. Which were safe to touch? The first spell that popped into her head was revelio. She cast it over the items. The shining, sharp dagger transformed into a rusted, dull knife. The first and easiest object was identified as not cursed. A knife charmed to look more threatening than it was. Feeling emboldened to grasp the handle, she pressed the tip into a piece of parchment. It was scarcely able to poke through.

Moving on to the vase, a wonderful scent drifted up from the violet flower it held. Cautiously stepping closer, she bent forward to smell and happened to peer down into the vase. Inside were the plants dead roots, covered with mould. Charmed to give off a continuously pleasant scent and appearance but the flower inside was still decayed. Not cursed.

Next, the chest. It moved ever so slightly, the metal lid rattling noisily, as though something were trapped inside. But whether or not to open it? The box had no lock, there was nothing to alohamora. She cast wingardium leviosa, hoping to target the lid only, but the whole box rose into the air before floating down again. Finally she pointed her want and said, “Silencio!” The racket stopped. Only…she leaned closer, her ear poised to the chest. She could still hear a faint thrum, or was it not heard but felt? Something alive inside that could not be ceased by silence alone. There was a familiarity in that which was repressed. Confidently she marked this one: cursed.

She peered up at the necklace, inspecting its details. It was ornate, sterling silver set with rectangular, green emeralds. Remembering a spell she had heard Hermione use, she cast, “Specialis revelio!” Only the spell was confused by the wingardium leviosa charm on the necklace, revealing that it was indeed a magical object but she could see as much already…

Wondering, she floated the necklace delicately onto one of the training dummies standing idly by the side of the room. Nothing appeared to happen, but as she raised her wand, smoke began to waft up around the edges of the necklace. Floating it off the dummy, in its place was a burned contour. Cursed to scorch the skin of anyone who wore it.

Finally, the ink pot. She charmed the quill to write hello on her parchment but no ink came out. Peering inside, the ink pot was empty. Taking a chance, she picked up the quill with her hand. Nothing. Tentatively pressing the tip onto her parchment, she wrote hello again. It came out in red ink. With a gasp, she dropped the quill and held the back of her hand. The word appeared in a prickling red scrawl across her skin. Furious, she looked up at Professor Pyre. Where did he get this?

Before she could speak, there was a shout. She heard a scrambling of footsteps as everyone rushed over to Draven, who’s wrist had been bound by a pink lady’s ribbon. It slithered itself to wrap around as many times as its length would allow and his hand turned beet red, deepening to purple as he tried to pry it off.

“Finite incanctatem!” came the charge from Professor Pyre at the front desk. The ribbon made a sizzled sound like a dampened fire or an angry snake and slid from his wrist to the floor.

“Never let a woman’s wiles fool you!” said the professor, his laughter booming. None of the others joined. He glided around the desk and moved to inspect their object classifications, hands behind his back. “Good, good,” he commented, unclear if this was feedback or if he was talking aloud to himself.

“Ah,” he said, stopping in front of one of Saphron’s items. “This key here, you have marked it as uncursed.” Looking expectantly at Saphron, she started, looking between him and the key. With a quirk of his lips he asked, “What is your name?”

With a furrowed brow, she opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it promptly. Looking in a panic at each of the others before addressing Professor Pyre, “I – I don’t know! I…” She looked up, thinking, possibly running through every name that came to mind when he allowed, “You won’t remember it.”

Dumbfounded, they all watched as he picked up the key and turned to hold it aloft. “This is no ordinary key. You might have correctly deduced it is charmed to open any lock, as I can see by the opened locks on your table…” his hand swept down in an arc across the array of opened locks, palm up, accentuating his point. “But its price is taken from the mind of the wielder. One thing is opened and another is locked away.” He raised his wand at her, “Finite incantatum!”

She blinked, looking down and to the side as if trying to track down anything that had been taken and was now returned. “Name?”

“Saphron.” Her tension melted as the group laughed, clapping. Professor Pyre smiled thinly, “Don’t feel too badly. That was an exceptionally difficult object.” The others remained in high spirits, caught up in the spectacle, no longer watching her. No one noticed the flicker of a frown that passed across her face. Exceptionally difficult. Exceptional. The word echoed, snagging. If it took an exceptional mind, and she hadn’t managed it… what did that make her?

“Ginny!” He said, having reached her table. “How did you know this box was cursed?” They all drew closer to her selection of objects, looking them over, settling on the chest. She was apprehensive, not knowing why this called for special attention. Trepidly, she answered, “I heard it.”

He beckoned for the others to come closer and put an ear near the chest to hear for themselves. “Anything?” Draven shrugged, Morrigan looked disgruntled, as though he resented Ginny being able to hear something he did not, Saphron looked wan, and Prue’s mischievous eyes turned to Ginny instead as if to glean the answer through telepathy alone, which Ginny was absolutely sure she could if given time enough.

“There is no sound coming from the box.” He reached out casually and flipped the top open, revealing there was nothing inside. “You used silencio, yes? So what then did you hear?” A moment of silence. “Curious.” Without expanding, he swept to the front of the classroom.

“That will be all for today. Once again I urge you all to continue making your notes. Describe which objects you correctly identified, and why, or which ones were missed. Reflecting on these aspects of your training now could be the difference between life and death tomorrow.”

On that happy note, class was dismissed. His parting words letting them know their first duelling practice would be held at the same time on Wednesday.

Saphron was the first to leave, walking quickly and clutching her bag to her chest. Prue and Ginny exchanged looks but made no further mention of it.

“Have you written anything in your journal?” asked Prue as they passed through the corridor with no real direction. She shook her head no, grinning ruefully. “I suppose I should start. Maybe we should go study in the library. You know, do something responsible.”

Prue sighed. “You’re probably right.”

Chapter 10: What Dreams May Come

Summary:

Ginny has a tense chance meeting in the library. Hermione gets a visit from a mysterious owl.

The library was relatively empty, most students in their morning classes. Only a few older students could be seen studying their advanced materials, looking harried. They spotted Saphron and almost joined her but the serious look on her face stopped them. Instead they maneuvered over to a lonelier section by one of the windows, shafts of midday light shining through onto the small stable.

“So for our exam we’ll have…” Prue took out a syllabus from her book bag and read out the list of topics. “History and defense against the dark arts, naturally…charms, concealment and disguise, battle instinct and field training, potions, poisons, and antidotes…stealth and tracking, and that’s just for a start.” She placed the paper on the table, looking up with raised eyebrows at Ginny. “So just about everything it looks like. Should be no problem.” They laughed quietly and Prue sank dramatically down in her chair. “This afternoon we should get the gang together and practice some spellwork.”

Ginny had a delinquent idea. “We should see if we can track down the team without them seeing us. Perfect stealth and tracking exercise.”

“Ooo I like how you think.”

Quieting, they turned their focus onto their individual tasks. Ginny’s blank journal was laid out in front of her. With a frown, she brushed her thumb over a dried ink splotch in the upper right corner of the page, no idea how it had gotten there.

She uncapped her inkpot and dipped the tip of her quill, placing it over the page. She thought back to their first class. The ward lesson where her quill exploded. She wrote down everything she could remember, how the magic seemed to have come from some place outside of herself, past her rather than from her. She made a note, magic from the castle?

She wrote about Professor Pyre’s philosophy on removing protection spells, that is, it’s stripping away the good intention of the original caster. Understanding the purpose of the spell in order to counteract it. Know your enemy she jotted down in the margin. She remembered Morrigan stalking around her like a predator, his whispering, trying to get under her skin. She felt an unwelcomed bloom of heat that was embarrassing in the light of day and with her friend so close. She left out any personal details but wrote, asking herself, Why? Morrigan had grown to be more of a puzzle these past weeks than through all their previous time together during the program. What was motivating this bizarre change?

He would be their first target today, she decided. His words played through her head. “I wonder if it falls apart so easily because it wants to.” That and a tether pulled too many times in two directions. She wrote the quote down, for the first time really digesting that comment. What did he mean by that? She was determined to get an answer, whether she asked him directly or not.

Her bluebell spell. Why had it been so overpowered? That and the disaster that was the caterwauling ward was linked together in her mind, and now the possibility that death eaters were regrouping and planning something. She was left with nothing but questions but isn’t that always the first step?

Thinking about the upcoming raid, another name surfaced. Harry.Harry in the castle and they’d not exchanged one word. Instead of sadness it was shame she felt, a great gulf of loneliness now that he was gone, ashamed that her life without him could feel so empty with just one appearance from him. Through the mundane matters of the everyday it was easy to live on the surface, moment by moment passing, nothing seeming amiss. Until you’re faced with the person that had made the world seem like a magical place, that gave depth to all those shallow things and you’re reminded of how pale your existence has become without them, deprived of vibrancy. The diary was opening up wounds she’d rather not linger on.

It’s not that her life was really ever empty, exactly. She had never wanted for friends, or family, or people around her, or even relationships…but she maintained a safe distance. It’s part of what made her so easy to get along with. At one time in her life she had felt such desperate need for companionship and poured all of her trust into one thing, one person, and that…

She stopped writing. She looked up at Prue to see if she’d noticed, her feelings which felt so loud inside, surely others could sense it, but she was occupied in her books and perfectly oblivious. Deciding to pivot, Ginny got up to browse along the selection of books, looking for something pertaining to any of their Auror subjects.

They happened to be in the dragon section, so she kept walking, skimming past titles like they were jumping stones across a river. Magical beasts…magical objects…charms…Getting into the spells section, she lingered, unsure where exactly she had walked to in the library. As someone who came here less often than she should, and after many years away from the school, it was practically a labyrinth.

Her fingers tap danced along the spines absentmindedly, starting to drift off in thought, when she heard, “Ginny…” Startled, she looked around. There was no one in the aisles in her line of sight. She peered out from around the end of the bookcase, looking down the long row stretching from left to right with aisles of bookcases on either side. Deserted.

Spinning back around, ready to brush it off as an errant daydream, she collided directly into another student’s chest. Their hands grabbed the sides of her arms to steady her and she looked up into Morrigan’s lowered face, his hair hanging down in front of his forehead.

“And this is a future Auror?”

She shook her shoulders free of his hold and scowled at him. “Were you calling me?” she demanded, her voice sounding shrill to her own ears, wanting to blame him for their unfortunate clash.

He looked down his nose at her, “Why would I call you? I didn’t even know you were in the library.” Not looking away, his gaze became more intense but his tone was casual, “Why, did you hear something?” Feeling like a pinned insect about to be dissected, she gave him a scathing look and turned to walk away down the aisle. All thoughts of confronting him from her journaled plans, made just minutes before, completely wiped from her mind. He called after her, “So quick to run away but you’re always being caught.”

She whirled around. “What did you just say?”

He moved towards her, menacing, always aware of his imposing stature and never shameful about using everything he could to his full advantage. She struggled to understand the way he was looking at her, something so intense, not quite hatred and not quite desire. Or maybe it was both and they were at war with each other.

“Maybe that’s what you want.”

“What are you talking about?” she gritted out in a forceful whisper, trying very hard not to yell at him in the quiet library. Instead of answering, she watched as his gaze flicked down to her lips. Her breath hitched in her chest and her own lips parted, a tingly feeling spreading down the back of her neck. He braced himself with one arm raised up just over her head, his hand pressed flat against the bookcase, the other reaching forward as if he were going grab the base of her skull.

“Ginny?” A loud whisper from Prue, somewhere just out of sight but close enough to hear clearly. Morrigan dropped his arm and brushed past her, jostling her shoulder harder than necessary as he swept by and disappeared into another aisle.

“Ginny? Hello?”

“Prue! I’m here.” Ginny called weakly as she walked towards the sound of Prue’s voice, her heart thumping.

--

Their first target had been Saphron, naturally, knowing she was close by in the library. She was so engrossed in her study she didn’t notice Ginny approaching from behind until she clamped her hands down onto Saphron’s shoulders. She gasped, looking up into her friends laughing faces, her fright souring into anger. “I can’t believe you two. Honestly. I could have screamed!”

Prue pouted. “Hey, we’re practicing. It’s called stealth and tracking and it’ll be on the test you know.”

Ginny placated, “Come with us. We’re going to try and track down the rest of the team without being seen.”

From a preternatural sense for the feelings of others, Prue added, “We could really use your expertise,” and waggled her eyebrows like it was a pick up line. Unable to repress a small smile, she sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine.” She brought a finger to her lips, tapping. “I think I might have an idea of where Draven has gone…” she said, looking devilish.

They walked around the outside of the castle, trying to approach the quidditch pitch unseen. As they got closer, they heard the shouts and hubbub of a crowd with the intermittent crack of a beaters bat on a bludger. Coming into view, more interested in the bustle than surprising Draven, they saw what looked to be quidditch try outs for the Gryffindor team this year with a number of other students watching from the stands.

They walked up to the wooden bleachers, looking into the group on the ground to see who was trying out this year. There were an assortment of sizes from hopeful second years up to burly sixth and seventh, dwarfing their younger teammates in comparison. With a jolt, Ginny spotted Harry in the middle of the field, talking with the captain of the team. He was pointing around in the air and using his hands to demonstrate what looked like plays, the captain on the other side listening intently and nodding every so often. She almost smiled until a picture of Morrigan leaned over her flashed in her mind.

With guilt, she swallowed and looked away into the stands. She spotted Draven in the crowd and was thankful for the distraction. Pointing, she exclaimed, “There’s Draven! Barnaby is with him. Let’s go up.” They ascended the steps and shimmied through the stands to sit together.

She leaned over and said loudly, above the din, “How long have the try outs been going on?”

Draven glanced over quickly before looking back down at the pitch, his attention shifting between her and the players as he responded. “Not too long, maybe 20 minutes. They’ve just finished selecting their beaters. I think they’re setting up the Chasers next.”

On cue, the Captain extracted the Quaffle from the quidditch chest and threw it in the air, batting it up to one of the teams Chasers already flying above. They watched as she passed the Quaffle to one of the new players, back and forth until they reached the goal hoops protected by the team’s keepers. The new player dipped left, then shot right, hoping to shoot the quaffle in the small opening left by the keeper following their feint. Unfortunately for the player, the keeper merely did a horizontal 180, hitting the quaffle away with the bush of their broom.

There was a spattering of applause in the crowd with murmurs of “Awe” and “Good try!” A group of girls squeezed onto the bleacher behind them, giggling to each other. Ginny heard snippets of their comments. “Oh my god, is that Harry Potter?!” “It is! Oh my god, it’s him.” “We have to go say something.”  Good luck catching him, she thought. The most famous wizard alive and the least interested in it.

Prue heard as well and gave her a teasing look, Ginny was just thankful they hadn’t noticed her sitting there. They watched the rest of the try outs, the seekers auditioning last as usual. She watched as Harry gave them advice, acting like an old mentor. She watched his mouth move, unable to hear what they were saying so far away, his words eaten up the chatter of the crowd.

As they climbed down from their vantage seats, the stadium clearing, a cool wind whipped at her hair, the air crisp as the temperature dropped with the setting sun. Tucking her hands into her sleeves, she looked over at Harry as they stepped onto the grass of the pitch and he looked up in her direction, their eyes meeting over the Captains shoulder.

Harry pat the boy on the top of his shoulder, saying some final words. Ginny lingered a moment, watching, unsure whether to stay or leave. She turned and started heading back to the castle, a few moments into her departure Harry jogged up beside her.

“Hey!” He said, a little breathless from the run, bits of his hair flying around in the wind. “I saw you in the stands.”

Surprised, she said only, “Oh.”

They walked in tandem, Harry with his hands in his pockets, silent for a moment. He struggled to find something to say.

She commented, “I saw you giving the Captain some pointers.”

“Yeah!” He latched on like a lifeline, his response overly enthusiastic. Clearing his throat, he continued more subdued, “He found me in the corridor and asked if I’d come out to oversee the try outs. Good team this year.”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

They were mute again as they entered the castle, walking in the direction of the great hall for dinner. He was so close to her now but the distance hadn’t changed. There still lay a gulf between them, and she might be able to hear his words now, but the image of a mouth moving with no sound coming out stayed with her.

Quietly, she said, “When is the raid happening?” By the way he reached up to run his hand through his hair, a time buying gesture, she could tell this was a topic he didn’t want to discuss with her. Her mood grew as cold as the wind outside.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said haltingly, “I’m expecting word from Kingsley this week. It’ll probably be soon after that, once the plans have been made.”

She nodded but made no reply. He looked over as if testing the waters. He asked, “How’s your training going?”

She smiled but it was fake. “Good, it’s going good.”

He nodded a few times, somewhat jerkily. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

They reached the great hall, an awkward moment as they both stalled, the discord coming from what used to be second nature. Sitting together, eating together, versus the present, where they each belonged to different places. “I’ll see you,” she said, the first to break away and sit with her friends. She didn’t turn to see where Harry went but she spotted him later at the Gryffindor table with Hermione, close to the teachers. Unbeknownst to either were the narrowed eyes of Morrigan.

She told herself later she could have made more of that moment. She could have said something. A part of her wanted him so desperately that the other half almost hated him for it. His looks and his little words were just enough to hurt her but not enough to repair the damage. Her coldness was an unfair punishment when he had never really done anything wrong, at least not intentionally. It was impossible to reason with your heart.

--

Hermione sat working at her desk, it was pitch black outside the window in front of her. Another late night. Piles of books were stacked around the living room of her little cottage in Shere. It was a humble, private home where the outside belied the riches within. It was surrounded by greenery on all sides as tall bushes grew around the edges of the property like a shield, with vines running up the sides of the house itself. A small gazebo sat in the pasture in her backyard, a place she often sat to read.

She was reading passages from the Poetic Edda, hoping for some clue about the magic of the ancient ward stones that surrounded Hogwarts.

The Jötuns I remember
early born,
those who me of old
have reared.
I nine worlds remember,
nine trees,
the great central tree,
beneath the earth.

There was in times of old,
where Ymir dwelt,
nor sand nor sea,
nor gelid waves;
earth existed not,
nor heaven above,
'twas a chaotic chasm,
and grass nowhere

Definitely not the most light hearted bed time story she’d ever read. She had thought she might find something to help her connect with the old norse rune magic by reading their ancient texts but it was of no real practical use. They believed the world would end in fire, they called it Ragnarok, and out of the slain masses two people would rebuild the world. Not as relevant as she’d hoped… but it wasn’t a total waste. Some of the history and side by side transcriptions could potentially help her piece together some layered meanings on the runestones around the school.

Sighing, she brought her steepled hands to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. Smoothing them out, down the sides of her face and curling one under her chin, she stared out the window, only seeing her own reflection staring back at her. She thought back to something Dan had said to her the night they’d had that meeting in Professor McGonagall’s office.

She had gone to the library and was searching through a mountain of books when he’d come up to her table to wish her a goodnight, seeing her from the corridor on his way back from the guest wing. “Books won’t hold you when you’re old, girl.” Tell that to her many suitors why don’t you.

Ruefully, she blinked back to the present, only the vision of her face in the window fluttered. She cocked her head, staring at the reflection when she realized there were a pair of angry orange eyes peering through the glass where her own should have been. She nearly jumped out of her chair and stumbled back further into the room, looking frantically for her wand. She heard one squawk, then another. Finding her wand and holding it ajar, she straightened and paused, facing the black window. She heard another indignant squawk coming from outside. It was followed by the unmistakable tapping of an impatient owl’s talon on the glass.

Cautiously, wand in hand, she approached the window. She reached over and unlatched it, pushing the panel open slowly. A giant black and white tufted owl swooped in over her head and chucked the parcel it was carrying onto her couch. Gliding back around in a grand arch, it landed onto her desk and hopped up to perch on the window ledge. Waiting expectantly for its treat, Hermione was still spluttering when the owl snapped its bill in irritation. At a loss, she nevertheless went to the kitchen for something suitable. She came back out tentatively holding a dehydrated chickens foot used for potions. With a look of absolute disdain, the owl drew itself up and took off into the night.

Closing the window and making sure to latch it, just in case, she stared at the package. It looked harmless enough, but… she cast a myriad of identifying spells, none of which reacted. So, a non-magical object. The rectangular shape looked like a book. She stepped closer and unwrapped it, revealing a tome titled Tenebris Vitae. Sitting down slowly, she opened the book.

Inside were depictions of dark, graphic rituals, with drawings of people and grotesque shadow figures. It looked like instructions on how to perform sacrifices, blood magics…The last ritual showing what appeared to be a man linked to a shadow. How strange, she thought. Who would send me this?

She marvelled at the age of the text. It looked to be ancient, bound with aged leather and hand sown. The pages she handled as if they were made of crepe paper, afraid they would disintegrate under her touch. The writing was some form of old English from what she could tell. Words like blótan, cwyld-seten, un-deádlíc, deáp-scúa. She would need to get started on the translation right away.

Quickly packing a bag of things, she carefully wrapped the book and laid it inside. Walking up to her fireplace, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped in. “Hogwarts!”

--

That evening, Ginny spent her remaining hours before bed in the common room, half her attention on her own studies and the other half unobtrusively enjoying the company of the rest of her team. Barnaby and Draven were engaged in a serious game of wizard’s chest with at least one of them trying very hard to impress Saphron, Ginny unconvinced it wasn’t both of them. Saphon, for her part, was remote, barely acknowledging the existence of anything beyond her books and parchments. Even Morrigan had found himself here, but still standoffish, much like a cat that follows you into every room and acts as if it was by complete coincidence.

Prue was transfiguring a gobstone into a butterfly and then a shield charm around its fluttering figure. When the butterfly started to fade in and out of focus, she muttered her goodnights and headed off to her room.

She dropped her books and bag at the foot of her bed and began getting undressed, donning her night shorts and a loose t-shirt. Gooseflesh prickled on her exposed skin with the chill breeze coming in from the open window and she made her way over to close it shut, smoothing the thin curtain over any exposed glass. She looked fondly at the flower from Neville as she turned towards the bed, crawling onto it into the middle. She flicked her wand and the lights went out, leaving her open eyes to take in only the dark of the room. Closing them, new scenes began to play in her mind’s eye. Moving pictures of moments with Harry, with Morrigan, a mixture of real and embellished. The moment he looked at her lips replayed in her mind and she wondered where else it would have gone if Prue hadn’t found her at that exact moment. She shuddered to think. Imagine having to deal with his ego after that. She was grateful, she decided… She drifted into sleep within a playground of imagined scenarios, a tapestry of what-ifs woven without consequence, without conscience, safe in their unreality.

But as night swelled to its heaviest hour, the moment when darkness feels eternal, the silvershade on her windowsill began to bloom. It opened slowly, obscenely, its petals parting with the sticky patience of lips being forced apart. The room itself seemed to slip into a dream state, illuminated faintly by the flower’s pulsating luminescence.

Ginny’s figure tossed and turned as though at sea, tangled in the white sails of her sheets, a body laid to unrest.

Lips, kissing. Hands gliding up. Breaths given and taken. Her hand is in Morrigan’s hair as he moves from her mouth to her neck and she strains her head back, eyes closing. He moves down, down, his teeth grazing under her collarbone, pulling in the skin under his teeth as he sucks, devouring her. His hands slide down the inside of her arms as they lay above her head, following his movement down the length of her body. He reaches her navel before he stops, changing direction.

As he makes his way back up, something wordless has changed. She tries to look down but can see only the top of his hair. His hands slide back up over the hollows of her under arms as his mouth ascends, a caress that turns into a hold, just under her elbows, squeezing, pressing her down into the mattress. She can’t muster the strength lift her upper body. With growing claustrophobia, she tries to twist to the side, unsure if she’s writhing in pleasure or fear, and his knee comes up to capture her inner thigh, pinning it open.

Using only teeth now, he slithers up the valley between her breasts and she watches, enraptured or horrified, and his hair looks different. Smoother, darker, like a raven, but when he lifts his head up and opens his mouth it’s the cawing of a crow that comes out.

With a great, shuddering draw of breath like an inverted scream she’s wrenched awake, pulled like a marionette on a string into a sitting position, her chest heaving. She sucks in a breath like someone who’s just avoided drowning and some astral self settles back into her body as the sunlit room comes into focus. Birdsong twinkles, muted, somewhere out in the promise of vibrant green outside her window, the flower innocently sleeping in its pot. All things as she had left them.

The dream has already begun to fade, the monsters in the dark a forgotten thought in the light of day, and she kicks away an errant slip of sheet that had wrapped around her foot as she gets out of the bed. Like the fear of a child who’s grown up, it lays lifeless, powerless. Waiting.

--

Harry had sent an urgent message to Ron to meet him and Hermione at his lodgings in the one of the unused teacher’s quarters of the faculty tower after she had found him that morning, tired but exuberant.

Ron arrived, slouching off his rucksack to the floor by the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

They sat in Harry’s living room, forming a loose circle around the couch with Ron and Harry in armchairs facing Hermione. “So?” Asked Ron.

Hermione produced the book from her bag and unwrapped it. “What is it?” he asked.

“This,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, “is called Tenebris Vitae. Roughly, it means from the shadows of life or of the darkness of life. It doesn’t cleanly translate to English, but its close enough.”

They waited for her to continue. “An owl came to my cottage last night and delivered it.”

Ron leaned forward, “Did it say who it was from? Did you recognize the owl?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know who, what, or how, but someone out there knows more than they’re letting on.”

Harry was concerned. “What makes you say that?”

She spoke determinedly, “This book is, based on my translations…the precursor to the Horcrux.”

“Precursor?”

She stood, pacing. “The spell to create a Horcrux, while incredibly obscure to most witches and wizards, was a fully developed piece of magic. I’ve long wondered if it wasn’t the first attempt at such a spell but merely the latest in a long line of dark magic, and personally the most appealing to Voldemort.”

Sitting back down and holding it up, she said, “I’ve spent all night translating the text. This book details graphic rituals of human sacrifice,” a disgusted look from Ron, “stealing the essence of other living creatures to elongate life, and…the final passages are instructions on how to perform a ritual killing, the purpose of which is to, I think, bind a tether to life through the act of murder. In so doing, it says, you create a shadow self in the nether realm as a means to thwart death…”

A feeling of foreboding came over Harry as he sat rigidly, absorbing her words.

“The Horcrux was not the original spell, there was something much older that came before it, and this is that spell. A shadow self.”

Ron looked perplexed, asking, “But what is the difference between this and a Horcrux?”

“Good question,” she said, as if she had wondered that herself. “Unlike a Horcrux, this appears to be much more than a mere imprint or memory. This would have the power to capture a completely autonomous shadow self and bind it to existence. The dark twin of a full soul.”

“I translated the entire text but I found nothing about what its purpose is or how the shadow could help the caster live beyond death. This is merely the instruction manual for the ritual itself. It’s written in a version of old English dating back to the Bronze age.”

“Who would have sent this to you?” Harry.

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, blowing out air through her lips. “No idea.”

“It would have to be someone who’s tracked your movements to know you’re involved. I don’t like it.”

“Not necessarily. Who wouldn’t assume, if there is death eater activity, that one of the three of us is involved? It’s a pretty safe assumption.”

Harry wasn’t convinced. “The owl knew where you lived.”

She looked at him like he was adorable. “Unfortunately public record, Harry. I am an official ministry employee. The security measures used for Aurors don’t extend to other ministry employees.”

“That is bloody ridiculous,” chimed in Ron.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “I have more than enough protective enchantments on my cottage. It’s perfectly safe.”

“If you say so,” came the grudging reply.

“Let’s focus on the book, not me, shall we?!”

“Alright, alright,” he said quickly.

Harry added, “But if anything else happens…let us know.”

“Of course I will.”

Chapter 11: A Character Study

Ginny walked alone across the grounds under the guise of visiting Hagrid’s hut. It was still before noon and though the forest was still mostly green, and certainly the tall pines were, some of the sycamores and beech tree’s leaves had begun turning to yellow, orange, and red. Today she wore a dark maroon sweater with a loose turtle neck, one of her Mom’s more fashionable creations, the effort saved for her only daughter.

There was something whimsical about fall. Only just approaching, a suggestion of it in the whisper of leaves, but still she felt its enchantment. To her fall felt like romance, that teeter on the edge of the long dark bleak of winter, though winter held spells of its own of course. Fall is like permission to live in the moment because you know it will end soon, and that’s the real comfort. It’s not really enjoying the present at all; it’s observing its imminent end. By the end of summer, what had been a joyous throwing off of the weight of winter starts to feel like its own straining shackle as the jailbreak of sun becomes unrelenting heat and limitless possibility without weather’s restraint starts to feel like a prison of unlimited choice.

But she had to say she felt in love with each new season as it came and each one felt like her favourite, and maybe the only constant was her love of beginnings and change and endings. The slow ripen of summer into the slow rot of fall, the still death of winter, and the phoenix rising from the ashes like the first few sprigs of spring. Just enough to feel different for a time but you always caught up with yourself in the end, didn’t you.

Approaching his hut, she peered in through the window from where she stood at a distance, but it seemed clear he was not at home. Did she think he wouldn’t be? She walked to the right, observing his back garden, empty of him as well. From here she looked into the forest through the trees, tempted to keep walking inside past the threshold of its tree line into mystery. Resisting the urge, she continued walking along the perimeter, still quite far and safely away from the forest itself, meandering along in a direction which would take her eventually to the shore of the black lake, the long way between the owlery and green houses and the surrounding stone walls.

This would have been a good day to fly, she thought. She wondered if she could accio a broom from all the way out here or whether it would just jiggle in some cupboard, trapped and trying to break free, giving someone a fright. She smiled to herself at the thought. She felt a pang of heat suddenly, less from the sun and more from the resurfaced thought of her looming examinations which she felt the pressure to prepare for in every free moment.

One skill she hadn’t spent enough time on was occlumency…she could sit around the edge of the lake and practice her meditation. Finding a new purpose for her walk, the invisible burden felt lighter, having to strike a bargain with herself for permission to feel at peace. She tried now as she walked to clear her mind, focusing on breathing only, eyes fluttering in intervals, wanting to close. She stopped while passing the greenhouses and didn’t begin again until she reached the pebbled sand around the water.

As she sat cross-legged with her hands on her knees, she focused on the firelit black of her closed eyelids. Hues real or imagined shimmered in her sight, the rays of the sun somehow still penetrating. Trying not to think at all, she attempted not even to see, even though that should have been easy enough with her eyes closed. Everything seemed to fall away as though the world had just been suspended particles that were now collapsing down around her, leaving her floating in a void ocean.

As she sank deeper into meditation, her mind grew wide and empty. In the echo chamber of nothingness, she drifted weightless, as she was both there are not there. In the silence though grew another sensation, and the quiet started to not feel like her own. It became a chamber where she was not the observer but the observed. Her feeling of being adrift intensified starkly as another sensation grew, that of something nameless moving below. Immense and unseen, ascending from the depths, hurtling towards her. Her eyes popped open and she scanned the lake’s surface, suddenly sure the kraken would break the waterline at any moment.

Meditating here had been a mistake. She pushed herself up, brushing sand from the back of her pants. As she retreated up the shore, the feeling clung to her like the sand. As if whatever stirred in the depths of her mind had not sunk back down, but was following her retreat up the shore, her own third eye watching herself depart, and the water never rippled.

--

She re-entered the castle through the boat house path up from the lake, the wood creaking eerily as the boats dipped and bobbed in the water from waves of unknown cause like a ghost house. As she walked along the corridor that led past the divination tower, she started to hear sounds of alarm and scuffling of feet rebound down the walls. She picked up speed, straining to reach the turning point of the hall that on Friday’s might have a staircase though she expected none today.

Wisps of grey smoke unfurled before her as she rounded the corner to see students covering their mouths with robes and sleeves, running in different directions, trying to escape the smoke but not sure which way to go.

Her eyes darting around, they fell on the torches lining the walls. Instead of enchanted fire they were burning dark as night, spitting out great big plumes of black smoke, quickly filling the hallway and blotting out all ability to see. Trying to think, she cast, “Aqua eructo!” but it had no effect on the ink like flames. Quickly losing vision, she tried, “Finite incantatem!”

Her coughs joined the chorus around her, her eyes stinging as she squinted to keep them open, students beginning to panic and someone screamed. Others followed and soon it was complete pandemonium, students jostling in the dark, trying to run or else grabbing onto the nearest person they could grab. “Glacius! Immobulus!” She began to feel afraid to cast in case she accidentally hit someone. Her shoulder was cuffed as someone pushed past her and she waded back slowly, trying to feel for the wall behind her.

Now or never. She wracked her mind, thinking back on everything Professor Pyre had said about how all spells can be undone by the fatal flaw of their own purpose…What is the purpose of dark but to conceal? “Lumos maxima! Incendio bluemora!”

The hall erupted in light and heat, beating back the dark and cold of the perverted torches. The bluebell flame sucked in all the dark air around it like a vortex, feeding on the dark and burning brighter, the black flames cowed by the power of the lumos and shrinking away like tendrils of devil’s snare. Quickly at first and then slowly, the corridor began to reappear.

Teachers and students from nearby rushed to the scene, trying to see what had happened. Ginny’s spells puttered out as the last bit of energy from the dark spell was spent, leaving little behind except faint wisps of smoke rising to the ceiling. She felt a pair of eyes and turned to look at Professor Firenze who stood unnoticed at the turn of the hall where she had entered from.

He beckoned with a wordless look and turned around the corner. She followed. They walked silently to his divination room, away from the ears of others.

Once inside, he turned to face her, his gaze both serene and grave. “Though I have walked long in the company of men, their path is not the path of my kind. Centaurs do not contend with the turnings of mortal fortune. We read the heavens, but we do not seek to change their course. To us, man and beast alike are but fleeting sparks beneath the endless sky. A single ripple does not alter the course of the sea. And yet…” His voice softened, his eyes fixed not on her but somewhere far beyond. “Once, I stood where I should not have stood. I may yet do so again.”

She waited, uncomprehending. Still, she hardly dared to breathe as if a single unaligned step would disrupt this fragile, pivotal moment.  “The first rise of The Dark Lord was not the only future we foresaw in the stars. The heavens now tell of a shadow that rises, not from above or below, but from within. Beware the light that turns in on itself, for it blinds more surely than darkness.”

He turned away to look out of his classroom window and spoke no further. She wanted to ask more but knew he had said all he would say and might only risk offense. She backed out of the room, just missing the doorframe and walked the way she had come, not wanting to run into anyone still by the torches, not wanting to have to talk to anyone.

The castle walls made no remark as she passed through them. The portraits were silent. The floor absorbed the sound of her steps, not even the barest echo could be heard. The enormity of the castle grew in the silence and seemed to press upon her this message: you are small.

Much was the same as it had been all those years ago. But this time, something had changed. Someone had noticed. She wasn’t invisible as her 11 year old self had been. Would it be enough?

--

That night, Ginny’s head tuned restlessly from side to side on her pillow, her brow furrowed.

They walked, hand in hand, through the forest. Up ahead through the thinning of trees she could see the expanse of the black lake. A crow perched on a tree branch nearby cawed and took flight, soaring overhead. As she followed its path, the full moon was revealed through a break in the tree tops.

A rustle of fall leaves stirred, their dead, dehydrated carcases scratching like nails along the forest floor as they resisted being dragged away by the wind. Their skin glowed white in the silver light of the moon, their held hands before her as he lead the way through the trees. He was tall and dark haired and her attention was consumed by the enrapture of the moment.

Their lovers walk brought her to the shore, the water black and still, beckoning. As she looked down onto the surface at their reflection, his face was distorted by a ripple. Instead of looking up at him, she looked out over the lake, waiting.

This time she didn’t wake with a gasp, only sunk further into sleep, as still as the dead.

Chapter 12: Maledicta Animae

Summary:

The Auror's have their first combat lesson. Hermione runs into someone unexpected at the Ministry.

Ginny woke, groggy, to the sound of pounding. At first she wasn’t sure if it was coming from inside her head or outside of it until she heard Prue’s voice. “Ginny! Are you still asleep?! We’re going to class! Ginny!”

Disoriented, she threw off the covers and swung her legs around to the side of the bed. She took a step and immediately collapsed, her leg having fallen asleep while she had lain dead to the world. Calling from the floor, “I’ll meet you there!”

“Well hurry up, you’re going to be late!”

It took a few seconds for blood to return as she wobbled around throwing off clothes. She pulled the first shirt she grabbed over her head and jumped into a pair of pants, neither matching, and threw a robe over the ensemble. She rushed a few hygiene charms, no time for a shower this morning and, scooping up her bag, unlocked her door and rushed out to the hall.

She reached the dark arts classroom breathless, some fly aways sticking out from her usually slick, straight hair. They all turned to look as she made her way in and Professor Pyre, interrupted, waited for her to join the others before continuing.

She caught Morrigan’s eye and couldn’t help but stare. His expression, which had been neutral, clouded immediately, becoming confused and defensive at the look in her eyes. As if to say, what do you think you’re looking at?  She turned her head away but felt his eyes boring into the side of her face.

“Today’s classroom has been set up for our duelling training. As you can see, the walls and floors have a lovely layer of padding to avoid any serious injury. We’ll be duelling in groups of two! If you’ve learned anything so far, it’s that you should aim to recognize and exploit your opponent’s weaknesses. There are no rules except, of course, anything illegal or causing permanent harm or disfigurement. We’ll save that for another lesson.” He laughed suddenly and they exchanged glances. His voice rising, arms raised theatrically, “Remember! The enemies you will face beyond these walls will not play fair. They will seek to kill you by any means, and if that thought does not sing in your blood as you raise your wand, then we are wasting our precious time together.”

His eyes moving from one person to the next in turn, he clipped, “The first two. Any volunteers?”

He seemed more wound than usual today. She wondered at the cause but there was no time to ruminate. Draven raised his hand up and with a nod from Professor Pyre, stepped into the middle of the room at one end. Instead of waiting for a second volunteer, he gestured at Barnaby. “You! Go.”

They stood facing each other for a moment. Draven raised his wand in a swift movement, “Incarcerous!”

Barnaby managed to just dodge the ropes before Draven shot another spell. “Impedimenta!” It was deflected by a last second protego from Barnaby, who returned, “Arresto momentum!”

“Protego!”

“Waddiwasi!” Sheets of parchment flew up from Professor Pyre’s desk and surrounded Draven like a storm of crows, one of them flying up to obscure his face. He sent out a blind shield charm, blocking a hastily shot locomotor mortis from Barnaby, before swiping the paper away and crumpling it in a fist. He dived forward onto the mats and as he lunged he twisted his wand to the left. “Rictusempra!”

It hit Barnaby square in the chest and he doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach. His face scrunched up with the effort of containing his laugher started to turn red. “Finite Incantatum!” came Professor Pyre, dispelling Barnaby’s curse. “Next! Saphron.”

She stepped up and the two regarded each other for a moment. He seemed hesitant to strike first. She smirked and shot out, “Cantis!” His mouth opened but instead of a counter curse his chest expanded into song. “I’ve got a cauldron full of hot, strong love!”

The rest of them burst out laughing, Prue clapping in delight. “And it’s bubbling for you!” Even Professor Pyre was unable to stop a small smile, saying “Well done Saphron, quick as a whip. Next! Pruewell!”

They switched places and Saphron walked over to the other side where Draven had been, the charm undone by the professor as he joined the peanut gallery at the back. “Begin!”

Prue was hit immediately. “Calvorio!”

She was shocked still for a moment, then her eyes travelled up and to the side, watching as her hair shrunk and recessed into her skull, leaving her bald. Mouth dropping open, she said, “Low blow Saph!” and the rest of them rolled their lips in and bit down to keep from laughing, except for Morrigan, who made no effort to conceal his loud guffaw.

Prue shouted, “Papilionibus!” A swath of blue butterflies erupted from the end of her wand.

Draven commented from the sidelines, “Butterflies? Really Prue?”

She added, “Oppugno!”

Saphron sent up an easy shield charm but it was soon plastered with the bodies of butterflies, their wings spread out like papier-mâché and blocking her sight. Prue reared her arm back and whipped it down, “Flippendo!”

The shield, weakened by the butterflies, and Saphron with it was blasted back. She was blown into the padded wall behind her, her back colliding with an oomph and she fell to the floor, managing to land on her feet.

“Excellent!” Roared Professor Pyre. “Next! Morrigan!”

He walked up softly and stopped where Sapron had stood. He leaned forward just slightly, his wand arm outstretched. “Go!”

“Ebulio!” Shouted Prue, quickly encasing Morrigan in a bubble. With a calm slash, “Diffindo,” the bubble was sliced open. In the cut, he cast, “Glacius!” It was blocked by Prue’s protego but in quick succession he threw out another two spells. “Glacius Duo!” “Glacius Tria!” The shield charm seemed to expand and harden, then cracks started to form like a sheet of splintered ice and the third glacius burst it apart like a hammer.

Prue ducked to the side and yelled, “Verdimillious!” blinding him with an unexpected jet of green sparks. In the second he was distracted, she cast a hopeful stupefy but it was rebuffed. He responded in kind, “Periculum!”

“Ah!” she yelled, shielding her face with a crooked arm as the red flare shot directly at her face. “Expelliarmus!” Her wand was plucked out of her hand by invisible strings and clacked to the floor.

“Good! Last one. Ginny!”

She passed Prue to take her place, but as she walked she was hit with a spell to the back. “Magicus extremos!”

She whirled around in shock but before she could speak he shouted, “Aguamenti maxima!”  Spluttering under a violent jet of water and barely able to see, she gurgled out, “Expelliarmus!” instead of sending up a blocking spell. Not anticipating it, the wand slipped up in his grip but his fist tightened just in time. From his wand, “Confringo!”

With a gasp, she threw out, “Repercutit!” rebounding the exploding curse back at him. He sent up a protego and the spell ricocheted into the wall, bits of stuffing erupting out of the safety pad and littering the floor.

She immediately cast a powerful bat bogey hex and he looked thunderous as he ducked under swooping attacks from the bats swirling around his head. “Oppugno!” he roared, his face contorted with embarrassed fury. Her eyes widened as her own bat bogeys turned to charge in her direction. He hurled spell after spell as she jumped out of the way, her wet shoes squeaking on the mats as she dodged him and the bats both. Frantically trying to think, thunder boomed outside the window and an idea came to her. “Baubillious!” A streak of lightning shot out of her wand and pierced through the bodies of the bats, crystallizing them. They dropped out of the air and shattered. He was too quick, not letting up for a moment as he yelled, “Lacarnum inflamari!” causing the bottom of her robes to catch fire. She sent spells back at him, “Stupefy! Bombarda!” buying time to put out the flames. She tried using aguamenti but even a moment of distraction would cost her the duel and she was forced to throw up a shield charm to block a spell. She scooped the robes over her head and just as her vision was obscured by the fabric he hit her shield with a strong incendio charm.

Instead of using the opportunity to hex or curse her, and winning the duel, he unexpectedly said, “Accio robes!” She felt herself skidding across the floor, arms flailing, trying to escape from the fabric. He had closed the distance between them and when she emerged from under the robe’s hem they were face to face. Before she could draw breath he looked in her eyes and said, “Legilimens.”

They whirled through memories before she was able to stop him.

The dream of her and him on the bed, hot and heavy

Her crying, heartbroken, alone in her room at night and still in her bridesmaid’s dress after Ron, Harry, and Hermione had left to go off on their secret mission

Her with Dean, him kissing her neck, her eyes staring into space

Her as a girl saying ‘open’ in parseltongue and the stone serpents of the Chamber obeying her command

Her sitting under a tree on the Castle grounds, her best friend in her lap. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.’ And the diary’s materialized reply, ‘I feel the exact same way Ginny…’

With a force of extraordinary power, surging up from some unknown depth, she pushed him out with her mind. The feeling bled seamlessly into the present moment and she saw that her real hands were outstretched and Morrigan was flying across the room with a flash of light.

“Très bien!” Professor Pyre was clapping wildly as Morrigan picked himself up from the floor. “Smart employment of legilimens when your opponent is weakened by combat! A word of caution,” he held up a finger, “do not overstay your welcome!” He looked over at Morrigan as he made that last point. “The mind is a powerful place…and what the mind can conceive, magic can achieve.” He brought his finger up to point at his forehead, eyebrows raised.

“I think that is enough of the classroom for today…if you wish to continue practicing on your own,” he winked peculiarly, “I won’t tell. Good day!”

Ginny, furious and shaken, immediately searched for Morrigan but only caught his back as he skirted out the door, faster than she had ever seen him move without a life-or-death situation. Oh no you don’t. She picked up speed, weaving through her friends as they turned to look at her, their faces anxious.

“Ginny!” Prue called out behind her, but she was already gone.

“Impedimenta!” Her spell hit the wall in front of him. He was already at the other end of the corridor, and when he turned back and saw her, he ignored the bait and rounded the corner.

Even angrier, she sprinted after him, barrelling down the hall, but when she skidded around the corner, he was waiting. He grabbed the sides of her arms, pinning them to her torso, and forced her backwards. She tried not to lose her footing as her steps tangled over themselves to keep up with the speed with which he shoved her into the wall.

With a surge of fury, she squirmed in his grip, bringing her knee up to force distance and get him to drop his hold. It didn’t work and he only pushed in closer, using the strength of his thighs to pin her legs down on the wall, his hips almost pressing into hers. Their breaths matched as she stopped struggling for a moment and glared up into his face. “Let go of me.”

His lids fell softly to half-mast as he looked down at her as if politely considering her request, but his voice was angry when it came out. “You came running after me.”

She just about exploded. “What the hell were you thinking using legilimens on me in class! And I swear to God Morrigan if you don’t let go of me right now I’ll hex you into the next century.”

He stepped back, but not out of concern, which did not help her pride. He smirked. “Anger suits you…Almost as much as fear does.”

She gaped at him. “What the hell is wrong with you these last few weeks?”

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked, as if it were a rhetorical question he was offering to the air, not looking at her as he said it but out into the hall at nothing in particular. He turned back to face her and his face darkened menacingly, “What’s wrong with me? Is that really the question you should be asking?”

She stared at him, suddenly afraid. She was afraid to ask what he meant by that. She was so afraid and it had been building and building until she couldn’t bear to think about it, like a wound that’s been festering under a bandage and you know once you look it’s all over.

He looked her up and down in pitying disgust, seeing it written all over her face as if her mind were still bare. She willed herself to move, to say something, but she just stood there. He took one step back, two, lazily. “Nice outfit by the way.” Then he swung around and sauntered down the hall, leaving her there.

A second or two passed before she found her voice again. “I saw you last night.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Cocking his head to the side, he said, “Pardon me?” When she didn’t answer, his body followed the line of his head and he turned slowly, head still cocked to the side, his steps quiet and deliberate. He began to smile but it felt more like a mad dog showing its teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His stare down dared her to disagree.

She flicked her hair back. They weren’t talking about her anymore. This was stable ground. “I said I saw you last night.” She paused for effect before dropping what she was sure to be a bomb. She over enunciated the next word in deliberate provocation. “Dorian.”

Like a lightning strike, his arm shot out, aiming for her throat. “Mr. Duskbane.”

The word cracked through the hall, sharp as thunder. Both of them froze. At the far end, Professor Pyre stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carved in disapproval. Morrigan’s arm dropped as if scalded.

“Professor,” he said quickly, voice appeasing.

“Back to your dormitory, Mr. Duskbane,” Pyre intoned, each syllable clipped, formal. “I do not expect to see this kind of behaviour from one who would call himself a future Auror. If I do, the consequences will be… memorable.”

Morrigan swallowed and stepped past Ginny without meeting her eyes, his retreat swift and silent.

Ginny turned back to Pyre, face hot with embarrassment. “Professor…” she began, flustered.

But his severity had already melted away. His eyes warmed and his mouth curved into a smile that seemed almost indulgent. He clasped his hands together lightly, as if nothing at all had happened.

“What a pleasure it was to watch you today,” he said, voice lilting. “Very promising.” His chin dropped slightly, accentuating his intense amber eyes. “Do continue your practice. And should you need counsel…” he tilted his head, gaze bright with something unreadable, “…my door is always open.”

With that, he turned and swept away. She was left alone in the hall, feeling pulled in so many different directions that she was incapable of moving.

--

Later, she sat with Prue in the courtyard, talking in low tones. “It was him Prue, I heard him talking in the potions classroom.”

She thought back to last night. After her talk with Firenze, she had wandered aimlessly, the entire day having felt like one big blur. It was late now, way past dinner. On her way back the way she had come, through the harbour entrance, she travelled down to the basement instead of out. Might as well stop by the kitchens for something to eat…

Tip toeing down the stairs, the corridors were deserted, most of the students in their dormitories now. Although it was always dark down here, she felt the unmistakable weight of night in the stillness of the castle as she made her way through the corridors past Snape’s old office. As she approached, she thought she heard whispered voices from up ahead. She paused at the bottom of the stairwell beside the potions room.

“…don’t do something you’ll regret.”

There was an insolent, angry reply. “Why, because you failed, so will I? Is that it?”

With a start, she realized it was Morrigan speaking. She slid closer to the room’s entrance, leading with her ear.

“You have no idea what this will cost you. Listen to me! I’m trying to help you.” The other voice was too quiet, more cautious. She could barely register the words.

“No one can help me.”

“Dorian, wait.”

She heard footsteps as he approached the entryway. “Leave me alone.”

She rushed across the corridor and slipped down the hallway which led to the dungeons below, quickly turning a corner and hiding from sight. She didn’t stop her hurried steps until she was past the Slytherin portrait, “What are you doing down here?”, and back up to the basement level around the Hufflepuff dormitories, finally reaching the kitchens. She prayed her footsteps hadn’t been heard.

Prue looked at her in consternation. “Did you see who he was talking to?”

“No! I didn’t see anyone, but I know it was him.”

“Who’s Dorian? Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

“Whoever it was, that’s what he called Morrigan. When I told him he nearly ripped my head off.”

“You did what?” she exclaimed, horrified. “Ginny! Why did you say anything? He’ll be more careful than ever now. He knows you know something! Why didn’t you tell me before barging after him.”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

Prue let out a long suffering sigh. “We need to find out more about Morrigan. Maybe he isn’t who he says he is.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I don’t know where we’d look...”

Ginny thought. “Genealogy records?” She was quiet for a moment, looking off across the grounds. With a sharp intake of breath, she looked back at Prue. “The paper! Whoever wrote that article seemed to know a lot about the Duskbane family. If we can find out who wrote it, maybe we can get some information on him.”

They walked back to the great hall, a number of other students milling in the same direction for dinner. They talked quietly together, whispering theories, though Ginny left out anything that might lead to questions about her past. As they walked in, Ginny searched for the student who had taken her picture, the only person she knew of who was connected to the Restricted Epistle. She spotted him at the Slytherin table and nudged Prue who followed her eyes. They shared a look and Ginny was about to head over to him when Prue whispered, “Hermione!”

She was walking into the great hall, carrying a few books in her arms as usual, her curly mane bouncing with each step and completely indifferent to the awe filled looks from students as she passed them. “Maybe she’ll know something?”

Ginny agreed silently and, deciding between the photographer and Hermione, left Prue for the Gryffindor table. “Hey Hermione,” she said softly, standing and looking down at the top of her friend’s head as she sat before her open books. Hermione looked up and swallowed her mouthful. “Ginny!” she smiled, rising and opening her arms. They hugged, leaning over the table, and Hermione continued, “How are you! I’m sorry we haven’t really talked while I’ve been here. You wouldn’t believe how much work I’ve got to do.” Ginny could believe it. “How are your classes going?”

She smiled back. “Good.” She paused for a moment before elaborating. “Interesting. Professor Pyre is…”

Hermione grinned, finishing her sentence for her. “Unconventional?” They laughed lightly. “Yes! But he’s very good.”

“He is…” They smiled at each other but it was more like two people who were both keeping things to themselves and didn’t know what words to choose to fill the silence with. Ginny thought she’d get right to it. “Hermione, actually, I came to ask you about something.” Her interest peaked, Hermione regarded her curiously. Ginny leaned forward slightly, shooting a look down the long table, checking if anyone was listening. Speaking for Hermione’s ears only, she asked, “What do you know about the Duskbane family?”

“The Duskbane’s?” She retorted, thinking aloud. “Why do you ask? Isn’t one of your team mates a Duskbane?” Ginny only looked at her and she seemed to understand, raising her eyebrows. “Well, according to some of the histories I’ve read, they are one of the oldest Wizarding families in the United Kingdom. They have a long and sordid history with suspected involvement in multiple wars, politics, and rumoured Dark Magic. Recently, though…even Voldemort’s most recent return…they have kept a low profile. For at least two generations now, they are reclusive and only seen at political or philanthropic events.” She looked questioningly at Ginny. “What is this really about?”

Ginny only wanted her questions answered, she didn’t want to have to answer any of her own. “Just curious, mostly. She grasped for words, “After that article in the paper about us…”

“Oh, that,” said Hermione, looking sympathetic, and Ginny forced back a flare of anger at being felt sorry for. The change of topic worked though and Hermione seemed distracted by awkwardness, the delicate topic of Harry and Ginny an uncomfortable one as she felt her loyalties pulled in two directions.

“The article mentioned Morrigan’s family and it got me wondering.” Pressing her momentary advantage, Ginny asked, “Do you know of any books in the castle that might have information on them? A family tree?”

“I don’t know about any in the castle. I’ve heard the Slytherin common room has a small library with books on all the great pureblood families,” she wrinkled her nose, “but as far as family records…the archives in the Ministry would have that information. Do you have clearance?”

Ginny shook her head no. Hermione had a glint in her eye as she regarded her. Ginny knew she suspected there was more to the request and was relieved when it seemed Hermione decided against asking outright. “I have to return there today to finish some paperwork anyway. Why don’t I take a look for you. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Ginny nodded her thanks and rose to return to Prue.

As misfortune would have it, Morrigan chose that moment to enter the Great Hall. The movement caught his eye and he looked over at them together, his gait interrupted for a beat before he sat down at a table as though nothing were amiss.

She took a step away from the table before turning back around, remembering something. “Hermione, I was wondering if you’ve ever seen or heard of a spell called Maledicta Animae?”

“It doesn’t sound familiar, sorry. What’s it for?”

“I saw it in one of the books in the restricted section when the caterwauling charms backfired. There was a drawing... Two figures linked together by a black thread, one in light and one in shadow.”

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice, the force splashing bits of the orange liquid out of the cup onto her face. Coughing, she dabbed her face with a napkin, not immediately meeting Ginny’s eyes. Her voice strained, she asked, “You saw this in the restricted section? Do you remember what the book was called or what it looked like?”

Ginny shook her head no. “It’s not important, I just thought you might’ve heard of it.”

Hermione grimaced reassuringly, “Of course! Well, I better be getting off to the Ministry. I’ll catch you around?”

Ginny watched as Hermione, with suspicious speed, packed her things and exited the hall. She could hardly be upset at Hermione for keeping secrets, when she was guilty of doing the same, but it was an old wound, the kind where the pain never truly goes away even once the skin has healed over. Kept in the dark, as usual…

--

“The Ministry of Magic!”

Hermione stepped off onto the mezzanine in the entry hall and made her way to the lifts, pressing the button to go down, headed for the basement archival room. The rest of the work she needed to do could wait…

She repeated the spell name in her mind as she searched through the magical indexes. Maledicta animae, maledicta animae, maledicta animae…

She sped through the M section, only slowing down once she reached all spells beginning with the word ‘maledicta’. She read off,

Maledicta Abduco

Maledicta Absentis

Maledicta Advoco

Maledicta Aegresco

Maledicta Amaritudo

Maledicta Angelus

Maledicta Animae

She took note of the archival numbers and walked down rows and rows of records. It was one of the largest rooms in the entire ministry, only the department of mysteries being more robust. She read the reference numbers and volume numbers as she passed, getting closer. Finally, she reached the right section. She walked by shelves upon shelves of articles, records, files, some of them the original reference materials like books. Using her wand, she accio’d the file number. It flew out from a shelf a little further down the row into her hand. Opening it, she scanned the information.

Spell: Maledicta Animae

Type: Sympathetic Magic

Delineation: Dark Magic

Method: Blood magics and psychic connection

Summary:  Cultivated sympathetic magic through use of emotions, psyche, flesh, or personal artefacts

Uses: Restoration of lost or broken items of personal significance. References to spiritual manifestation and soul resurrection in some literature but unverified.

Reference(s) Status: Lost/Unknown

Hermione’s eyes were fixed on the page. Lost? How can that be? Did the Hogwarts library have books even the ministry didn’t know about? Duplicating the parchment, she placed her copy in her satchel. With a quick flick, “Reverte!” the record file flew back to its place in the archive.

Her mind was racing, hardly aware of her surroundings as she made her way out of the maze to the exit. How, out of all the books in the restricted section, did Ginny stumble upon the one ritual that looked exactly like their precursor Horcrux spell? And in a book that apparently didn’t exist?

She was so consumed by her thoughts she almost forgot about the second reason she was here. She turned back towards the charmed index and brought up the genealogies category. Skipping through to D, she found Duskbane and where their family line information could be found. Wandering through the endless files, she accio’d the reference number when she got close enough, copied the parchments, and sent the file back to its place.

Out of curiosity, she unfolded her copy. Speed reading down the list of names until she reached the current generations, she saw the name Morrigan and blinked when it was only the third line from the end. She read, Morrigan Aisling Le Garrec. Jumping to the bottom of the page, the last descendent was Dorian Asher Morrigan Duskbane. So Morrigan was the Auror’s middle name from his maternal Grandmother, not his first name. How odd…

Riding the lift back up to the main floor, she was totally engrossed in the deepening mystery which surrounded her when the doors opened and she looked up into the face of…Draco Malfoy. He was dressed immaculately as usual, his robes starkly black and impeccably tailored. His lapel pin was his family’s signature crest of mirrored serpentine dragons in silver and green with a silver M in the middle. He looked down and she thought she saw surprise flicker in his expression before it smoothed over. “Miss Granger.” He said, perfunctorily.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted back coolly. They were both professional and reserved. She had seen him at the Ministry a number of times since the war ended and they had all began their adult careers; though as far as she knew, he didn’t work directly for the Ministry.

That didn’t stop him from being involved in a number of high level affairs using his family name and wealth for influence. As much as it would have been easy to hate him for that alone, based on what little information had gotten to her through the grapevine, it seemed he had used that money and influence to make positive changes and restore a number of culturally significant sites impacted by the war.

She stepped out of the lift just as he moved to enter, pausing a half-step back to give her room.

“Granger.”

She turned, startled, but he was already continuing in his cool, even tone. “I heard the Alecto trial is nearing its conclusion. Final remarks before sentencing next week, yes? I have some documentation you may find…relevant. When would be a convenient time for me to bring it by your office?”

For a moment she could only stare, caught off guard by both his civility and his initiative. “Oh–well–“ she managed, then gathered herself with a quick lift of her chin. “I’ll be in most of Friday, preparing. Eleven o’clock?”

The hand holding the lift doors open fell back to his side as he leaned in to press the lever for the next floor. He gave a single, clipped nod. “Friday at eleven. I’ll see you then.”

She turned and walked over to the floos, now entirely discombobulated. Is no one who they’re supposed to be?

--

By the time Hermione made it back to the castle, Ginny and the others were in their common room, listening as Dan gave them the awaited for update on the raid. Harry was with him.

“It’ll be this Friday, zero ten hundred hours. We’ll rendezvous at a predetermined point and head out from there to avoid implicating the castle. These are the two coordinates of the raids. In the rare event of cataclysmic mission failure, including mass death or capture, you have clearance to organize and participate in a salvage mission. That order comes directly from Kingsley himself. We’re spread thin here and if this thing goes belly up, you’re the cavalry. Be prepared.”

Barnaby swallowed. Saphron reached over and squeezed his hand and in a testament to their collective state of mind, he didn’t even look over.

Harry stepped forward. “Three of us will be apparating to the home of Varo Selwyn and three to a property we’ve discovered financial records for, listed under a dummy name. We believe it may be linked to death eater activity.” He looked over each of them.

“I know this is your job. That you’ve chosen to be here. But I’d understand if any of you wanted to back out now.” He waited but no one spoke. “No matter how well this raid goes, it’s not the end. The way of thinking that allowed Voldemort to rise to power didn’t die just because he did. As optimistic as I’d like to be,” he briefly met Ginny’s eyes and looked away, “I also want everyone to have realistic expectations.” He learned that lesson during the war, when it tested the loyalty of even those closest to him. This wasn’t glory and it wasn’t valour. It was hardship and sacrifice and they better know that now.

He finished with a nod and looked over at Dan who cupped his hands together in front of him. “That’s all for now, girls and gents. If all goes well, I’ll be back here to brief you late Friday or early Saturday. In the meantime… study and practice, practice and study.” He winked and flashed his teeth in a brawny grin. They had nothing to about, that grin said. I’m rugged and tough and everything will be fine.

 As he left the room, Harry stayed behind. “Ginny, a word?”

Taken aback, she pushed herself up from the couch, her eyes betraying her with a fleeting glance toward Morrigan by the fire before she tore them away. If Harry noticed, he gave no sign.

As she passed him and slipped out of the portrait hole, her back to the room, Harry and Morrigan’s gazes locked. Harry was the first to look away, his attention following the sound of Ginny’s retreating steps into the hall. Morrigan’s stare drifted back to the fire, but its glow lent him no warmth.

--

She looked as beautiful as ever, her long red hair swishing to her back as she turned around at his exit. Looking at him expectantly, he was suddenly at a loss. Only three words floated up in his mind, the exact opposite of what he could say out loud.

Clearing his throat, he began, “I just wanted to say…be careful.” He cringed at how inadequate the words were. Truthfully, he’d had no real plan beyond wanting to see her alone, wanting to say goodbye. Looking at her, her expression was unreadable. He had the first inkling that this may have been a mistake.

 

Well, if it was, it was a mistake he’d made before and would make again, he knew that much. He’d known a long time ago that he should stay away from her but he hadn’t been able to do it as a teenager and it wasn’t any easier as a man.

“Harry…” She shook her head lightly, looking down and then at the wall, biting her lip. When she looked back at him, she had settled on a smile that sat more like a mask. “I will.”

She pointed a finger at him in a mock threat. “If you and Ron do anything stupid you’ll wish the death eaters got to you first!”

He grinned and her eyes crinkled, the fake smile becoming a real one. He stamped down the urge to hug her. In the brief moment of his hesitation, she said, “Well, I better head in. Good luck Harry.”

“Night.”

He stood outside the closed portrait, his hands hanging limply at his sides, feeling like something had just slipped through his grasp.