text stringlengths 0 57.5k |
|---|
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. They reached the arched doorway leading to the round room with the ancient, blood-splattered altar and the carved images of Celtic deities. Tom gazed at the doorway for a moment; then he cast a spell to create a shimmering, translucent barrier between them and the main vault containing the dragon skeleton and the basilisk. |
"Nothing will get through that," he said, "and the basilisk won’t awaken, but if it did, that barrier would protect you from death." He turned to the altar and gave a shudder at the sight of the bloodstains. "No more blood will be shed at this place today," he muttered. He withdrew the locket from his neck and hissed at it, causing it to open with a click. Two eyes blinked back at him from each side. |
Hermione opened the book on the altar and raised her wand. Together, they began to cast the ritual in Gaelic. The locket began to glow white. |
A white light resembling a bolt of lightning shot up from the open Horcrux. Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight, but she did not stop casting the spell. It was a long ritual, with several parts, not a simple spell of one or two words. |
The crackling line of white light widened for a fraction of a second, then—with a pop that sounded exactly like a thunderclap—rent the air apart. |
It was as though a new room had suddenly appeared between the curving walls of the chamber, a room bounded by piercingly glowing outlines of white, a room of marble arches and stone urns, a broad space with a vaulted ceiling. The contrast of the dim chamber of the vault of Parselhall and the brilliant illumination of this new chamber was striking. |
Tom and Hermione exchanged shocked looks. "That’s... it," Hermione whispered in awe. "That’s actually—we’re really looking at—I can’t believe it—" Her lower lip trembled. "I wonder if I could speak to my parents," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. |
Tom gazed sympathetically at her. "Do you want to?" |
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. "We have a task to do. That must come first." |
Tom reached out with one hand and cupped her cheek gently. |
"I summon the spirit of Ceridwyn, daughter of Mordred," Tom intoned into the shimmering white marble room. |
There was a pause. In the next moment, a female voice, hard and cold as stone, responded. "No one has spoken to me since I was forced here. Who troubles me now?" |
Tom’s eyes widened. He took a deep breath. "Your descendant. I wish to speak to you about the athame of your grandmother, Morgana." |
Another pause, then the cold voice replied. "You have retrieved it? But if you are my blood, you cannot be the one prophesied. Do not trouble me further. Better to be alone and ignored, erased from the legends, one’s existence on earth forgotten, than harassed and deceived." |
Hermione and Tom were shocked at the bitterness of Ceridwyn’s voice. "No one wishes to harass or deceive you," Tom said. "We would like to talk to you about the athame. I retrieved it, but my wife—who is not of our blood—wields it. She discovered the curse it bears." |
Ceridwyn hesitated. They could not see her in the open magical door, but they could sense that she was hesitating. Finally she spoke. "You cannot see me until you enter. What holds the door open for you? Is it the day of thin barriers? If you pass through this doorway on Samhain and do not return before the day ends, you may not be able to go back." |
"No," Tom said. "It is not Samhain. The "door’ is held open by... a part of a soul." |
"Ah," said the voice, and Tom and Hermione detected a strong strain of hostile, bitter spite. "Yours, descendant? In that case, I hope your children are not in the vicinity. They may destroy it if they are, which is what my son did to me." |
"We have no children," Tom said firmly. "We will pass through." |
He took Hermione’s hand. They gazed at each other meaningfully, and together, they stepped through the magical door. |
A flash of light almost blinded Hermione. She closed her eyes to shield them, then, when it dimmed to what seemed to be a more reasonable level, opened them again. |
It was as though reality had reversed itself. The gleaming magical door remained, but now, the world that was visible through it was the room in Parselhall. Hermione gazed around. She was in the white marble hall. Above her, a sunless but still incredibly bright light shined down. Her own body was the same and yet different. The tiredness that she had felt ever since suffering the curse in the attack on Parselhall was gone. Her skin seemed to glow as if it had a light illuminating her whole body just below the surface. She glanced at Tom, who was examining his body with the same look of surprise. |
He was not perfect, though, she noticed with sudden unhappiness. Whereas she had no visible wounds, Tom did. His arms had red scratch marks, and another, more prominent scratch mark was visible on his neck, a mark that appeared to continue down his chest. He fingered this mark with a frown on his face. "Tom," she said quietly, moving close to him and taking his hands in hers. She met his eyes. "It will be all right." |
He sighed heavily. "It won’t be all right until the very end. I can’t fix this until then." |
She covered his palms in her hands. "But that’s when it counts most." |
A figure appeared from behind a column and began to walk toward them, her footfalls making no sound. She was dressed in green and black, and her auburn hair was braided regally in the back of her head. Piercing green eyes glared at Tom and Hermione. As she drew closer, they noticed that she too was heavily scarred. She was beautiful, but her face was angry, bitter, and cold. |
"You wished to speak to me," said Tom’s royal ancestor. "I confess... I was prepared to hate you for disturbing my solitude, but it has been so long since anyone even noticed me. I suppose I am glad of your company, however temporary it may be." |
Tom and Hermione drew closer to each other protectively. "Why has no one noticed you?" Tom asked. |
"Most pass through this place very quickly," said Ceridwyn, "and also, you are not noticed here if no one here wants to speak to you." |
"And no one has in six centuries? That’s... terribly sad," Hermione said. |
"It has been six centuries? I have no sense of time here. Perhaps outside this room... but I cannot seem to find my way out. I know not what doors all the others who pass through use. I can never see them." She gazed at the rift that Hermione and Tom had opened, her green eyes flashing greedily. |
"That is not the answer," Hermione said at once. "Perhaps you cannot see the doors here because you are not ready to... move on." |
Ceridwyn sneered back at Hermione, choosing not to respond to that. "Others certainly seem eager to move on. They do not notice me at all. To those who still remember my existence—essentially, just the family into which you married, witch—I am a symbol. They have had nothing to say to me because they thought they understood everything about my life," she sneered. "Most others do not remember that I ever lived." |
Tom was chastened. For so long, he was exactly like that. He had seen her as a symbol of royalty and power lost, of betrayal and abandonment by her own allies, of hope kept alive, of a bloodline that still flowed—and then, after he had heard the story of her dragon and her years after the sea cave, a symbol of a fall into darkness that he himself must avoid. |
"We wished to see you," Tom managed to say. "We knew that we did not know or understand everything about your life—and I think we realize now that we understood even less, now that we see you." He sighed. "I retrieved the Athame of Morgana from the cave in which you placed it. I gave it to my wife, and she has detected a curse on it." |
"Well, is she not a smart witch?" Ceridwyn said nastily. "I suppose you expect me to tell you all about that, just because you ask." |
Tom glowered. Hermione placed a hand on his arm and faced the spirit. "It would be kind of you," she agreed, "but you are right to want a reason. In the country that you loved, people of magic are under a terrible threat—but my husband and I are on the verge of removing it and restoring your ancient line to power. Not the throne," she said, "but the high seat of witches and wizards, perhaps. We think the Athame of Morgana is relevant." |
Ceridwyn paused, and for the first time in the conversation, the hostility on her face gave way to something else: pride and hope. "The ancient line," she murmured. She gazed at Tom. "You have some things in common with my father, I see. You too are the son of a witch and a man without magic." |
"They weren’t brother and sister, though," Tom retorted. |
Ceridwyn finally managed the ghost of a smirk. "Such things do not matter here. Family is... not blood... and I seem to have family no longer. But very well. I would see the line restored to power if it is now time." |
"And you can help us do that," Hermione said. "It is time, and you have a final part to play yet. Just, please, tell us what we need to know about your grandmother’s athame." |
"I remained on earth for so long, tethering myself there, because I hoped to see that during my lifetime," she mused. "It did not happen. Perhaps now...." She gazed at the pair again. "Very well. My grandmother Morgana imbued the blade with her most powerful magic. She expected to rule beside Arthur, but his advisor... had other ideas." |
"Yes, I know about Merlin’s ideas," Tom said darkly. "His principal "idea’ was that no one with magic should hold power—except for himself, of course." |
"Merlin did not separate them because she was a witch," said Ceridwyn. "It is because she was his half-sister." |
Tom was silent, contemplating that. This was an overthrow of much that he had believed.... |
"The blade confers the Wisdom of the Ruler upon its wielder, but this power was lost to me from the time of the last battle. I placed that blade in the sea cave for a reason: My mother, who was a Seer in life, made a prophecy to me." |
Tom’s attention was fixed upon the spirit of his ancestor. "The books still tell of that," he said. "It was that the finder of the blade would restore the line!" |
She raised her eyebrows and smiled darkly. "That is what the books say now? That is wrong too. The truth has been lost over these... six centuries... so it would appear." |
Tom was surprised. "But...." |
"The prophecy," she said darkly, "was that my father would murder my grandfather Arthur in the Battle of Camlann, killing him dishonorably, and that because of this betrayal, the blood of Igraine would be cursed. None of this blood could wield this blade for as long as it held the curse." |
Tom was appalled. "He did betray Arthur?" |
"He did. I have never spoken to him since my death, of course. He had already... passed through. Perhaps he and Arthur have come to an accord. I do not know." |
Tom was crushed. "The Wisdom of the Ruler, you say? But if that is denied to us, that would mean...." He trailed off in dismay and disappointment. |
"It is denied to you as long as the blade bears the curse," she said again. "However, one who is not of the blood of Igraine can lift the curse." She turned pointedly to Hermione. |
"So all the years of practicing incest... were counterproductive," Tom muttered. |
"If that is what the family did, then yes," said the spirit. "The curse can be lifted if one who is not the blood of Igraine wields it against the "foe of our people.’ The Wisdom of the Ruler will appear again, which must be how the true prophecy became distorted in your histories." |
Hermione and Tom turned to each other, gaping in shock. It was perfectly obvious what this meant... what had to happen.... |
"I wished for my husband to break the curse in my lifetime," said Ceridwyn. Her eyes softened for a moment. "I believed that the foe of our people was Arthur’s cousin, who succeeded him. I believed that any of the blood of Pendragon who did not also have the blood of Igraine must be the foe. My husband did not do it, though." |
"It wasn’t time," Hermione said softly. "The "foe of our people’ rules today. He is destroying the culture of witches and wizards to protect himself. We have suffered in a way that you did not." |
The spirit glared harshly at her. "That is easy for you to say. I lost everything. I had never lived as a princess, since my father had already been dispossessed, but I lost hope. I know that not all prophecies come true, and I was certain that my husband was causing my mother’s to fail. I lost hope, and when one has lost hope, one has nothing." She stared ahead. "He did not wish to see me when I died and came here." |
"You killed him," Tom pointed out, "and apparently did not regret that. Even if he forgave you, why would he speak to you if you were not ready to talk?" |
"Hold your tongue." |
He stepped forward, eyes blazing. "No, I will not. As it happens, I know something of that. I didn’t kill the person I loved"—he squeezed Hermione’s hand—"but I wronged her. She tried to talk reason into me, but I could not hear her until I saw for myself what I had done and regretted it." He gazed at his ancestor. "Perhaps, Your Highness, you are the one who cannot see anyone. Perhaps they have always been able to see you, but you have been the blind one." |
"I can see the two of you." |
"We haven’t died. We do not belong here. It could be that." |
"Think about it," Hermione urged. "They are outside this room, you know. They are waiting for you. Perhaps once you are ready, you will find a door. And know that you have helped us—that your knowledge will be, perhaps, one of the final pieces." She hesitated before finally blurting out, "And when you have moved on, please find my parents and tell them." |
The spirit’s eyes widened, but she had nothing more to say. She seemed to be contemplating Tom and Hermione’s words at last. |
Tom turned to Hermione. "We should go," he said. He gave a final, parting nod to his ancestor, before stepping through the rift with Hermione once again. |
They instantly felt physical pain behind their eyes as their pupils dilated sharply to adjust to the sudden change to a dim room. Hermione wanted to cry as the fatigue and weakness of the magical injury overcame her physical body once again. Tom’s visible scratches and scars vanished as he stepped through, however. |
Tom stumbled to the altar and propped himself up over the open book. Hermione took his hand and picked up her wand again with her other hand. Together they spoke the words that would complete the ritual. Before them, the bright patch that revealed the white marble room narrowed and closed. Another thunderclap shattered the air as the white light disappeared. On the altar, the glow surrounding the locket faded away. |
Tom breathed deeply. He gazed at the open locket. Two dark eyes blinked back at him. The Horcrux was safe. It had taken no harm. |
He pulled Hermione close and rested his cheek on top of her head, holding her in his arms. Suddenly he felt incredibly tired, and he was not sure he could do any more magic for at least several hours. That had taken a lot out of him. |
They slid to the floor, holding each other, saying nothing. Nothing had to be said aloud. There was too much to contemplate. |
Late that night, Tom finally was able to talk to Hermione about the experience. |
"I hope she can let go of her grudges," he said, gazing ahead into the dark. "Six hundred years, unable to move on... though at least she said it did not seem like that. Still, though." |
"The athame was cursed due to treachery," Hermione murmured, "and she wanted it lifted so much that she destroyed her family over that. That’s..." She nestled closer to Tom for comfort. "I hope she finally finds peace too. I have hope that she will." |
"I believed for so long that Merlin was a blood-traitor and a hypocrite, a wizard who wanted to disempower wizards and witches—perhaps especially witches, since Morgana was his adversary—but who liked having the ear of a king himself." He paused, thinking. "He actually just wanted to discourage incest... and really did see betrayal in Mordred. Though I do think Arthur should have made him his heir," he added harshly, "and perhaps that would have prevented what happened. But anyway, since the Gaunts continued to have incestuous marriages for centuries... Ceridwyn’s own grandchildren were the next brother-sister pair... of course they would believe the false history rather than accept the truth." He pulled her close. "I was not raised to think incest was acceptable, but I do have contempt for witches and wizards who harm their own kind, so I was ready to think ill of Merlin for my own reasons. We all believe exactly what we want to believe, it seems." |
Hermione let that comment linger in the air for a few moments before speaking again. "I suppose this means that I have to use that blade on Armand Malfoy to lift the curse." |
"So it seems," Tom agreed. "We can pin him down with spells, but I think you’ll have to use that athame to actually take his life. There is something poetic, I suppose, about Armand Malfoy being killed at last by a non-magical method." |
Hermione could see his point, but the idea of plunging a knife into someone’s heart—or cutting his throat—was unappealing. Still, she supposed, is it any worse than killing someone with a spell? |
"It’s also poetic that I should be the one to do it at last," she finally said. |
"That is very true. If you do, though, I want to take out the Horcrux—if we can get it." |
"If we can get it, you may do as you like with it," she said complacently. "I just hope we can get it." |
Hermione and Tom were awakened very late that night by the sound of Severus pounding on their bedroom door. Tom glowered as he was pulled out of sleep and then had to pull himself away from Hermione’s warm body. Hermione groaned as she woke up. |
"Put on some robes as quickly as you can!" Severus exclaimed through the door. "We have guests that you must talk with as soon as possible!" |
Could it be? Tom wondered, a thought darting through his mind. He dared not hope... but who else would be important enough—and their business urgent enough—for their presence to warrant waking up the whole family after they showed up at Parselhall in the dead of night? |
They threw some suitable outer robes over their sleep robes and belted them, then quickly smoothed their hair in the mirror, before leaving the bedchamber and heading to the great hall with Severus, who had waited outside the entire time. Tom flicked his wand to open the doors and strode in, his dark eyes rapidly scanning the large room. |
Cowering in the shadows in a corner were six figures. Tom and Hermione squinted to make out who they were, but as they approached the small group, their faces broke into shocked looks. |
"Draco Malfoy!" exclaimed Tom as he goggled at his former schoolmate. |
Draco stood defiantly next to a young witch whom they also recognized. This was Astoria Greengrass. He was holding hands with her. Beside her, an older woman met their eyes: Lady Greengrass. |
And next to Draco stood Lord Lucius and Lady Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius was holding a sack with something inside. He looked frightened but determined. |
"My lord," he said to Tom, "we apologize for disturbing your rest, but since my lady wife and I have been forced to wait on my grandfather, we have been living at Malfoy Manor, and therefore nighttime is the only time that we could have done this." |
Tom nodded. "I understand." |
Lucius gestured to the sixth person, a thin, sick-looking witch with red hair that had been cut short. "I do not know if you have met, but this is Lily Potter, the mother of your former schoolmate. She has been kept in my grandfather’s dungeon. I managed to break her out, because I expect he would have killed her tomorrow once he sees... well." He broke off abruptly. "Potter, the young one, is your friend. I presumed he wouldn’t care for that." |
"You don’t say," drawled Tom. He nodded to Lily, whose green eyes were hollow and haunted. "You are most welcome here. Your son is safe. He is actually here, if you would like to see him tonight." |
Lily shook her head. "I thank your lordship... but no. Let him sleep." |
Tom snapped his fingers, summoning a house-elf. "Take Mistress Potter to a guest room near her son," he instructed the elf, "and provide food and water for her. She needs nourishment and rest." |
"Yes, your lordship," squeaked the elf, taking Lily by the hand and scurrying away with her. |
Tom then glanced at Draco and Astoria. "You seek my permission for their match, because the Greengrasses are allied with us?" |
"To be honest, I think they are determined on this either way," Lucius remarked. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.