Not sure how or why this popped into my head. Originally, I wanted to do something surrounding Voodoo magic, but I found some artwork scenes from the Popul Vuh and fell down this rabbit hole. Any and all Mesoamerican mythology that I've gathered is simply through internet research. While I did make the effort to craft a story based in that mythology, I have taken liberties whenever and wherever I saw fit. I've incorporated South American lore freely throughout my Mayan myth story.

Disclaimer: I am swimming in student loan debt, poorer than poor. I own so little, my original characters should rightly be public domain.

"Here we shall write and we shall
begin the old stories" – Popul Vuh

Chapter One – Symposium

Somewhere off the coast of Norway, deep beneath the frigid northern waters, the 500th Triennial International Magic Symposium was in full swing. Every three years, the best and brightest wizards and witches from all over the globe gathered for five days to engage in the four Ds of magical intellectual discourse: Discuss, Debate, Duel, and Drink.

The first four days were consumed by the research presentations, lessons for newly developed potions and charms, and other varied academic pursuits. Evenings, fueled by liquor, were reserved for debates, in which those who have presented new research or developed new magic may be subject to go before the collective of symposium attendees and defend their methodology and the ethics of the information they've present. The fifth day was devoted to dueling tournaments, and the fifth evening entirely to drink.

The symposium hall, an enormous glass-encased building sat 600 feet below the ocean's surface, could only be entered and exited via registered portkey, and provided rooms for every attendee.

This year, being the 500th anniversary (surely 1500 years in all) the symposium committee had taken special care to encourage the amateur element at the symposium. Generally, a witch or wizard would have needed have co-authored several articles with other more experienced individuals, before they would dream to present at the symposium. Luckily for Hermione Granger, her complete lack of published works was enticing to the symposium committee, so they didn't look too closely at her research topic.

It was now the third day of the symposium. Hermione watched with growing concern as her research partner became increasingly flustered. He alternated between loosening the askew knot on his neck tie and wiping sweat from his glistening brow.

David Manwarren was the top Runeologist in Britain. In addition to his study of runes, David also held two Muggle master's degrees, one in linguistics, the other in Ancient History, with an additional endorsement each in Sumatran, Phoencian, and Aramaic religions and cultures. The man spoke fifteen languages, six of which were so long dead, he had to teach himself. He could recite, in their native language and in English, entire pages of the Torah, the Q'aran, the Avestan Gathas, and the Kurkh Monoliths to name a few. Hermione knew, for a fact, that he had several excerpts from the Dead Sea Scrolls on his bedside table, just for a bit of light reading. At University, he'd written seven language translation guides, complete with IPA transcriptions of each word, as a hobby while he simultaneously wrote three separate theses.

Yet now, he acted as though reciting a single twenty-five minute lecture was the most terrifying linguistic endeavor he had ever undertaken.

Hermione placed a timid hand on David's shoulder, hoping to offer a show of support. David flinched under her touch, and his eye did that twitchy thing it did whenever she interrupted him when he was particularly focused.

"David, are you unwell?"

His face twisted up, eye twitching to an inaudible beat. He opened his mouth, but promptly closed it clapping his hand over it.

"Are you going to be sick?" she asked, taking a protective step back.

He waged an internal war with his gastrointestinal system before it was finally safe to talk. "I'm just not a good public speaker," he finally spit out at Hermione.

"Oh, that's just jitters. You can speak circles around everyone at this conference. Besides, we're hardly well-known in the world of academia yet. We've only managed to book a small lecture hall. Maybe a hundred wizards will show up at the most."

"Ohhh," he moaned, burying his face in his hands.

"However did you pass your thesis defenses?"

"Three glasses of bourbon, a mop bucket of sick, a panic attack that sent me to hospital, and an adjunct professor who argued with the defense committee that my research was sound and that I should not be punished for sudden and unexpected illness. They approved my work without ever speaking a single word to me."

Hermione stared agape. She and David had worked 60-70 hours a week, every week since the New Year cramped in his miniscule office in the Department of Foreign Magic at the ministry. In all that time, he never once mentioned that he would have a problem presenting their findings to the public.

Since they met six months ago, they had spent nearly every day together pouring over ancient texts; he dictated the translation, while Hermione consulted number tables, calendars, astronomy charts, and abacuses. For their endeavors, they had stumbled upon a long-forgotten prophecy which could amount to nothing, something, or everything. Hermione, who told David's department she was on loan from the Department of Numerology, had essentially signed her termination papers when she had ignored several projects concerning leyline databases and Magimeters that needed to be recalibrated. She had net yet been fired, as she had taken personal leave to attend the symposium. Another thing her department was yet unaware of.

"Besides, this," he gestured to his speech notes, "is not some fluffy thesis about the fricative shift of Arabic language. This, is madness."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her partner. "David, you agreed to this. When we saw where this research was heading, I gave you an out. You wanted to keep pursuing it. I'm getting terminated as we speak for abandoning my post to do this. We have to present this."

"Couldn't we publish anonymously?"

"No, we can't. It's an eight month process at least to be published and by then it will be too late. It has to be here and now. And we have to attach our names to it if we want to have any hope that someone, somewhere on the planet will take it seriously and do something about it."

"So why do I have to present it?"

"Because your name brings respect and gravitas. My name brings Prophet gossip and talk of my inability to live up to my potential following the war. My name will grab the headlines, but your name makes this believable."

"Hermione…I can't. I'm going to look like a fool up there, erasing any gravitas my name might have brought." At that moment, David hiccuped quite forcefully.

"Are you drunk now?" Hermione hissed.

David sheepishly twitched his mouth.

Hermione tore the speech notes from his trembling hand. "Fine. But your name is staying on the research AND you will be involved in the defense tonight. You don't have to say much, but I need you standing up there with me."

David's whole body relaxed, "Thank you," he whispered. He pulled his research partner close and kissed her on the forehead before pulling her into a hug. Hermione's whole body stiffened, but she relaxed into her partner, realizing the stress of her now impending lecture was causing her a great deal of apprehension. "Are you even sure we'll get called into a defense tonight?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if our research was the only topic of discussion for the rest of the conference."

David pulled back from Hermione, looking years younger than he had just moments ago. "Right then, I'm going to go be sick in the loo anyway, but I'll be back before you go in there."

Hermione watched her partner disappear around the corner and took a deep breath to steady herself. She turned to watch the crowd of witches and wizards funnel into the room that she would be standing in front of in just a moment, but before she could get a good look at her audience, N'gebe Mbembe, the symposium chairman, accosted her.

"Miss Granger, we are very pleased that you and Mr Manwarren will be presenting for us. We've had such an overwhelming response to your lecture that we've had to extend the room twice over. There will be close to three hundred people in there tonight.

Hermione's mouth suddenly went absolutely arid. "Well, that's good then," she said with a questioning inflection.

"Is Mr. Manwarren prepared?"

"Ah, well…" she croaked, "he is actually disposed at the moment."

N'gebe's eyes narrowed.

"But I've been asked to start the lecture. Mr Manwarren will join as soon as he is able."

Not entirely convinced, N'gebe simply shook his head in agreement. "Good to hear." And with that, he strode into the room.

Hermione took to the podium at the front of the lecture hall. A title card flashed on the wall behind her that read, 'Mesoamerican numerology and astrological calendar events: a meta-review of pre-colonial literature.' Hermione had spent more hours than were strictly necessary to scribe a title that would not incite an immediate riot before she and David had a chance to present their findings.

The room settled quickly, given Hermione no reason to delay. At the last moment before the doors closed, David slipped in and took a seat in the front row. He gave her a supportive smile and a thumbs up.

She coughed, slightly, suddenly feeling the panic that David had been building to all week. "Ladies and gentleman," she began. She could hear miniscule echoes of her voices translated into several languages and piped into the ears of witches and wizards wearing a small copper ear cuff. Subconsciously, she reached up and adjusted her ear cuff too.

She continued her speech. "My name is Hermione Granger. I am an Arithmantician at the Ministry of Magic in London. My research partner is David Manwarren. His specialty is Runeology, linguistics, and foreign languages. We have collaborated in the analysis of various Mesoamerican literate, with particular attention to the numerology contained within those texts."

Hermione nattered on for twenty minutes discussing the texts she and David analyzed, David's methodology of translation, and her numerancy methodology, cross-referenced with well-regarded number charts. Finally, Hermione reached the climax of her speech. "We've found a moment in time that we believe will have great worldwide significance. The twelve of July…in the year 2006."

The room broke into a hushed, frenetic conversation. Hermione expected this. The date in question was less than six weeks away.

"Something," Hermione's eye widened to convey the expansiveness of that word, "is going to happen."

Silence returned and hung thick in the room. A tall, dark-skinned wizard stood up at the back of the room. "And what exactly do you think is going to happen?" His foreign words were translated and piped through Hermione's copper cuff.

"Mr Manwarren and I have consulted with no less than two dozen Mesoamerican relics, which we then cross-referenced with countless Babylonian, Sumerian, Celtic, Macedonian, and Egyptian texts. Each one made mention of this date in some fashion. None of the cross-referenced texts specified the nature of the event, but just that it would be momentous."

A frosty-looking witch, swimming in hideous olive colored robes stood up. "Miss Granger, do you mean to tell me that beyond the mention of the date, there was not a single scrap of accompanying mythology to even suggest what is going to happen?"

Hermione swallowed intentionally before answering. "There is a one singular commonality besides the date." Again, Hermione felt a powerful need to swallow. She took her time. "According to the Mesoamerican texts, the date is strongly linked to a Mayan god by the name of Miclanthechtli."

Hermione could have heard a pin drop, the room waited on tenterhooks.

"Thegodofdeath."

Hermione winced and started counting in her head, waiting for everyone to collectively comprehend what she just said. She got to three before the first notebook came flying at her head.

Oh, when I said reluctant colleague in the blurb, you thought I meant Snape. No, no, no, I mean David Manwarren. You so silly. Please read and review if this story finds you well, or not well, or if you're basking in its mediocrity.