Amaranth
By M. M. Bratrud, aka Dathomir
Chapter 3 – Shock
"But….the Holy Grail doesn't exist. Does it?" Ron's voice was hesitant. Hermione shook her head. "Probably not. It's a myth. No one actually believes in it anymore. Although," she said, getting that faraway look in her eye that was peculiar to her, "all myths have a basis in fact."
"Well, yeah, but come on…I mean, the Holy Grail? No way." said Ron.
"You know?" Hermione said, looking at Ron half-teasingly, "I'll bet I have a book on the subject."
Ron groaned.
"You can't be serious Hermione. It's nearly midnight already."
Everyone was looking rather haggard. Even Luna, normally unchanging, was slightly more pop-eyed than usual. Harry stood up. "Yeah, I think it's time for bed."
Hermione looked reluctant, but she acquiesced. "Alright, but don't think you're getting out of it, Ronald. Tomorrow we'll all be fresh and we can have a look in the attic. Oh, but I suppose you have to tend the shop. It'll have to wait.
Ron and Harry helped old Xeno out of his chair while Ginny and Hermione moved the book to the mantelpiece above the fire, which was now almost dead. Luna rushed off to the kitchen to prepare hot water bottles. Lovely as it was, the central heating at Rowantwaithe left much to be desired. Suddenly, Hermione gave a loud yell. "I'VE GOT IT!"
Ron swore and almost dropped Xeno Lovegood. Xeno himself, who had been enjoying a nap, opened one eye peevishly and then closed it again, muttering. Harry and Ginny caught each other's eye and smiled.
Everyone looked at Hermione. Ron spoke sarcastically; "What is it this time? Oh, I know!" He snapped his fingers as if in comprehension, "it's not the Grail after all; it's the Tower of Babel. Or maybe scrolls from the library of Alexandria!" He beamed in ecstasy and mimed peering at a scroll and wiped an imaginary tear of joy away.
Hermione was unmoved. She crossed her arms in front of her and raised an eyebrow at Ron's antics. "Are you finished?" Ron, curious in spite of himself, indicated that he was. "I know what this is." She held up the small golden medallion. "It's called a questicon. It's kind of a guide for people on a quest; a clue. In this case, the Grail quest. You remember old Xeno telling us about the Hallows quest?" she nodded her head toward the old man, who had dozed off again. By this time Luna had returned and looked despairingly at Hermione, who was on one of her verbal crusades again. "Well, the Grail quest was similar. The seekers stuck together, formed societies. I guess they thought there was safety in numbers. A questicon was hidden with a strong magical pulse put on it. A new recruit to the Quest would have to go around the countryside, finding the questicons and following them to the next one. Of course, they never learned anything new, as the Questicons were planted by other members of the Quest, but Bagshot speculates that the senior Questors knew more than they told, so there's no way to be sure if this is new information or not."
"Tell me that's not a direct quote from A History of Magic," Ron said. Hermione didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed, so she compromised by aiming a playful half-kick at Ron, who didn't dodge fast enough and contorted his face in pretended agony, moaning terribly and rubbing his shin. Hermione continued: "Luckily, I know the spell, so there's an easy way to see if this one was ever used." She pulled out her wand and passed it over the medallion a few times, muttering an incantation under her breath. It didn't sound like Latin to Harry, and her wand movements were somehow not the ones they had learned at Hogwarts; at once shorter and more elegant. A pale golden mist erupted around the plaque, revolving around it and engulfing Hermione's hand. A deep, stentorian voice began faintly, and grew louder in time with Hermione's own incantation. It also was in a foreign language. Even Xeno Lovegood was watching Hermione now, an odd intensity in his watery eyes.
Hermione closed her eyes and lifted her hand, chanting louder and faster. The medallion rose from her hand, floating in the center of the room. Finally, the voice became quieter and the mist receded until it was just a plain gold medallion again. It dropped back into Hermione's hand. An odd smell permeated the room, flowery and playful, but at the same time deeper; ancient and sad. Harry thought he might have smelled it in a garden once, but he couldn't place it. Hermione stood looking wide-eyed at the plaque. Some of the golden mist seemed to hang around her for a moment, vitalizing her appearance. Her eyes were never so chocolaty, her hair never so golden-brown. She was more beautiful than Harry had ever seen her. It awed him.
The golden radiance dissipated and Hermione was Hermione again, perhaps with more of a twinkle in her eye.
"What
was that?" Ron asked, bewildered.
"That." Hermione said,
smiling "was Cornish Magic."
"Wow," said Ron, "I've got to learn that."
"So….has the questicon been used before?" Harry asked.
"No, actually." said Hermione, her brow creasing. "That intrigues me. But," she sighed, as if conceding defeat, "I suppose we'll have to wait until I can get it translated to know for sure if it's what I think it is."
Ron looked at her quizzically. "And what do you think it is?"
Hermione smiled. "What else could it be, Ron? The whereabouts of the Grail itself."
The English copy of the enormous book was proving difficult to locate, and after a week or so, life at Rowantwaithe reverted to its normal pace. Michael Corner was still fairly sure that they could find a copy of the book, but he could not give them an estimate as to when. The questicon also proved to be somewhat of a disappointment. Hermione had taken it to the Ministry, and Michael Corner took one glance at it and decided it was beyond his Cornish skills. He assured Hermione that no one else would be able to translate it, and so it was decided to wait for the translation of the book and see what it had to say about the Grail Quest. This was probably just as well, in Harry's opinion. He didn't see any reason to invite rumors and gossip by inviting an unknown third party to examine the questicon, even if they could translate it.
So, Harry went back to his writing—each day he spent bent over the parchment, quill in hand. The commissions at The Quibbler were coming faster now, and Harry was hard pressed to keep up. Ron was looking after Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which had expanded under George Weasley's expert care. George himself had been in a nasty accident with an erumpent horn that somebody passed off as one from a Crumple-Horned Snorkack (Absurditus Luniae, documented by L. Scamander) and was confined to the hospital for a month, so the burden of running the bustling business fell squarely on Ron's shoulders, leaving him precious little time to spend with Hermione and the children. Old Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped, and Bill and Fleur, but the former did not have the knack for business and with Victoire's special needs, Bill and Fleur were hard-pressed to keep up with their own lives.
Victoire was recovering nicely from her surgery, but the doctors said she needed constant monitoring in case the arrhythmia began again. Fleur was thus forced to give up her job at Ollivander's and stay home with her daughter, to care for her and to help her keep up with her Hogwarts studies. This left them to live on Bill's salary at Gringott's, which wasn't as much as it could have been. They had refused all offers of help from anxious friends and family members, financial or otherwise.
Luna was busy as well, taking care of her father as well as running the thriving Quibbler. After the fall of Voldemort, subscribers were wary to return to the Daily Prophet, especially now that it was proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything Harry Potter had said was true. It shriveled and finally folded. Luna snapped it up and turned The Quibbler into a daily newspaper. It kept her so busy that she had little time for anything else, including men, although she had had more than her share of offers.
Ginny had her hands full with their children; James, Albus, and little Lily. She endured everything the children could throw at her with her characteristic patience. Mrs. Weasley, seeing the chaos raised by the precocious children shook her head and stated matter-of-factly, "I suppose children from a match like that are bound to be a handful." This, indeed, seemed to be the case. Teddy Lupin helped with the children when he could, but he was studying hard at Hogwarts.
As weeks turned into months, and the weather mellowed slightly as they neared the end of March, Michael Corner's search for the book apparently bore fruit: an old gentleman in Godric's Hollow had been wheeling a stack of books to the rubbish heap on a cart when Michael happened to come across him in the street. They were neighbors, and so he passed the time of day. Michael, more of politeness than anything, asked him what the books were, and why he, the old man, was desirous of being rid of them. "I can't rightly say, Squire," he said in a gravelly voice, with a thick Yorkshire accent that sounded out of place in the genteel atmosphere of Godric's Hollow. "Picked 'em up from old Worley's. He passed on, see, and nobody knew of any kin, so the church held a rummage sale. No one knew what these were, so I got 'em for a song. Thought they might be worth something. Aren't though," he finished morosely. The lines on his face deepened. Can't even understand 'em. Writing's awful flowery, and I never was much for reading anyway. So, I says to meself, there isn't any need to waste shelf space on 'em, so I'll have Art burn them." Michael, by this time having inspected the books, indicated that he could take them. The man, only too eager to be rid of his burden, agreed. Michael found that the books were in terrible condition, so they were taken to the Ministry and Michael set about repairing them. According to Michael, it was going to take a week or so. Harry waited impatiently. Finally, on the morning of the second of April, Michael Corner's head popped up in the fire, just before breakfast. "Got it ready!" He said, not wasting any words on greeting. Ron and Hermione had stayed the night before, as the wind off the sea was bitterly cold; too cold to walk back to their cottage, about a quarter mile away. Harry stopped buttering his toast and smiled.
"Finally. I don't mind telling you I had just about given up."
Michael smiled, the flames dancing around and under his head. "Lost your faith in me that quickly, Potter? It's only been two months. No, I don't blame you. I was at the end of my rope myself. Anyway, I won't be able to come over myself, so I'm owl-posting it."
"How on earth are you going to do that? They must weigh two hundred pounds or more."
"Heavens, Ron, are you a wizard or not? Hover charm, of course. Anyway, Hermione, I'll see you at the office. See you Harry, Ron. My, Ginny those kids aren't letting you rest, are they?" The flames began to engulf his head. Hermione snapped her fingers.
"Wait, Michael. Before I forget, I won't be in till noon tomorrow. Hugo's got a doctor's appointment. I've been trying to get him in for months and I only found out yesterday. Sorry."
"Doesn't matter. Believe me, I know all about socialized medicine," said Michael, smiling. "Things are pretty slow around here. Take care." The flames engulfed him fully, and Michael Corner's head disappeared. Ginny took the sizzling bacon off the stove and they sat down to eat.
The next morning, two things happened. The first occurred as Harry was paying the Quibbler owl for his paper, yawning. Another owl, quite a large one, swooped down, its wings fanning. In its claws was an impossibly huge package. Harry untied the package, and the letter attached to it. He attempted to lift the package and found that it weighed only a fraction of what it should. The owl, an unusually dour specimen, flew away. Harry took the package, the Quibbler, and the letter back inside, shivering in the morning chill. Ginny was up by this time, and smiled as he began to open the package. "Finally." In it were thirty old volumes. Harry picked up the first one and began to read. It was complicated; "flowery writing," as the old man had said. It was, however, very readable, and Harry was immediately interested. Reluctantly, he put it down and went to wake the children.
When he had a moment to himself, Harry looked at the letter that had come with the package. It was not addressed; or even sealed. Inside was a single sheet of paper with writing in Michael's hand. It looked rushed, something completely alien to Michael's methodical ways. It had a strange urgency to it, and the stirrings of unease began to grow in Harry's stomach. Written on the sheet were the words, "Look below the locket." The seemingly pointless and random words only increased Harry's anxiety, but he laid the letter aside and went to eat breakfast.
The second thing happened just as the breakfast dishes were cleared off the table. A silver-white shape appeared in the middle of the room. Lily screamed and Ginny rushed to hold her. The shape solidified into a mammal, like a wolf, but with a nobler cast to the eyes and something ferrety about the nose. It was a Patronus. A voice issued from it, stentorian and captivating due to the nature of the spell. Still, Harry could tell that it was the voice of Draco Malfoy, rigidly in control but extremely tense. "Corner's been found dead in his office. Weasleys already alerted. Come at once. No idea who or how."
Sorry for the slight cliff-hanger. Anyway, it might be a while before chapter 4 is up, but rest assured, it will be juicy. I hope you enjoyed chapter 3, anyway. ;)
Alex, thanks for the tremendous help. I made some pretty stupid mistakes. However, some things are unchanged. For example, the story is set before the epilogue of Deathly Hallows, and thus Teddy and Victoire are still at school, while James Potter Jr. is not. I'm not sure what ages Ron and Hermione's kids are, but they are probably just starting at Hogwarts. Also, when Hermione "assumed the faraway look that was peculiar to her" I saw no need to change it, because I actually have seen that used in other books; I could have substituted "unique" for "peculiar" if that clears up the meaning somewhat. Also, "A History of Magic" is a book by Bathilda Bagshot, and a proper noun, so I saw no reason to uncapitalize (not a word) "history." Am I wrong?