Chapter 2
Ginevra (Ginny) Weasley
The sitting-room is eerily quiet.
It is three days after we arrived here, and we have not gone out of the tent for anything. But with this new problem we face, it is even more impossible to go out.
I shift heavily into a more comfortable position, while still sitting on the cushion on the rug in the for-once-cluttered sitting-room. The feeling permiating my whole body is strange and uncomfortable, as if I were a bug dragged down by the weight of a clump of honey. But at least Dila no longer requires my strength in the making of the map. It felt like my insides were sucked out and drained all at once.
"We shouldn't have let her do it," Hermione mutters darkly. Dila is slumped over the stretch of huge parchment we have prepared for the map. The blinding white light, the residue of the creation, has just faded from her hands and the parchment. Ana and Vorin shares her fate. Apparently she has taken most of their energy, more than she has the rest of us.
"It's too late," I slur. Apparently I misjudge my strength or the portion Dila has taken from me, because my eyelids feel quite heavy all of a sudden. I drag Vorin to the side, fetching some cushions along the way, and arrange a makeshift bedding for us on the edge of the rug. The second my head touches the pile of cushions and my arms wind around the little boy, I drop smoothly into unconsciousness.
When next I wake up, what greets me is the silence of a sleeping company, not the eerie one of a bunch of shocked people trying to deny what has resulted from their experiment. I disentangle myself from Vorin and sit up, looking around. The light from the lone plastic window across the room is very dim; a faint moon is waning. On the middle of the sitting-room, the stretch of map emanates a colourful phosphorescent glow.
The sticky, weighty exhaustion from earlier has dicipated. My body still throbs slightly with remembered ache, but it is no longer so bothersome. I look around for my wand, but it is even hard to see my legs in front of me properly. So, giving up, I close my eyes and stretch out my right hand – my wand hand. Then I summon it to me, by concentrating on having the familiar presence gripped in my hand. Ana has taught me this trick a long time ago, and it has always proven very useful.
It does not disappoint me now, either. When I open my eyes again, the sight of the familiar length of ashwood greets me, clutched in my fist. I contemplate it for a moment, rejoicing for its presence and drinking of the awareness that it is truly my match. I could not feel this in my own world; no one could, except perhaps the Kensingtons, who had been quite a powerful family in nearly all terms there. But Arda has the needed abundance of magic that our world lacked, and it boosts everything magical that we know, own, or see. I am just thankful that now I am in control of all my faculties. The first time we were here, I suffered from weak legs and low vision for the duration of our sojourn. It was horrible, but then again I was not the only one. We were all tested in one way or the other at that time.
I can no longer deny that this changed place is Arda; older than last we came and subsequently stranger, yet still the Arda we have known so far. I wonder if those angelic beings we befriended are still here, and if they still recognise us. It would be fun…
A flick. A murmured spell. The cluster of oil lamps hung on strategic places on the ceiling light up.
Ah. I have not forgotten the ways of magic here, then. For a moment there, I was afraid that the lamps would burst instead from an overpowered spell.
I look around again, and now notice my friends lying haphazardly around the sitting-room. Dila and Ana are missing, though; perhaps laid down in Ana's bed in her bedroom by a thoughtful someone. Hermione lies on her belly with her arms pillowing her head by the open map, while Daphne occupies the opposite side in her typical quiet sleep. Tracy is curled up in the rocking chair, her countenance troubled, but she does not otherwise stir.
My attention is drawn inexorably back to the map lying so innocently between the two girls. The glowing colours on it, moving slowly all the time, gleam brighter under the wavering yellowish light of the lamp and beckon me to examine them closer. I obey. I scoot closer and look down on it, my eyes hungrily roaming the expanse of dots and lines and plains.
As we have wished, the map looks much like the Marauders' Map, although less detailed – and perhaps less accurate. As planned, each of the dots representing ourselves are marked by different colours; obvious dangers by vivid red, possible threats by loominous grey, and common people by black. But I do not know what other traits the map holds, and Dila probably does not know the full extent of its capability, even. It was a blind project, and what drove us was sheer boldness; Gryffindor recklessness, some would say.
So now it is time to test it, before we proceed any further with other things.
I wake up my friends one by one, gently so as not to startle them into fighting mode. But I transfer Vorin – whom I do not wake up – to the bedroom, to join his sisters. (Hmm. I was right. Dila and Ana are there, tucked into the covers and sleeping peacefully, undisturbed, for once.)
The four of us gather before the map, and I blurt eagerly, "Where's Harry? Where's Ron?" Hermione and Tracy snicker, while Daphne only snorts primly and tosses her head – her way of showing amusement.
"Orange and emerald," Hermione suggests helpfully. "Now we should turn the map so that its north is the same as the real north here, th—"
The map has moved on its own accord, to our shock and dismay.
"You… put your hand on it, Hermione. It answered your wish. Perhaps we don't have to use our wands for this after all," Daphne says, a little shakily, after a full minute of dead silence. But despite her statement, she clutches her wand tighter in her hand, as if preparing for a foe to spring up suddenly from inside the placid map.
No one responds. But Hermione seems to accept her theory without reservations, because then she puts her trembling hand on the map and whispers, "Ron Weasley. Show us Ronald Weasley."
Her index finger is dragged to the upper right side of the map. The rest of us are knocked aside in her haste to follow her finger before her arm could be dislocated from the pull. Her horrified expression would look comical if not for the circumstances.
A bright orange dot flares brighter and bigger right above Hermione's fingernail. It reads "Ronald Weasley" in black lettering, and the place's name is the Grey Havens… whatever it is.
"It's closer to us," I state, needlessly. Realising it as soon as I utter the words, I blush and point at a cluster of colours huddled in a spot nearby a place named Buckland. "We only have the Tower Hills between us and Ron's place." Squinting, I can make out another, smaller script under the bolded name. "Emyn Berain. Perhaps some people recognise the same place by many names."
"Look at here, across the huge sea. It says Elvenhome and Valinor, beside some other names. I think this map is styled in two languages, at least," Tracy points out; but her smile is more unnerved than excited.
"Elves?" Hermione squeaks. "House elves? Is this world populated by house elves?"
While giving Tracy what I hope a reassuring grin, I tell our bushy-haired friend, "Don't you remember how they mistook us for Elves, Mia? They said 'Firstborn'. And they called us 'Secondborn', when they finally realised who we were."
Her face lights up, and she giggles with ironic amusement. "Well," she says lightly, "we are back being Secondborn again now."
We laugh. Those angelic beings who made and governed this world – this young universe – were just as perplexed with as as otherwise. But not all of them were friendly—
I shake my head and rein in my mirth. "Anyway…" I scoot to another side of the map, farthest from Hermione, then put my hand, palm down, firmly on the piece of parchment. "Harlend Potter-Kensington," I call in a clear voice, as if I could bring Harry to me by mere strength of voice.
Well, it does not happen. My hand is instead pulled to another direction by the map, and I end up kissing Hermione's nose when I fall prostrated on the map. "Oomph. Sorry, Mia. Sorry, everyone," I groan, and gingerly lift myself away from the precious parchment.
But the map is not even wrinkled.
"Well, I've proven another trait of this map, I think," I say weakly, as my eyes are seeking for the spot my hand has just moved away from.
"Harry's in Rivendell," Hermione mumbles, her gaze fixed on a point on the map; most likely the spot I have been searching for. Ah, our Watcher…
"It says Imladris too. It's too far, anyhow," I say dejectedly, once my eyes drink the details surrounding the green dot which is Harry's. "Let's try another one. What's Neville's colour?"
"Light brown," Tracy pipes up, unexpectedly.
But no one wants to check on the map for his whereabouts. Or rather, no one is willing to be pulled or shoved aside involuntarily during the search.
In the end, we decide to pay attention only to the spots we have found so far.
But Hermione seems to be having another idea in mind. with a thoughtful look, she taps the dot labeled "Tower Hills", resulting in the spot's enlargement into three circles, one nearer to the sea than the others. And when she taps the circle closer to the sea, it transforms into a small picture of a tall stone tower.
"Cool!" I whisper excitedly. "See what's in it, Mia."
Another tap. The highest level of the tower reveals something that is burning with a pure white colour, as blinding as Dila's magic was. We gasp. "What's that?" collective voices whisper, half in awe and half in fear.
"A powerful object, perhaps?" Tracy muses, her voice strained. "A crystal ball? Looks like it from here."
I want to retort that there are no crystal balls in Arda, but then remember that she has never been here before. Besides, she has been so strained by all the events we have been through thus far. She comes from a pureblood family, like I do, but this level and show of magic are quite different from what we were used to in the Wizarding World. Well, and I can see that she is a Ravenclaw-Slytherin, unlike the rest of us here – who have at least a bit of Gryffindor in our personalities.
"Let's see if there are others," I say, trying not to draw attention to how uncomfortable she is among us.
She gives me a faint, surreptitious smile. I smile back in the same way.
"We have to see the map in full, then," Hermione is saying. We return our attention to the map, and what Hermione is doing with it.
Just in time to see it change, obeying her oral command without her touching the parchment. The lines squiggle and merge. The dots shrink and change; some vanish, but there are even more dots replacing those—
"Hey. Here, here. There are two here… but they're in an inland sea, on the seabed, I think. Weird. Perhaps they're really small? Then it makes sense that they're carried to the sea and the carrier's drowned with them," Hermione chatters excitedly, pointing to a spot north of the map. "They're just as bright as the one in that tower, though." Then, "We need to take notes!" She looks around frantically. Now I notice that she does not have her wand with her…
Smirking, I Achio my pack to me, and plunge a hand into it, thinking meanwhile of parchments and quills and ink bottles.
The things inside it shift, and my hand happen upon just the things I need. Perfect.
With a flourish, I draw them out one by one and set them before Hermione. With a teasing grin, I say, "Next time don't forget your wand, buddy."
She glares. I chuckle. Tracy hides a grin behind her hands. Mission accomplished…
We return our attention to the map, again, and each examine a patch of it for the wight lights.
But how if the "white lights" are sickly white or even grayish?
Tracy finds the former, and Daphne finds the latter. Hermione and I find two more bright lights, and that makes it seven in total. But what are they?
There is only one way to find out. We have to visit the nearest site hosting one of the lights ourselves.
But Tracy—
I look up, and do a double take. Tracy is not in the room anymore. I did not hear her going… Whoa. It is either I have been more engrossed in the map and the discussion about it than I have thought, or she is more swift and stealthy than I have credited her for. – Probably both.
Before anyone else notices her absence, though, she is back, the sleepy Vorin in her arms, and the twins trailing behind her. Dila and Ana look fresh and curious, and judging from the look in their eyes, they are talking with each other mentally. (I have known them long enough to catch that. Besides, I had a pair of magical twins as big brothers, and they looked that way too sometimes.)
On the sight of them, though, the invisible dam holding us back – without our knowledge – breaks, and we barrage them with questions and information.
"Harry's in Rivendell."
"Ron's in Grey Havens."
"We found some weird wight lights on the map."
"How are you? Are you recovered enough?"
"It was a foolish thing to attempt, Ardila."
"Can we have breakfast now?"
Vorin utters a sharp whining protest. The three of us fall silent with chagrined expression on our faces. "Sorry."
Dila chuckles – unrepentantly. Ana smirks.