Chapter 7
The Talismanic Group
Harry was surrounded by black, demonic creatures, a writhing fury of flesh. Their screams and howls drowned out his own terrified thoughts as he cowered in the middle of a small clearing, the only free space amid the churning tangle of bodies. His panic climbed as the gap shrank, losing a minute inch with every second that passed. He was almost ready to turn and lash out with bare fists, anything to keep the beasts away—but he was too late. Snarling creatures heaped themselves on top of him; he was soon well-buried beneath mounds of these…these things. He was on his hands and knees, keeping up only by means of seemingly superhuman strength; yet it wasn't enough to throw them off. He started to sway, the stack of monsters moving with him, and the mesh of limbs shifted just enough to allow him a narrow view of a section of the open air. Even as he gazed through, a tall, black, slender figure rose from the mass of activity, gliding toward him. Harry stared in a newly rising terror, certain that this was yet another horror come to add to the assault on Harry's mind and body. It drew closer and closer, until it was right next to the heap that covered Harry. And suddenly, it exploded. Nay—it burst into light, the sudden brightness giving the impression of a flaming eruption. Where the figure had stood, a gleaming angel shone with a magnificent brilliance, whiter than any white Harry had ever known. Everything was thrown off of Harry, and as he watched in stunned disbelief, all of the demonic creatures rolled away from him like and expand, ebony wave, surging away from the being that stood beside him. Gazing at his savior, Harry was struck with an impression of a majestic shard of Heaven, a pillar of ultimate glory. He realized that the figure was offering its hand to him, an extension of luminous perfection. He immediately reached up, but even as he did, he felt a great weight pressing on his body, as though an invisible force were trying to push him down. And succeeding. Harry knew he wouldn't be able to grasp the miraculous image before him, but just to touch it would be enough for him, would last a lifetime. Their fingertips were scant inches apart…
Snap!
The loud, unexpected sound broke the fetters that bound Harry in his swoon, and his eyes flashed open. He was instantly sitting upright, finding himself on a recliner. His first instinct was to locate the source of the sound. It wasn't hard; there was someone standing behind him, to the left. Kingsley, holding a large chunk of chocolate, presumably what had made the sound.
"'Bout time, mate," said a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Ron sitting in an armchair nearby, holding a paper.
How…How long have I been out?" asked Harry.
"You arrived about half an hour ago," a quiet voice said from behind him, and Harry knew without looking who it was, because he could sense her mind. It was very tense, and when he looked around, he saw that she was staring at him with an anxious expression.
"You okay?" he asked, concerned. He didn't like her tension…
"She's been worried sick about you, Harry," Ron answered for her. Was that a hint of bitterness in his voice?
"No need to worry, Hermione, I'm all right," Harry reassured her. Reaching out with his mind, he showed her that he felt okay. He sensed a small gush of relief, but her expression eased only slightly.
"What happened back there, Harry?" Ron asked, throwing the newspaper he held onto the Minister's desk. Seeing Harry's confused expression, he elaborated, "You cast a Patronus without a wand, then it sounded like you were talking to someone."
"I don't know how the Patronus happened," said Harry, "and the person I was talking to—" He stopped and glanced warily at Kingsley, who was listening closely, then decided to continue. "I saw Gryffindor," he said, and described the whole encounter.
Ron, stunned, said, "You were visited by a—a—?"
"Wraith," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact voice. "Gryffindor…that explains some things. And casting a Patronus without a wand…that indicates a lot of power, but it drains people horribly…" She looked sharply at him, seeming to search his face for something. "You're sure you're okay?"
"I feel fine."
"I'd still feel better if you ate some chocolate," Hermione said, glancing at Kingsley, and he stepped forward, saying, "I have some chocolate here. How about some wine as well?"
Harry suddenly realized that his throat was very dry. "Yes, please," he replied.
Kingsley handed him a chunk of chocolate, and pulling out his wand, he murmured, "Vinum!" Three goblets of wine appeared. He handed one to Ron and Harry, then offered the third to Hermione. When she shook her head, he took it to his desk and sat down, sipping from it. Harry bit a chunk from his chocolate, then realized that they were watching him. Casting around for a distraction, his eyes landed on the newspaper Ron had tossed aside. From where Harry sat, the text was upside down, but he could still make out the words Dragon Attack. "There was another attack, then?" he asked casually.
Ron followed his gaze, and scowled. "Yeah," he answered, "not far from the Burrow. Dad's friends with the witch who lived there, and she lost almost everything in the house. Stupid over-sized lizards!"
"What are you doing about that?" Harry inquired, looking at Kingsley.
There's not a whole lot we can do, Harry," the Minister replied gravely, wearing a deep frown. Harry simply stared at him expectantly, so he continued.
"So far, we have the Magical Creature Capture and Containment team patrolling England, but that's about it."
"They have Dragon Control Specialists in Romania," stated Hermione. Have you contacted them?"
Kingsley almost smiled. Yes. And as far as I know, one of our own specialists is still there, maintaining the flow of reports."
"And there's nothing new?" prompted Ron hopefully.
Kingsley sighed. "All we can do," he spoke to all three, "is watch and wait."
Silence fell, and Kingsley seemed to notice that Harry's chocolate was gone. He immediately began talking.
"Well, Harry, I'll admit that—although I spoke with the museum guards and the museum's manager—I still don't know nearly as much about this situation as I would like." He sighed. "I'm sorry for taking so long getting to you. Hermione was very fast in informing me of your demise. I would have retrieved you sooner, but even I have to take certain mandatory steps before releasing anyone from Azkaban. And while I was busy, I narrowed the explanations for your behavior down to two. One, the unfavorable answer, is that you went off your rocker and nicked the sword, and somehow bullied Ron into assisting you. But," he continued, raising a hand to forestall Harry's protest, "knowing you, I immediately discarded that thought. The other explanation was that you didn't steal the sword, that it was Ron, who was either under the Imperious Curse or being impersonated. Is that what happened?"
"Yes!" agreed Harry. "That's what I keep trying to tell everyone, but they won't listen!"
"Ahhh, that's unfortunate …and things are more complicated by—well, have you any idea who the culprit might be?"
"Not a clue," Harry said.
"As I said, that complicates the situation. People always want someone to blame, and you just happened to…and that's another thing. Did you ever wonder exactly why that particular object was targeted?"
"No," answered Harry, confused. "I wondered why it had to be me."
"But you were told during your arrest that the sword was once Ravenclaw's?"
"Yeah," replied Ron slowly.
"Well, that artifact has a very special history behind it," explained Kingsley, looking at Harry. "It has seen some very rare events. And the past isn't entirely faded from it. But I don't know enough to give you an accurate summary. So, I took the liberty of inviting an expert to speak with you."
"An expert?" Hermione questioned.
"An expert in—er, dragon-history," Kingsley elaborated. "He should be along any time now."
Right on time, the flames in his fireplace turned emerald-green; a shape could be seen spinning in the flames, and a second later a tall, thin man with black hair and a lined face stepped smoothly out onto the hearth.
"Minister," he said quietly to Kingsley in greeting.
"Hello, Mark," replied Kinsley. "Have a seat." Another armchair appeared out of nowhere, and Mark sank into it. Kingsley then waved a hand at Harry and his friends, saying, "These friends of mine would like to hear the story I mentioned to you before. After all, you know it much better than I do."
"Very well," said Mark. "First of all, my name is Mark O'Brea—," Harry sensed a small shift in Hermione's mind, but didn't eavesdrop on whatever she was thinking. "— I'm a Draconic historian. In other words, my area of expertise is all the European history that is related to dragons, and a good deal of dragon-oriented history from elsewhere." he scanned their faces. "How much do you know about draconic talismans?"
Ron's face brightened in recognition. "My dad has mentioned some…you mean like talismans made from parts of dragons?"
"No," corrected Mark, "I mean like talismans enchanted, or rather improved upon, by dragons."
Ron's response was: "Oh!" then "But that's impossible!"
O'Brea's eyebrows rose. "How so?"
"Dragon's can't—they aren't—I mean, you're talking about dragons casting spells, right?" Ron said, clearly bewildered.
"Mmm, not so much casting spells as influencing them," Mark said. "Dragons can augment, twist, or renew enchantments. The case I speak of, involves augmenting."
"But they can't! They aren't smart enough!" Ron objected.
"They once were," said Hermione softly, and Mark's eyes flashed over to her.
"But—But my dad never said—" stammered Ron, and Harry almost smiled at his confusion.
"That is because the particular case I speak of was a very rare one, and all but forgotten over the years. A few scattered people may tell of the tale, but as far as they know, it is simply a story told for amusement. After all, the vicious creatures we call dragons could hardly be intelligent, could they?" He smiled. "Everyone wants to believe that true intelligence results in benevolence of some sort. Unfortunately, Lord Voldemort's achievements provided quite an argument against that."
"What about your story?" prompted Hermione, watching him intently.
"Ah, yes, the story," said O'Brea, as though he had forgotten. "Well, it is basically about four people who encountered a nice dragon. Apparently, it had concerns about the human-level intelligence of dragon all over. Because with intelligence, comes deviance and cruelty, and such cunning makes it even harder to keep the world reasonable. Add tremendous strength, sharp claws and teeth, immense size, and fire power on top of it, and you have quite a problem. Multiply that by a hundred, and…well, you can guess how things go from there. In short, this particular dragon decided that to solve the problem, the dragons' intelligence should be eliminated entirely, reducing them to the wits of a wolf." He paused to let this sink in, then continued. "However, this dragon knew that the spell wouldn't last forever. So it gave a large amount of power to an item belonging to each of the travelers, creating a total of four talismans. These talismans are said to now have powerful enchantments enabling the wielder to fend off dragons…or subdue them. And perhaps even assault wizards as well. And one other power is said to be available, according to the dragon. A great and mighty power that we can hardly guess at, and can hardly afford to have fall into enemy hands." He sighed, then said, "The sword of Ravenclaw is rumored to be one of those talismans, and there is much evidence supporting that theory."
"So who is trying to gather these talismans?" Hermione asked slowly, staring off into space.
"Have you ever heard of the Talismanic Group?" asked O'Brea in reply.
"No," answered Hermione, as Harry and Ron shook their heads.
It is a group of treasure hunters who have developed a taste for a specific type of treasure. Old, powerfully enchanted treasure, to be precise. Then, not long ago, some influential person gathered them together for a purpose that appealed to their hearts: obtaining and uniting a special collection of talismans, the talismans from the story I just told you."
"And what do they plan on doing with them?" inquired Ron, looking nervous. "They could do a lot of damage, from the sound of it."
"That's what the Ministry would like to know," replied Kingsley
"Hold on," said Harry quickly, perking up. "The Ministry's involved in this?"
"It could very well become a matter of national security, so yes, the Ministry is involved. Due to speculations by various professionals, it seems we can hardly afford not to be involved."
"Are you making any headway?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed.
"We had an inside eye, but we lost contact with our, er, agent, a few days ago. I believe that, somehow, he was found out and eliminated permanently. From what information we've gotten, their leader seems quite…intelligent. Very cunning. Too cunning to sensibly risk further efforts at spying."
"Who is their leader?" Harry questioned. He could sense the discussion drawing closer to the part that involved them in it; or more accurately, the part that involved the solution to their predicament.
"A man named Gaspin Ruthright," answered Kingsley bitterly. Harry wondered briefly what Gaspin Ruthright had done to deserve such emotion. "He is a sly man, as he keeps himself from being directly connected to anything." The Minister sighed.
So…what are we going to do?" Ron asked impatiently.
"I should warn you that lack of solid evidence in your defense will result in both of you having this situation in your criminal background," Kingsley informed them. And Harry, I'm sorry about this, but your teacher sent an owl about an hour after your arrest, expressing her strong disinterest in teaching you further. In other words, she has kicked you out permanently. I must ask you not to hold it against her. She is a very strict and smart woman; but her pride…I don't blame her for her endeavor to maintain the wellbeing of her reputation by cutting off all ties between you and her. It would be a very difficult position…" Kingsley grimaced, then said, "Mark may have something to add…?" His statement ended as a question, as he looked at O'Brea.
"All I have to say is suggest that you read further about this matter. See the various versions of the story I told you. You might learn more. I want you to understand this matter fully, and that includes the history behind it."
Er—okay," said Harry. He really hadn't been looking for assigned reading, but if it helped him…
"It may prove an interesting read, and rewarding in ways you wouldn't have imagined," commented O'Brea, looking at them meaningfully.
"Well," said Ron, "we really won't have much else to do, besides me practicing—"
"We'll be sure to check it out," Harry assured the expert, then rose. "You guys ready?" he asked Ron and Hermione.
"Yeah," said Ron, and they both got up.
"Harry? I'd like you to find out where the other talismans are, and I want you to report any new developments," Kingsley requested. He seemed to sense Harry's lack of commitment, for he added, Remember, the sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can nail the people responsible for this, and the sooner we can clear your names."
Harry merely nodded, then headed for the door. He opened it, and stepped aside to let Ron and Hermione through. "Er, before you go…where are you heading off to?" The minister asked.
"I think," said Harry slowly, "that I am going to go look for a new teacher."
Wait," Kingsley commanded, and Harry turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. The Minister sorted through the papers on his desk, before holding up what looked like a memo. "The teachers are meeting in the conference room in the Department of Magical Education. You should go there, while they are all gathered. Good luck."
"Thanks," Harry said, and turned and walked out, letting the door close behind him.
"Harry?" asked Hermione as he rejoined them, and they strode along. "What's that on your hand?"
Harry paused, then raised his left hand and stared at the back of it. "What…?" he murmured, for where there should have been smooth flesh, was a scar. He vaguely remembered being cut by a bit of stone, but this…this didn't look right. Rather than a simple slash in his skin, Harry now bore an oddly shaped mark on his hand. A mark like a…G.
"G for Gryffindor," whispered Hermione, and Harry looked up in surprise.
"How do you know?" he demanded, and she shook her head.
"I don't."
