Chapter 6. The Beginning
January, 1928. About a year and a half after the battle of the Ordovices Hills, students strolled by on the walkways surrounding a not-quite-so-empty as it appeared, green lawn in the middle of a college somewhere north of London. They made their way to their classes. Young men in their suits and ties, young ladies in long skirts. Some of the striped jackets of the gentlemen and large hats of the ladies indicated they were off to some luncheon later that morning that might include a group photograph. Other students rushed by hastily. Several were trying to keep on the path and dodge, whilst not bumping into other people and, at the same time, trying to skim their assigned reading at the last minute. The black- and gray-stained sandstone walls were covered with ivy that surrounded and engulfed the windows. The ivy climbed upward, reaching toward the chimney pots that emitted their slowly-rising exhaust upward, before curling and drifting to the east and south toward the channel. None of the students of Pembroke, or the odd young professor of ancient languages sitting on a bench, noticed the two robed wizards standing on the damp green lawn.
There was no bowling on the Bowling Green during that moment of a damp, late January morning. The Bowling Green is revered for its history, so regardless of the wet grass that would dampen shoes, people respectfully avoided walking across it. Of even more importance is the fact that this site marks a confluence of energies. It isn't just coincidence that the grand and ancient university surrounds this site. In regards to the un-noticed wizards, even if there were bowlers, the space off in the corner where they stood no longer existed. At least not in a way that would interfere with a match. What's more, a match could no longer interfere with that space. It was hidden.
"All right Ben. You have what you wanted." Said Dumbledore as he put his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You still can't let me in on what it is you will be doing. What is this that is so important that you can't let me in? I can't know any more? Have you even allowed yourself to be privy to this information?"
"I'm pretty sure that, for the moment, I have to bear this burden alone." Ben replied. "Over the next several years, we have our work cut out for us, and this will be for me to tend. Don't worry… I'll be around to teach my classes and help out with the odd emergency or two. You will certainly be busy enough that this will hardly cross your mind. As for me, It's not like I'll be camped out here permanently. I will only need to come back to tend my work three times."
"Hmm… four parts to the process." Let's see if I can narrow it down."
"Stop Albus. Don't waste your time trying to investigate this." Ben warned with his hands up in a cautionary pose. "It would be best if you just put it out of your mind. It will be many years before this comes to fruition. I do appreciate your willingness to commit to my folly and to be willing to not interfere. As secret keeper, I'm trusting you to not only help create and maintain this space, but to be willing to remain ignorant of my travail."
Let's not get back into another discussion about trust, Ben. We each know where we stand… and on that note, I leave you to your 'activities.' Whatever they may be." Albus stepped back and began penetrating a bubble-like boundary.
"Thanks Albus." Ben said, without looking up.
Dumbledore gave a reassuring smile that went unseen. As he stepped back into the real world, a young professor on a bench looked up from his writing, but just missed glimpsing Dubledore as he disapparated, leaving an empty lawn. All that was left was a misty morning.
Unbeknownst to any faculty, staff, students, or visitors, Ben knelt down opening an ornately stitched, jewel-encrusted, and embossed leather and tartan sporran. Out came a dark crystal ball of cairngorm. The inside of the sphere was somewhere between transparent and translucent, swirling with cloudlike shapes. Then out came another, and another, then four more. He laid them out in a row before him, considering the good fortune that he had taken the job as professor at Hogwarts. When he arrived, three of these spheres already resided in a dusty drawer with a broken handle. The drawer didn't even shut all the way. They should have been secured in a vault. Another he had stolen from a murderer. That murderer still wandered the city of London, lost and hopeless. One more came from a muggle antique shop where it was being sold as stylish room decor. The last one had to be fished from the bottom of the Don, near Aberdeen.
Next came out the gemstones. Six of them. He lined them up on a piece of cloth he set out in front of him. One more he un-clasped from a gold ring on his finger to make seven in all. He had inherited the ruby ring from his uncle who died of consumption when he was a child of twelve. A note had arrived by post in a letter to his parents when he was just starting his second year at Hogwarts. It informed them that his mother's brother had died. His grandparents, who had moved to be close to their dying son, sent it along with several other items to be distributed according his uncle's wishes. Nobody in the house could believe that a child of twelve years would be left with a valuable gold ring holding such a large ruby. Only he knew it was because during Uncle Carl's final visit to his sister's house, Ben had shown a concern and compassion that others seemed to overlook out of their uncertainty of being around his terminally ill uncle. After dinner, his uncle was sitting alone. Ben was concerned about his apparent dejection, so he took his uncle into his bedroom and showed him his entire collection of muggle stamps. His uncle sat interested and engaged for two whole hours as Ben proudly and excitedly turned page after page and pulled out envelope after envelope.
Of the other gems lined up in front of him, one he had stolen from a vault in Gringotts. "Fortius Quo Fidelius." He murmured and chuckled. "So much for security." He held up the large blue stone and said "Thank you very much." The last one he got from his "very dear friend," Kleftis Crat. He had very nearly come to the end of his existence in obtaining that particular emerald. Of course, the other four he had retrieved all at once, along with one of the cairngorm stones, from a 'merry band' of spellcasters that wanted to call themselves kings.
Numerous pieces of gold scaffolding and framework came out piece by piece that was not altogether dissimilar from the model used by those conspirators in the Ordovices Hills. He laid them all out in front of him very carefully, so as not to mar their polish and keep them in an organized pattern on the ground.
Ben then turned the sporran up-side down and shook it until a pot with a small white barked bay laurel many times larger than the bag was pulled from its confines. "There you are. After four years of waiting, you are finally home." He murmured to himself as he inspected each branch and brushed sporran fuzz off some of the leaves.
Using his wand, which transformed into a shovel in his hand, he dug a hole and moved the root-ball of the tree into the hole. Ben knelt down and finished positioning the tree, carefully burying the roots and pressing the soil down firmly. With a wave of his wand, a watering can appeared, and saturated the soil around the bare trunk.
Ben then went to work constructing an elegant three dimensional clockwork frame. The central part included a box with a keyhole that contained gears. The curves of the thin, metal-strutted framework that were attached to the gearbox were shaped in bending and flowing, natural forms of an old-fashioned, for 1928, Jugendstil style. Silver and gold metalwork swept up and around the small trunk and above the highest leaf of the small sapling. Numerous extensions of the upward-reaching metalwork ended in large claw-like stands. Between these alternated ray-like spikes that ended in clasps.
When the construction of the metalwork was completed, Ben placed one cairngorm sphere in each of the claw-like stands. He then took each of the gems that were set into a bezel with a bail and clasped them to each of the rays. Four of them were white stones while each of the others were green, red, and blue.
After inspecting his handiwork, he produced a key from his pocket, set it into the center of the gearbox mechanism and turned it four complete times. He then placed his hands into the dirt around the base of the construction and chanted very slowly and steadily an ancient poem in an ancient language that spoke of ships and kings, stars and stones. The tree seemed to respond with silvery, white light that started to glow from the trunk and the edges of the leaves.
He stood up, bringing his hands up and around in a great circle with palms facing forward, wand held between his fingers. He held his wand high above, then brought it down swiftly, to tap the highest leaf of the laurel tree as he spoke the final words of the poem.
The mechanism of the metalwork immediately began to whir, tick, and move. The stones and gems began a slow journey around in a circular motion, moving in opposite directions.
External light was extinguished. Light from the tree and the resulting reflected light off the gold and silver of the jugendstil sculpture lit a small area that seemed to exist floating in space. Three other standing figures faded into view, each, along with Ben, standing around the white bay, filling in the four quadrants. Ben looked to his right and could see in his peripheral vision that each of the others did the same. He saw himself, with a bit more gray around the temples, but seemingly fit and healthy. From the profile view he had, he could see an expression between sadness and desperation. The corner of the eye he could see was red and tearing.
He turned his head to the left and saw an even older version of himself. This time, much thinner and care worn. He seemed to be breathing hard, but his expression was one of fear and worry. He seemed, nonetheless, determined to hold steadfast to his task.
He then faced across the circle and saw an even older self. The very thin, wan, harshly aged Ben seemed to smile reassuringly across the way, but his clothes were a wreck, torn and bloody. His face and hands were scarred. The four each turned to the left and walked clockwise around the tree, touching each stone with a hand and chanting the name of each stone and gem. When they had completed his cycle, he faced the Ben opposite his position. Each of the four Bens raised his wand to his temple and pulled a tendril of glowing mist, then handed the wand to his left with his left hand and reached to accept a wand with his right hand.
With that, the two middle Bens turned away with a mirrored, symmetrical motion from the tree and metalwork. Fire burst from their wands, in what appeared to be an attack upon some foes that remained unseen to the youngest Ben. The eldest Ben stepped forward and passed through the mechanism and tree, right up to the youngest Ben.
At that moment, the scene transformed back into the lawn on the Bowling Green. It was dark with the full moon shone down. The tree stood, freshly planted in the moonlight, no longer emitting its own light. The mechanism whirred and ticked as the spheres and gems turned slowly around the tree. Now he would just have to manage to survive long enough to see this fool's hope through to fruition. In the mean-time he had to find ways to foil the ever more creative and ambitious plans laid by the enemy.
Ben turned, stepped out of the protected area, and disapparated.
