Chapter 10

December 1347 – February 1348

Granada

Harry looked in satisfaction at the cauldron full of milky liquid. "You did something truly remarkable, Master Severus," he said admiringly. "Surely this is among your best work?"

"I should think not," the potions master muttered. "There's still room for improvement … the potion should be clear, not opaque, for one …"

"I thought that was because of the powdered bezoars?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Didn't you both tell me it was impossible to grind them further or risk losing all poison-banishing properties?"

"Yes, yes," Severus waved a dismissive hand in Harry's general direction and continued to glare at the potion. "But maybe another distillation, or a finer filter –"

"No, Severus," Draco said quite firmly, and raised a hand to stem whatever Severus was going to say next. "We've filtered it from here to Doomsday. And distilled and boiled down and clarified and strained until there was nothing left to strain. There are no impurities left in the initial elixir, or in every liquid we've added."

"You don't know that!"

Draco huffed exasperatedly at the stubborn man. "What I know is how it galls you to release a remedy that's less than absolutely perfect. So what if it's not the Sovereign Specific we'd hoped for? It'll still heal a plethora of illnesses, and we can deal with any side effects if and when they appear."

He gripped Severus' sinewy forearm just below a blister he'd gained during the last brewing and squeezed gently.

"I also know that I'm not even half as adept at Potions that you are. But in all these months we've been working together you've taught me that eventually one has to find a stopping point – a place where any further 'improvement' becomes mere fiddling. And trust me, we've reached that stage days ago."

"Please let it rest, Master Severus," Harry chimed in as well. "You've succeeded in brewing something you said was nigh on impossible. Maybe a universal remedy needs a god to create, and that we are not."

Severus scowled and turned his back toward them. He knew he could be rightfully proud of what he'd achieved, but not even the handsome compensation Draco and Harry had handed him in the form of a sizeable amount of gemstones and a Letter of Credit with the House of Piedro del Oro could make up for having to stop at 'almost, but not quite'.

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

What did come, right after the Month of Fasting had started on the fourth day of December, was a Greek scholar with whom Severus, in his Abbas persona, used to exchange regular letters. He was also a member of a rich wizarding trading House, and went by the name of Seirios Mavros. Tall, handsome and boisterous, he routinely caused much chagrin to a young witch in his retinue called Hermione Symponia.

"Please forgive Archon Mavros," she said to Severus when it became obvious within a few days that despite their long-standing friendship via correspondence the two men mixed about as well as oil and water when being face to face. It wasn't the first time, even in the short time since their arrival, that she was rolling her eyes in exasperation. "He can be quite trying at times, I know, but his knowledge of magical and Muggle lore is really rather extraordinary."

"I'd extraordinarily like to kick him where it'd do the most good," Severus muttered, casting a baleful glance at the corner where Mavros sat with Harry. The two of them had instantly connected, and got along like the proverbial house on fire. Right now, Harry was showing the Montségur treasure to the man, explaining that he'd tried to charge the chalice with moonlight since Mabon at the end of September.

"It came to me when I saw the Harvest Moon right after Draco and Master Severus had finished the potion," Harry explained earnestly. "I don't know whether it's necessary, but surely it can't hurt?"

Mavros turned the earthenware cup this way and that in his hands, studying it intently. "One would think so," he said at last, choosing his words with care. "It already has strong inherent magic, and exposure to the rays of the moon can only enhance any healing powers it might have." He shook back his luxuriant, well-groomed black locks. "Have you prayed for help over it?"

Harry squirmed a bit, feeling unaccountably embarrassed in such suave company. "Yes. I've lit candles to the Archangel Raphael and St Luke the Physician, and tried invoking the help of Hecate, but …"

"Good choices all, but it should really be a woman calling on the Tripartite Goddess," Seirios commented. "I knew I had a reason why I brought Hermione."

Overhearing this, the witch huffed and tossed her braid of thick brown hair over her shoulder, but gave him a wink. "You're saying that to all the girls, Seirios."

"Only to those who can cast a hex faster than I," he retorted with a barking laugh. "A piece of advice, lads – never argue with a clever witch; it'll make your marriage bed that much more welcoming!"

"We'll keep that in mind, Archon," Draco said with a smile for Harry across the room that made Severus scowl into his cup and caused both Greeks to raise an eyebrow.

Seirios rallied first, shoving his instantly aroused suspicions aside for the moment. "None of that 'Archon' nonsense from you," he said gruffly. "Aren't you related to the de Greys?"

"Distantly, yes – my maternal great-grandmother was born Flora de Grey, but on finding she was magical was sent to live with Pureblood relatives in Candia …" Draco's mouth dropped open as realisation dawned.

"The Mavros clan, yes." Seirios smirked. "The Pureblood bit is arguable, as both branches regularly swap children as needed, but that at least keeps the magic strong with new blood every now and then. In any case it makes us third cousins once removed, or some such rot; I care not which, exactly. Let's just say we're family, and leave it at that."

Draco looked slightly overwhelmed; he'd believed with the death of his cousins in battle that the Malfoys were yea-close to dying out. Finding family with magic, no matter how distant, was a boon he hadn't expected to come from this quest. "I am honoured … cousin," he said with a slight bow.

Seirios waved him off. "A matter for another night. Now, what do you want to do with this goblet, and the potion?"

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

As the days passed and Yule came closer, the five of them slowly devised a plan on how to proceed.

They bought a well-aged oak cask from a cooper, making sure that it was tight and sturdy and big enough to hold about two gallons' worth of the potion, that being the amount they could produce in the time left. As they could not risk contamination through the wood, it was Hermione who conceived the idea of using a glass bottle. So a glass blower was commissioned to produce the biggest one he could, and again it was the Greek witch who carefully Charmed it to match the cask in size and shape.

"So that's sorted," Seirios said once they'd purified the bottle with salt to make it magically neutral and fitted it into the cask. "I like it – big enough to hold a sizeable quantity of this remedy, and yet small enough to be transported safely and comfortably."

"We'll be cutting it close with producing two gallons of the potion, though," Draco sighed. "Severus says we're almost out of salamander blood and dittany, and there's no new shipment coming into Málaga until spring."

"I'll send word to my factor in Gibraltar; he should be able to get what we need from Ceuta, if necessary," Seirios said. "It's a two-week ride either way in winter, though – have you someone capable and trustworthy to go?"

"I usually do the buying," Harry started, but Severus cut him right off.

"You need to be here and deal with the chalice," he said sharply. "It's your family legacy, after all. Send some of your men; let them be useful for once instead of loitering around in the countryside. Or are they that dunderheaded that they can't buy two simple things?"

Both Harry and Draco bristled at that. The four men they'd brought from home maybe were not intellectual giants like Severus or the newest addition to their group, the girl Hermione, but they were hardly stupid. Most of all, though, they could be trusted.

"We can send Ronald, and maybe Gregory," Harry said after a quick conference with Draco. "He's accompanied me often enough this summer to know his way around a harbour, and they are used to watching each other's backs. And we'd still have Seamus and Vincent here to run errands or do labour as needed."

"That's taken care of, then," Mavros said. "How is the moon-charging going?"

"The chalice has been exposed to the full moon several times now – at first by Sir Harold alone, and once now with me invoking Hecate's blessing," Hermione reported. "We'll repeat that right after the New Year, and again at the end of January. There'll be a Blue Moon then; it should at least double the potency."

"How do you know about the Blue Moon?" Draco wondered. "Isn't that a very rare phenomenon?"

"Hence the extra strength," she shrugged. "A friend of mine who's quite knowledgeable about lunar phases told me."

"How reliable is this person, though?" Severus asked skeptically. He rarely trusted anyone he didn't know.

Seirios smirked. "Remus is a lycanthrope; I defy anyone but another of his kind to know more about full moons than he."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, Draco was the first to find his voice. "You … you're friends with a werewolf?! But … but they're monsters!"

"Actually, they only have a furry problem once every twenty-nine days, cousin," Mavros said nonchalantly, but with a hint of warning shading his voice. "At all other times, they're as human as you or I. And with or without lycanthropy, Remus is an absolute asset to me and mine; you'd do well to remember that, should you ever meet him."

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

Nightfall couldn't come soon enough for Draco and Harry. Ever since Ramadan had started, they had had to forego all food and drink during the whole day. Severus kept the Month of Fasting out of deference to his neighbours and expected his houseguests to do the same. So the group got to meeting after sundown to sit around a brazier in the house's central room, to share the evening meal along with information on the day's activities.

As had become habit very quickly, Seirios opened the discussion. "As we've seen earlier, we've got a lot sorted already. Now, Harold – what are your thoughts on the cup itself?"

Harry drew a deep breath. He hadn't been able to do much with the brewing of the potion, but this was an area where his family legacy might be helpful.

"Well, I've been thinking about this for some time," he began, between sips of almond milk.

"Merlin help us all, we're doomed," Draco quipped, and had a handful of nuts thrown at his head for it. "Ow!"

"Your own fault," Harry grinned, expertly shelling a few pistachios and popping the kernels into his mouth. "Behave, or suffer the consequences!" The look he gave his friend and lover spoke volumes, and as he'd known he would, Draco subsided with a playful pout.

Unnoticed by both, Seirios exchanged a look of his own with Severus, who told him with a surreptitious gesture they'd talk about it later. The two men hadn't yet completely overcome their antagonism, but the shared research was slowly helping them regain the common ground they'd first discovered in their correspondence – much to the relief of their younger housemates.

"As I was saying," Harry meanwhile picked up his thread again, "I've given the matter some thought. Item – we know from the prophecy that we need to 'anoint the land' with the potion, which I assume means spilling it somewhere?"

"There's a secret well at Ynis Afallach that is supposedly connected with all waters in Albion, or so legend has it," Hermione mused. "I read about it in Malmesbury's Historia Anglorum."

"Right. So we pour the potion into the chalice, and from there into this well."

"If it exists, you mean," Severus muttered. He'd enjoyed the challenge creating the remedy had posed him, but he was deeply suspicious of legends, prophecies and the like nonetheless.

"We have to have faith somewhere, Severus," Draco said quietly. "Or we might just as well have stayed at home and never started this quest."

The Potions master pursed his lips, clearly wanting to argue, but eventually gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. What next?"

Harry resumed his summary. "Item – the anointing is to be done with something made by 'master's craft' – your potion," he indicated Severus, "by 'messenger's skill'," here he paused to smile at the brown-eyed witch, "if my admittedly scanty knowledge of Greek doesn't mislead me, that's the meaning of your name?"

Hermione's eyes grew very wide. "It does, but – I've hardly done anything! What is this skill I'm supposed to have that could help?"

"I'll come to that in a minute," Harold told her, turning to Seirios Mavros. "And lastly, 'star's guidance' would be you … seeing as you're named after a star."

"Canis maior, the Dog Star," he confirmed. "Brightest in the firmament: Said to weaken men, and arouse women." His grey eyes twinkled mischievously, and Hermione snorted.

"You wish," she muttered while the others laughed.

"Going on," Harry said once they'd sobered, "I believe that we're on the right track with using the moon's magic. I'll put the chalice into a silver bowl with spring water come the Blue Moon, which should help even more. Then we can soak it in the potion; the cup is made of clay, and thus should absorb most, if not all of its healing properties. Which in turn will strengthen the potion's effects even more once we spill it into the well."

"That's all fair and well, but how can you preserve the charge until we reach Glastonbury?" Draco asked. "It'll take us weeks to get there, and that doesn't take into account that we'll have to hide it from Muggles, thieves and whatnot."

Harry smiled. "That is what I've been thinking about. My idea is this – what if we hide the cup inside another? One made out of white clay from Greece that also purifies what's held in it?"

The other four pondered this for a while, then Severus fixed Harry with a sharp gaze. "Suppose it works – how do you propose to do that?"

"They don't call my branch of the Peverels 'potters' for nothing," Harry replied. "I may be King Edward's soldier right now, but when I can no longer serve him, my life's work will be to continue Grandfather Lionel's efforts."

He briefly outlined how he planned to make a two-part mold of the cup's shape in wet sand, enlarge it gently with magic – a nod at Hermione – and then seal the halves with resin, like the container they'd found it in had been. "If we leave a bit of room, we can even fill it with cloth soaked in the potion, both for padding as well as added strength."

"That … that's actually quite ingenious," Severus murmured at last. "I must admit, Harold, I had not thought you capable of this."

"My skills may not lie in a laboratory, Master Severus, but I hope I'm not a complete dunderhead elsewhere." Harry grinned, then sobered. "The only thing I haven't figured out yet is how to make sure we don't accidentally break the cup."

"We've carried it safely from Montségur to here," Draco said. "Why shouldn't we do the same on the way back?"

"We took our own sweet time to get here – something we won't be able to come spring, as we'll be on a deadline," Harry explained. "Further, we never took it on board a ship before, and we didn't have to sail north so early in the year. It'll likely take longer, and there might even be gales."

"I hadn't thought of that," Draco admitted. "What is our schedule, anyway?"

"To fulfill the prophecy, we have to be at Glastonbury Tor on the eve of Beltane," Harry said. "Very few ships will sail during Holy Week, so … we should hope to leave La Rochelle no later than right after that, at the very beginning of April next year. And that'll be cutting it fine even then."

"Which means you'll have to be on your way shortly after Imbolc, in February." Severus rubbed his beard, careful not to betray the sudden elation he felt. "Not an easy thing to do – there'll still be snow on the heights." He just raised an eyebrow at their incredulous expressions. "They don't call the mountains surrounding this city the Sierra Nevada for nothing, you know."

"Fantastic," Harry grumbled. "I so love bivouacking in winter." Draco groaned theatrically, and Severus was hard pressed to hide his smirk. A part of him commiserated, but was quickly drowned out by the realisation that, no matter how congenial his present company, he'd finally have his house back to himself!

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

"What's going on with those boys, Abbas?" Seirios demanded to know of Severus once everybody else had retired for the night. "Am I seeing things that don't exist, or are they making cow eyes at each other?"

"If it were only that," Severus grimaced, pouring a liberal amount of wine for both of them. For this discussion, they needed the fortification. "It's gone a lot further since … oh, September, I'd say."

Seirios saluted him with his goblet in thanks and took a mouthful. "How far are we talking about?"

Severus quirked a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Without ever having been alone in a room with them at night, my guess is, as far as two healthy young men can go with each other."

"Damn."

"Indeed." Severus leaned back in his chair. "To be frank, I generally don't care who beds whom as long as both partners are willing. And make no mistake, they are willing ‒ nauseatingly so," he drawled. "But I shouldn't care to see them ostracised or punished for what should be a personal matter."

"Punished? Why? And how?"

Severus snorted. "Albion isn't Greece," he said. "For one, they are wizards. It isn't just in Albion that our kind is being regarded with suspicion and fear; it's happening everywhere. And if the Church has her way, it's going to get even worse. We even might have to go into hiding eventually … whether temporarily or permanently, is anyone's guess."

"Can't say that I disagree. But that's not the point you were going to make, right?"

"No. What needs to be addressed is that this quest of theirs, even though I understand it was pretty much a clandestine affair with very few people in the know, has brought them to the attention of some very important people."

Seirios looked as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "Important enough to take issue with two young men who have formed … let's call it a Special Friendship, shall we … and get shirty about it in one way or another?"

The Potions master shrugged. "They're both only sons. Draco even is the Malfoy Heir since his cousins fell in battle. They're bright enough, and will be prominent enough when they go back, to have great futures ahead of them, whether among wizards or Muggles. How that will play out when it becomes apparent they're involved with each other, I do not care to speculate."

"They could try to hide ‒"

"Oh, please," Severus interrupted him. "You've known them how long ‒ two weeks? And you've noticed. I'll grant you that they probably feel safe here and don't see the need for more discretion, but can you honestly say they won't give themselves away sooner rather than later?"

Seirios couldn't, so elected to say nothing at all for a long time, slowly finishing his wine. He Summoned the flagon and refilled his goblet, then started to pace.

"The Church has persecuted people as heretics for less," he muttered at last, thinking out loud.

"And is beginning to do so just on the suspicion of practising sorcery," Severus said impassively. "Which means they'll already have lost on two counts in the public's eyes. I couldn't speculate on what their families might do or say should it become known which way they're inclined."

"It wouldn't be pretty," Seirios predicted gloomily. "Damn again." He stopped abruptly at a window, staring out into the night. "We ought to do something …"

"Should we?"

Seirios glared at Severus. "Yes, we damn well should!" He gulped down the rest of his wine, then fell back heavily into his own chair. "Look, they could be humping each other in front of the high altar in Canterbury Cathedral, even invite a gargoyle or two to join them, for all I care. But dammit, I've come to like those boys, and I don't want to see them burn at the stake over this nonsense!"

The black eyes seemed even more inscrutable than usual. "Two things." He lifted one finger. "First, I don't think they'd thank you for calling them 'boys' ‒ nor should you, really. They're old enough to know what they're doing, and to consider the consequences of their actions."

"They're in love ‒ or believe they are. Hell, even if they're only in lust, when has that ever been conducive to rational thinking?" Seirios snorted.

"Quite." The reply was dry as dust.

The two men regarded each other across the room for several moments, their differences forgotten over their concern for Harry and Draco before Seirios broke the silence by clearing his throat. "You said there were two things; what's the second?"

A faint smile quirked Severus' lips as he tipped his goblet towards Seirios in acknowledgement. "What do you plan to do about the situation? Assuming you have a plan, that is?"

The look from the grey eyes turned sly. "I haven't quite worked out all the details yet, but taking Harry's idea of encasing the chalice in a second layer …"

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

"What do you mean, you want to put a metal shell around the cup?" Harry wondered when Seirios made the proposal to him two days later. "Haven't we decided to use clay because of its inherent healing and protective properties?"

"Yes, but metal can help even there. We can make this shell of silver and gold, etch some ornaments onto it to make it look like altar plate ‒ if you are searched for any reason, you can always claim you've had it blessed at Santiago de Compostela, or maybe Rome, and are planning to gift it to your priest or abbey or whatever at home." Seirios grinned. "You wouldn't believe how often that works on brigands. Apparently it's quite allright to rob, maim or even kill people for money and riches, but when that same act can get you excommunicated, it's suddenly not."

"That makes no sense," Draco complained. "If you kill the people you rob, your soul is damned anyway, so what difference does it make if it's for murder or stealing altar plate, blessed or not?"

"Who ever said that brigands and robbers have to be smart?"

Draco choked on a laugh despite himself, but his expression soon turned pensive.

"You know, it's actually not a bad idea," he told Harry. "A metal outer casing would surely prevent breakage, especially if we add more potion-soaked cloth … gold has associations with health, silver is an excellent conductor for things that flow, and it's magically neutral."

"We can also hide some protective runes in the decoration," Hermione offered. "Maybe that is where my skill comes in; I've studied both Celtic and Nordic runes, and I'm not bad at designing patterns."

"Best illuminator I've seen in a long time," Seirios nodded. "With brush and needle both."

"There you go then," Draco said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Master's craft, star's guidance, messenger's skill, all in one neat package. Or gold goblet casing, as the case may be. Sounds just about perfect, no?"

"Sounds too good to be true, if you ask me," Harry muttered. He had to admit it all made sense, from a practical as well as a magical standpoint, but something didn't quite feel right to him. However, with four people whose opinion he'd learned to value telling him it was the right thing to do, and with time rapidly running out, he let himself be persuaded to go ahead with it.

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

The second, even bigger casing needed to be forged, not fired. Seirios knew enough to melt and shape metal ‒ it was his expertise in metallurgy which had first led to his correspondence with Abbas al-Bedali ‒ but where to find the facilities?

Surprisingly, it was Vincent who provided the solution. "Alonso has a forge," he said in his slow way. "He uses it to repair his plough, and mend cauldrons and pots and suchlike." He grinned. "If Master Abbas will make him some fertilizer, and Sir Draco will add some coin, I've no doubt he'll let us use it."

So they went to the farm where Harry's and Draco's escort were lodging, and made the deal with the farmer. As Alonso insisted on being present at the forging, Seirios applied a mild Memory Charm afterwards, changing what he'd seen forged, and that was that.

Harry and Draco were off to yet another hammam visit when Seirios and Severus came into the workroom where Hermione was etching vines and arabesques on the inside of the shell.

"Look, I've incorporated runes here and here," she said, pointing out the faint marks hidden among leaves and stamens. "Protection, change, integrity, health, cleansing … well, pretty much everything that seemed appropriate."

"Well done," Severus said, inspecting her work. The runes were so tiny, one had to know they were there to begin with, and even then look very, very closely. "What will you do on the outside?"

"I thought I'd inscribe the names of the Evangelists and some saints, just deep enough to have the silver shine through," she suggested. "It should look nice, and will appear sufficiently devout."

"Call us when you're finished," Seirios said and went out into the garden, his host at his heels, and cast a privacy spell as soon as they reached the far corner.

"Have you decided what to do, then?" Severus asked.

"Yes. There's something in my family grimoire that'll do. I'll botch up the sealing just a bit, and will graciously volunteer my services to smooth it out when everybody's asleep. That's when I'll add the spell."

"What will it do?"

"Nothing too bad ‒ it was originally designed as a curse, but over the generations certain modifications have been added that I can use to turn it into a mere compulsion." He spread his arms at the look of distaste Severus couldn't quite hide. "Look, I never claimed all my family were model citizens," he said. "You don't amass the kind of fortune we have by being nice to everybody."

Severus grimaced. "I guess not. What kind of compulsion, though?" Even though they were in agreement to separate Harry and Draco for their own good, there were ways to go about it … and there were ways. And some of them, Severus wasn't willing to tread.

Seirios wearily rubbed his forehead. "We'll tell them that they both need to hold the chalice during the ritual at Glastonbury. As soon as they're done, the compulsion will take hold and … well, the best I can describe it is, it'll make them drift apart. They won't be enemies, exactly, but they'll be indifferent at the very least. Certainly no longer lovers. What they do with their lives after that will be up to them."

"That … doesn't sound too bad," Severus said slowly, watching Seirios whose expression seemed rather glum. "Why do I have a feeling that that's not all the compulsion will do?"

"Because you're too damn smart." Seirios went for the ever-present flagon of wine, poured himself a glass and swallowed the content almost without pause. "The bad thing is, the compulsion is still going to be damn strong. And eternal."

"What?"

"Yes," Seirios laughed bitterly. "What I'm going to cast on this priceless artefact ‒ which, by the way, is a thing so pure and good it ought to shine like the sun, the moon and all the stars combined, and should never be desecrated like that ‒ will make sure that once Harry and Draco have used it to save Albion, no Peverel will ever be friends with a Malfoy again. Not them, not their children, not a hundred generations from now."

Severus blanched. "You're planning to cast Hostes in Aeternum," he whispered. "I thought that curse was just a myth!"

"Now you know it isn't. Welcome to the Mavros legacy." With a muffled oath, Seirios savagely threw his goblet against the garden wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. "I hate doing that to those boys. They deserve better."

Severus didn't disagree. "But you'll do it anyway."

Shoulders slumped as if he'd suddenly aged a decade or more, Seirios trudged towards his room. "Of course. Someone has to keep an eye on the greater good; might as well be me."

¨·..·¨·..·¨·..·¨

In her work room, Hermione sat with her hand pressed firmly against her mouth, eyes screwed tightly shut in anguish. She couldn't believe what she'd just overheard, thanks to Seirios' sloppy spellcasting. The man was a gifted wizard, but sometimes when he was upset, he tended to overlook small loopholes. Or, in this case, the ventilation shaft set high up near the ceiling. Of course, it was also partially obscured by a decorative stone grille, painted to match the outside wall …

No matter how, she'd overheard the most atrocious plan. How Seirios could even think about putting the Hostes in Aeternum spell on someone, she couldn't fathom. And on Harry and Draco, no less! That spell in its original form was magic bordering on evil – so dark it might as well be called black!

Hermione had early on noticed the closeness between both young men. How could she not, when it was so obvious in every smile, word or gesture they shared? And while a part of her mourned the loss their love meant to womankind, another part had to acknowledge the rightness of it and couldn't but rejoice.

She'd also felt an instant kinship with them when they met ‒ hardly surprising, as they were of a similar age to herself, some twenty years younger than Severus and Seirios. But it was more than that ‒ she could talk Potions and literature with Draco, History and craftsmanship with Harry, they'd had the most interesting discussions on magical Blood issues with the three of them embodying all aspects … she couldn't let that happen!

After all, there was a reason that in her native Candia she'd been given the name of Symponia … which meant Compassion.

Hermione forced herself to continue working, but her mind was busy plotting ways and means. If she added a rune here, another there ‒ for rebirth, integrity, love, unity … yes, that might work! And while she wouldn't be able to lift the compulsion spell completely once it was cast, she could at least try to mitigate the effect on children, and maybe set some kind of time limit on the whole.

So she researched ways in which she could intervene. In addition to the runes, she needed something more, a symbol of something finite. She finally found what she'd been looking for when she read a compilation of texts by Arethas of Caesarea ‒ fittingly, in a treatise on the Apocalypse. Taking careful notes, she now was all set for the final stage of her plan.

Hermione had her chance on Imbolc, a few days after the chalice's last charging under the Blue Moon. It was equally fortuitous that the Church now called it St Brigid's Day; Hermione wasn't particularly versed in Roman hagiology, but knew that both the Goddess most revered on Imbolc and her namesake saint represented the light half of the year, and the power that would bring people from the dark season of winter into spring.

As she stealthily snuck out with the now doubly-disguised chalice to a hidden corner of the house, her mind and heart were filled with prayer and intent as she began to work, adding near-invisible names to those of the Evangelists, saints Peter and Paul as well as St Mungo, for the latter's connection with healing and wizarding Britain before casting her own spell on top of Seirios'. There was some conflict as his magic tried to resist hers, but her wand and determination never wavered, and eventually her modification took. All done, she whispered a final Sealing Spell and returned the artefact to Harry's luggage.

Back in her room, her thoughts whirled around what she'd done. Sacrificing her friends' relationship might be necessary and unavoidable, and she'd mourn the loss of their happiness for a very long time. But by weaving certain conditions into the Mavros' spell, she had added one thing that Seirios had disregarded: instead of committing a wrong done for some nebulous 'Greater Good', she'd altered it into a better omen for the future.

She had added hope.

)x( )x( )x( )x( )x( )x( )x( )x( )x( )x(

A/N: Archon is Greek for "Lord, leader"

Seirios is the Greek form of … well, you really should have guessed! *winks, grins*

Ceuta is a Spanish exclave in Morocco, right opposite Gibraltar. It's the shortest distance between continental Europe and Africa (the Strait of Gibraltar is only 14km/8mi. wide at its narrowest point), and separates the Mediterranean Sea from the Atlantic Ocean. At the time, it also was under Muslim rule.

A Blue Moon is a phenomenon that has two full moons in one month. Usually happens in January or March, because a lunar cycle is 29.5 days long and February only has 28 days. It's rather rare, hence the saying "once in a blue moon".

(William of) Malmesbury (c. 1095 or '96 – c. 1143) was the foremost English historian of the 12th century. He really wrote a "Historia Anglorum" (History of the English), but the legend of the well is different.

Imbolc is a festival marking the beginning of spring, halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Celebrated usually on February 1.

Information on the magical properties of metals comes from a site named "Magic, Spells and Potions"

"Hostes in Aeternum" is Latin for "enemies forever/in eternity".

A hagiology is a collection of biographies or narratives of the lives of saints.

Arethas of Caesarea was real; he was Archbishop of Caesarea, is considered one of the most scholarly theologians of the Greek Orthodox Church, and lived in the 10th century.

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