CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE PROPHETESS AND THE POLITICIAN
North Tower
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
20 January 1994
Incense lay heavy in the air, coating everything in a thick blanket of scent. Sybill wandered through the air, pausing for a moment to jab her wand at the brazier. A fresh wave of lotus, sandalwood, and vanilla rushed outwards, and Sybill inhaled deeply. Serenity washed over her, and she stood, arms extended, and mind reaching out to the forces of the cosmos.
Asking the powers that be for guidance was typically something she did while completely and utterly plastered. The visions she saw were seldom present, and sherry simply made the burden easier to bear.
Most of the denizens of Hogwarts viewed her as a fraud, which was perfectly fine. They didn't realize the terrible pictures the future held, or how sight of it twisted the mind and distorted the senses. They didn't understand that Sybill had nearly lost her sanity pursuing her Grand Sorceress title in Divination.
The power of Divination ran in Sybill's veins. Her great-great grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, had been a renowned Seer through both the British Isles and the Continent, and she was part of an unbroken line of prophetesses descended from the Delphic Oracle. The gift manifested differently within the family, and in Sybill it burned.
Sybill closed her eyes, and stretched outwards. For a moment, everything held still. Sybill pushed outwards again. The balance shattered as a wave of color and sound rushed inwards, assaulting her senses. Images began to appear, popping into her field of vision and twisting around in a kaleidoscope of meaning. A black haired man rode astride a broken horse, galloping fiercely into battle. The horse's legs splintered as it ran, and the man urged it onwards, looking for all the world like an avenging god. His eyes glittered dangerously under the pale light of the blood moon, and a sword glimmered in his hand as he slashed it downwards. Sybill watched as the image ruptured, shattering into millions of pieces, each containing a different future.
In another fragment, an old man sat behind a looming chessboard. The man's eyes were gutted, leaving only bloody sockets behind. Across from him sat a creature of shadow. It reached a skeletal hand out to move a piece, and the board snapped, giving birth to a witch with wild hair and no face. She held a wand in each hand, one delicate vinewood and the other brutal blackthorn. The wands twisted in unison, conjuring a nimbus of magic that resolved itself into a set of chains. The chains wrapped tighter, obscuring Sybill's vision until the darkness became light.
A woman swung from the rafters of an ancient house while a red-haired boy became a man with the eyes of the Wizengamot upon him.
A man cried as he killed his son, flames encircling them both.
A burned man stood in front of a basalt abbey, laughing as death crawled into the earth.
The images flashed faster, and Sybill caught only the barest hints - a flash of red, a brilliant green, and the seal of a foreign crown. Her mind felt as if it would explode, and her world descended into a sea of blood and a cacophony of sounds tied together by the scream of a dying phoenix.
"Sybill!"
The voice was as if from a long distance away.
"Sybill!"
She opened her eyes. Incense still floated in the air, and Sybill inhaled, calm diffusing through her veins.
"What did you see?" Aurora's voice was steady, but Sybill could sense an undercurrent of fear.
Sybill rubbed her eyes. "Many things," she said, "and nothing at all."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Jupiter ascends, the prodigal son dies. The storm and the rising knight unite with the lost one, and conspire against Pluto. All is uncertain, but there will be blood." Sybill shuddered. "I need...time. Time to think."
"Time to pray?" Aurora asked wryly.
Sybill looked at her blankly. "Only if you're willing to sacrifice everything."
Personal Office Space of Amelia Bones
Ministry of Magic, London, England
20 January 1994
Amelia was halfway through eating her lunch when the missive arrived on her desk. Torn between opening the memo and finishing her salad, Amelia stabbed a forkful of lettuce with one hand while the other opened the letter. She perused it idly, then nearly spat out her salad. Taking a breath to steady herself, Amelia started again from beginning.
Dear Lady Regent Bones,
I thought it would be prudent to pass on this piece of intelligence to you based on your roles in both the DMLE and the Wizengamot. Please see the enclosed letter. If you have any queries, kindly direct them to my office.
Yours in sincerity,
Philip Rivers
Secretary of Foreign Affairs
Amelia swallowed, and unrolled the inner parchment. Philip Rivers seldom contacted her, and when he did, it was always for a good reason. Amelia read the first couple lines, then pushed her lunch away. The missive was rather lengthy, and covered the ward schema of Ireland. It took her nearly half an hour to read through it once, and another twenty-seven minutes to fully make sense of the dense writing.
Apparently, the ward stones had been adjusted.
It was seemingly a minor detail, but one that spoke volumes about the political situation in the neighboring island. Ward stones required small adjustments over the years to keep them properly aligned, but major adjustments only occured when the entire ward schema needed changes.
The last time the Irish stones underwent a major adjustment was in 1922 when the southern covens split from the northern covens in a bloody civil war. Amelia shuddered to think of what the adjustment could mean this time. It certainly was nothing good, and the passive-aggressive equivalent of a power move.
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose pensively. She'd have to send an undercover Auror unit to investigate. Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks would be perfect to send, but Moody was unfortunately confined to desk work after his latest injury, and Tonks was too inexperienced to send alone. Amelia mentally perused her roster of Aurors. Emmeline Vance, while not ideal, would have to do.
Amelia made a note to owl the pair of witches with a briefing, then moved on to the stack of Wizengamot papers that had made their way into her inbox in the interim. Most of the papers were filled with dense legalese, and Amelia skimmed them, knowing she'd get a better summary from Lord Moon's secretary. After flagging several bills for personal in-depth reading, Amelia moved to the bottom of the stack where someone oddly enough had included clippings from the Daily Prophet.
LORD GAUNT TO PROVIDE SUMMER OPPORTUNITIES FOR MUGGLEBORNS
by Charity Goodwinter
In a recent press release Lord Thomas Gaunt stated that he planned to commence a summer camp program for muggleborn students to allow them to experience aspects of a traditional wizarding childhood.
"It is of paramount importance for all wizarding children to have a chance to be exposed to the unique and special aspects of our culture," Lord Gaunt told the Daily Prophet. "From professional Quidditch games to historical sights to zoos, we have a multitude of excursions that Muggles cannot partake in. It would disenfranchise our future citizens to deprive them of such opportunities, and there truly is something for everyone."
When asked of the cost of the Summer Experience program, Lord Gaunt did not provide exact details, but did state that the camp would be affordable for most students. There are also a limited number of scholarships available for outstanding students and those with extreme financial need.
Amelia pursed her lips. She didn't hate the idea on principle, per say, but she didn't like the idea of innocent muggleborns going to a program sponsored by a Blood Purist. The idea of the program seemed to go completely against Lord Gaunt's entire ideology, and Amelia couldn't help but wonder when it would turn sinister.
Letters Sent On 20 January 1994
Dear Sirius,
Our outing last weekend was rather delightful. I would have never guessed you had such a sweet and thoughtful approach to life. I look forward to our lunch this weekend. I can hardly wait to see what you have in store for us.
Maura
My dearest Maura,
I believe you will rather enjoy what I have planned. While my own house is not yet fit for polite company, the alternate location is quite lovely.
Sirius
Letters Sent On 21 January 1994
Dear Harry,
Wow, I can't believe you convinced Remus to teach you the sock-sticking hex! That was one of our personal favorites back in our Hogwarts days. It's great that you learned how to cast it, too. I remember that one being especially tricky.
I have a couple other ideas that might help you with your prank. I'll tell you all about them next time I see you.
How's Quidditch going? I hope the Firebolt is working out well. I should be hearing lots of stories about you winning, right?
Anyway, let me know how school is going. And, on a completely unrelated note, what do you think of Blaise Zabini?
Sirius
Dear Ron,
Mum had another episode last night. I haven't told Ginny yet because I don't want her to worry too much, but I thought I should keep you in the loop. If you need anything, or want to talk about it, just send me an owl. Given the circumstances, we can probably get special permission to meet in Hogsmeade.
Bill
Letters Sent on 22 January 1994
Dear Bill,
Is Mum alright? What happened this time? How bad is it? Is she in St. Mungo's again? Please talk to the Headmaster so we can talk in person or at least Floo call.
Ron
P.S. I think you should tell Ginny what's going on.
Dear Sirius,
I can't wait to hear about all your prank ideas. Ron, Theo and I have concocted a real solid plan, and if you just happened to conveniently know any other good hexes or spells, we could definitely use them. For educational purposes. We're all Ravenclaws in disguise, right?
The Firebolt is so awesome! Malfoy was practically drooling over it the first day of practice, and then he was pouty for the rest of the week. I guess his father refused to buy him one - imagine that! The acceleration and the turning precision took a little bit to get use to, but now I can fly even better than ever. The Hufflepuffs literally won't be able to see me coming.
School is good. Defense Against the Dark Arts is definitely my favorite class.
Blaise is okay. I don't really know him that well, but he's friends with Theo, so sometimes Ron and I play Exploding Snap with him. He usually wins, too. Why do you ask?
Anyways, I hope I can see you during the next Hogsmeade weekend. Definitely not just because of all the prank spells you know.
Harry
Dear Blaise,
I passed a rather enjoyable weekend with my latest suitor. We will discuss this more over
the Eostre break, and if all continues to progress favorably, you may have a new stepfather before the year is out.
Much love,
Mama
Letter Sent on 23 January 1994
Dear Madelaine,
After viewing the dossier of information you provided, I believe your suspicions are correct. I will continue to investigate the matter, and perhaps take an extended trip to the United Kingdom. The weather is quite lovely there at this time of year.
I will ensure that you stay informed.
N.
A/N: I hit a bit of writer's block with this chapter, and I've worked through it now. Next week's update should be on time :)