Ripples in a Pond
.
Somewhere in the Far East
.
He startled and rose from his deep slumber. He needed a few moments to remember where he was – who he was. He was Lord Voldemort, imprisoned in this piece of terracotta, unable to move a single finger, unable to scream at the insolent brats annoying him every day, unable even to close his eyes to shut them out. He was helpless, but at least he was still able to sleep, to forget his horrid situation for a while.
For some time he had tried to get connected to some of his loyal followers. He had been partially successful. He was quite certain that Antonin Dolohov was now looking for him, that he had at least an idea where his master was hidden and what happened to him, what crime had been committed on his person. His organization had some long-standing connections to some of the wizards belonging to the Chinese Triads around here. It would need some time, and some negotiations, but in the end Antonin would find him. He was certain about that. It made the waiting only the more painful: to know that salvation was nearly in sight. So he had decided to sleep for a while, to rest for the confrontation that was certain to happen very soon. His foes would realize in no time that he had been freed and come for him. He would need every ounce of power in that battle. He wouldn't lose again. He wouldn't allow them to imprison him a second time.
So what had it been that disturbed his sleep? He felt weakened. How could that happen? Suddenly his eyes widened – or they would have if not for his inability to move a single muscle. His Horcruxes – apparently they found one of them. Not only that: they destroyed one of them. His mind raced. At the moment of his defeat there had been only three of them left.
He had given the ring to Antonin Dolohov. The simple golden ring with the engraved crest of the Peverell family had been in possession of the Gaunt family for quite some time. Killing his dear, useless father, had allowed him to turn the ring into his second Horcrux. His link to Dolohov only allowed him to see flickers and feel hints of emotions, but he was certain that he would have known if Dolohov had lost the ring. He assumed it was still safe.
Another Horcrux he had given to Madam Guille. He didn't completely trust the woman, mostly because he couldn't control her. He didn't understand her motivations or her powers. However, he trusted her to take care of the Horcrux. She promised to protect the wand and she would keep that promise. His imagined lips curled into a smirk. The half-breed's wand, turned into a Horcrux by killing that blood-traitor bitch – it had been a kind of poetic justice.
This left only the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. He fondly remembered the day he had tricked the Grey Lady into revealing where the diadem was hidden. In Albania he killed some unimportant peasant. Fortune favours fools – but not in his case. He used the artefact of the most intelligent woman of all times and the soul of the dumbest man at hand to create another piece of his immortality. Only it had now been destroyed. How could that happen? He had gone to great lengths to protect it. Finding the chamber alone should have been nearly impossible. Entering it would only be possible with the help of the current house-elf matron or patron. He wondered if it was still the same matron he had made widow decades ago. And even entering the room wasn't the last obstacle. Again he smirked. How many of his foes had lost their lives to the death runes he placed around the diadem? He would have sacrificed some Mudbloods but not Dumbledore, not the leader of light.
His good mood turned sour. Still: they had found it. They had destroyed it. Now there were only two Horcruxes left. It was time for his return.
Dolohov – make haste!
.
Hogwarts – 27th of August
.
"You have to arrange them in wavier pattern."
"They are wavy," Hermione looked up from her work a tad annoyed by the comment of her friend-brother.
"Yeah, but those are water-waves," Harry explained good-humouredly. "They are too evenly. You however need fiery waves. Fire would never be this evenly. There are spikes and vales; they're more jagged than rounded." He took a piece of paper and sketched how he would arrange the necessary runes.
Hermione watched him through narrowed eyes. It sounded logical however. "Alright," she agreed. "Anything else?"
"Your runes itself," Harry scowled a bit, examining her work. "You have to write them spikier as well, and carve them deeper. Flames hurt, they don't caress. Write them like you would cut them with a knife."
Hermione continued to practise them for a while until Harry was happy with her work. He liked to be the one teaching Hermione something. It was a real change. And Hermione was nothing if not an avid learner. Perhaps she would never be great at casting fire spells – not even mediocre like Neville and Daphne – but her runes would more than adequately do the intended job.
"I think you're ready," Harry judged an hour later. Hermione nodded and under Harry's careful eyes started to transfer her work onto the water elemental stone. It was a bit tricky and she had to use her special connection – and Crookshanks' presence – to "convince" the stored water magic that was in her to add the fire runes. They would allow a fire caster to trigger the stone, exactly the result she had in mind. After another thirty minutes of meticulous work Hermione was content with her work as was Harry.
"Try it," she invited him.
Harry put his hand on the stone. It felt slick like a moss-covered stone directly taken from a river bed. "Ignis," he whispered calmly, pouring only one sliver of fire magic into his command. For a moment nothing happened. Then they heard a noise like someone had switched open a water faucet. Seconds later, water bubbled on the top of the stone like a tiny fountain or a water dispenser. Harry and Hermione shared a big grin.
It worked.
.
"I prepared everything for our little excursion tomorrow," Harry said calmly a wee bit later. The four friends had gathered for a bit of tea and cake – a really wonderful chocolate-egg punch cake baked by Matron Mathilda herself. She had behaved somewhat weirdly today, more like a teenage house-elf and far more teary-eyed than they had ever seen her before. The destruction of the Horcrux had obviously shaken her up immensely. Perhaps it would help her to find closure about her husband's death at last – however Harry had his doubts about that.
"We're still going to Diagon Alley first, aren't we?" Neville asked. He wanted to buy a few things before they returned to Prague.
"We simply have to," Hermione uttered. She needed a few more books and Daphne was looking for one or two as well.
Harry and Neville exchanged a little smirk, well-hidden from their girl-friends. They knew them too well. "I want to visit the twins as well. Looking after the shop I invested in."
"You're not the only silent affiliate, you know." Hermione lifted a single eyebrow. Both she and Daphne had invested both money and ideas into the shop. There was even a line of their products sold in the shop's non-joke corner – mostly small variants of their "endless bags".
She didn't wait for a response but returned to the letter she held in her hand. It was from Mother Sarah, one of the trio of witches leading the whole Congregation of the Asp. The owl delivering the letter had appeared at Hogwarts this morning only, with a couple of books – shrunken for easier transport – as well.
"… I waited for you to return to your human form before I sent these books. They are for your eyes only. You're not allowed to speak about their exact content with anybody other than Agatha…"
She didn't like that part but understood that it was a trial of secrecy and trust as well. Neville had accepted it easily as did Harry. Daphne had been a tad hurt that she wasn't allowed to read the books as well. They were obviously about some of the deeper Congregation secrets and her interest was stirred. However in the end her upbringing won. It wasn't so different to the secrets her mother and grandmother kept. She had even listened to a few discussions between Roxanne and Agatha about things they had to keep from each other. If Mother Sarah trusted Hermione with something like this – it was a good sign, wasn't it?
"… please tell me your honest thoughts about the books' content…"
"… in a few years I would like you to add a new chapter …"
Hermione carefully folded the letter and stored it away before grabbing the first book. It was old and well-used, the corners a little battered.
"{Sister Hermione,}" it felt a little weird to mind-whisper her name to a book but only this way she was able to open it. The pages were even more worn than the cover and a first perusing of the pages showed that the content was handwritten and that at least two dozen writers had been part of this work. The first chapters were written in old Church Latin, something she still struggled to fully comprehend. They even used parchment that was thicker and the pages smaller than the others. Later chapters were written in Italian, Spanish, French and English – mostly Shakespearean English. This would need some time.
Carefully she turned the page to the title of the first of many essays the book contained. Perhaps it would be the best to make a translation. It would allow her to keep the text as well, with Mother Sarah certainly expecting her to return the book someday. She took a stack of papers from her bag, fully intending to bind the pages at another time and started to write:
The Might of Magic – a due, a duty, and a responsibility.
It's in the nature of things that the ability to influence things – may it be persons, life conditions or the world view of a whole society – tempts to actually wield that influence. The greater the ability, the greater is the tempting…
.
Somewhere far away
.
Again her sleep was restless. Again she was dreaming… about him. It had started many weeks ago. The dreams returned at least three times a week. For a while they were only flickers, like she was looking through a peephole – a peephole opening only for a split second before it closed again. Someone was speaking to her but she only understood single words not whole phrases or sentences even. She was certain however that he – it was a male voice – was calling her name; that he was calling for help. Who was that man? How did he know her? She had asked her sister but she hadn't reacted well. Nonsense, she said. Wild imagination, she mumbled. However, she had looked scared, telling her that her sister knew more than she was willing to admit.
Then it changed a few weeks ago. Something had happened, she was certain about it, something that was connected to the man calling for her. Tom, his name was Tom; or had been Tom one time. Somehow he was very important to her, life significant. If she could only remember. The dreams had gotten clearer, more vivid. And she had them now nearly every night. Other faces started to appear in her dreams. There was a man and a woman, both looked familiar to her. Tom was searching for them as well, calling for them. And there was a boy as well, a boy with black hairs, green eyes and a scar on his face. She knew the boy. She hated him. How could she hate a little boy?
She rolled back and fro in her bed, drenching her sheets with her sweat. Her hands reached out, tried to grab Tom. She was calling for him. Suddenly immense pain shot through her head. She seat up, her eyes wide open and blood-shed but seeing nothing, recognizing nothing of the world around her. New pictures flooded her brain, pictures of fights, of masked men and women. She heard and saw herself utter Crucio curses, watched herself kill someone with an Avada. Someone caressed her cheek. He caressed her – Tom.
"You're my favourite, Bella," he whispered. "I need you at my side, Bella. You're the only one worthy of my love."
Her body trembled as he caressed her skin again. Bella, he called her Bella. Yes, Bella she was. Tom was her master, her friend, and her love. She had to find him. Someone had separated them, imprisoned him and made her forget. Her body trembled again, this time in pure rage. She started to scream, not realizing what she did. Someone grabbed her shoulders, tried to hold her, to calm her. She didn't want to calm down. Screeching like mad, Bella lashed out and hit someone. Waves of accidental magic rolled from her body, pushed bodies and furniture away like parts of a doll's house.
More pictures flooded her brain. There was a fight in a mansion. There were people; people she knew. The Longbottoms, a voice whispered in her head. There was a bear mauling her, ripping up her arm. And a girl, a girl with frizzy hair. Mudblood! The scenery changed. She watched herself from above. There was a woman caring for her sleeping form. Others entered. There was a man with long, black hair, a man she had called comrade, a man that had turned traitor. And a woman, a woman she had called sister, a woman that had betrayed her as well. She pulled a wand from her sleeve, pointed it at her.
Obliviate!
Bella screamed again, screamed endless minutes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, she stopped again. A last shudder went through her body, before she closed her eyes only to open them again, this time actually seeing the room around her, seeing the woman watching her: the woman from her dream. Sister. Traitor.
"Hello Cissa. Long time no see."
.
Diagon Alley – 28th of August
.
"We have to go, girls," Harry urged Daphne and Hermione, while Neville stayed near the entrance to keep a safe distance. It was always a dangerous endeavour to separate the girls from their beloved books. However, it seemed they were actually willing to leave Flourish & Blotts now – after only two hours of perusing the newest books. They had left their baggage at the Leaky Cauldron and still had another hour to go before the arranged departure of their international portkey. Harry wanted to spend the time at WWW, visiting the Weasley twins. As a precaution the quartet had some sandwiches and drinks wrapped into their pockets as they didn't intend to take any risks by sampling anything the twins would offer.
As they walked down Diagon Alley, they saw many families enjoying the sunny day for a happy day, doing their last shopping before their children left for Hogwarts. Fortescue was crowded as expected. Some boys tried to convince their fathers to buy them a new broom – "I need it. I can't live without it... How do you expect me to get on the team without a proper broom?" Some things never changed.
Harry smiled. He remembered quite fondly how he had felt as he got his first broom – from Minerva. Aside from Hedwig it had been his first real present, and he loved it. On the other hand: because of his donation a year ago, there was no real need anymore to have your own broom. Contrary to the time when wobbly brooms spoiled Hermione's first flight and broke Neville's wrist, the flying class at Hogwarts now had decent brooms waiting for new students, and the Quidditch teams as well.
"Here we are," Neville brought him back to the here and now. He opened the door and allowed Daphne and Hermione to enter first, like a gentleman.
"You only want us to face the pranksters first," Hermione whisper-teased.
"You know me so well," Neville grinned back. "Constant vigilance."
.
Not too far away
Ron would have liked a new broom as well. Not that he needed one. His new school wasn't big enough to have Quidditch teams. It was one of the smaller schools all over England, with a handful of teachers and about fifty students. They had chosen this school because Joseph Hardigan knew the head teacher and had been able to make some special arrangements, one of them being able to floo home every second weekend. They even met a few of his future mates already. They weren't too bad. None of them was especially bright, rich or famous, so nothing to be jealous about.
With the help of his private tutor, Ron had been able to sit his OWL in an acceptable way. He even got "EE" in Charms and Care of magical Creatures. He got three "As" as well in History, Potions and Transfiguration – the last one being very tight. Molly had been proud, knowing how hard it had been for him – and Hardigan. Her proud smile had been the most important reason for Ron to continue his education. The new school, because of its size, didn't offer the usual NEWT classes. Instead you continued on a lower level, more to broaden your knowledge and learn additional spells than to deepen your theoretical understanding. If someone really wanted to sit some NEWTs, he got additional tutoring in the subject. Ron had agreed to give it a try with Charms and ComC, after hearing that he could learn how to enchant chess boards and do an internship at the Wales Dragon Reserve. He really liked the idea of becoming a professional chess player/constructor or stepping into the shoes of his older brother Charlie – despite him being a traitor to mum.
Ron glanced to his mother. She tried to behave like she didn't care, but he knew how much she missed her family. He had heard her cry at night more often than he liked to admit. Ron still didn't understand how all of this could happen, and he wasn't willing to completely forgive the twins and mostly Ginny, but he missed them nonetheless, foremost Charlie and Bill – and his father. In the past he had been a mother's boy, he knew that. He still was. His big stomach had to be filled. However, with his father away, he now really appreciated the calm and patient way of his warm-hearted father. He had perhaps been even more surprised than his mother that this time Arthur Weasley had been unwilling to forgive and forget like he had done every time in the past. The straw that broke the camel's back. It had been something like that.
He came to a sudden stop as he heard his mother hoarsely whisper "Ginny." He looked around. There she was, hanging on the arm of that Puff-git Diggory. The Chentz-boy was there as well with that Jones-chit. Why did his sister have to hang around with boring badgers? They noticed them now as well. Ginny stopped and paled. Jones hurried at her side and put an arm around her shoulders, while her boyfriend joined Diggory to form a kind of barricade in front of the girls, as if she needed protection from her horrid mother. As Molly made a few small steps towards her little girl, they even dared to draw their wands. They looked like watching some mad, dangerous beast and not a loving mother.
Molly stopped and offered a wavering smile. "Hi," she croaked. "Hi Ginny, how are you?" Ron suppressed a growl. It wouldn't help to give in to his temper right now. Even he knew that. But his mum only wanted to see her little girl. They hadn't even been invited to her birthday party. Molly had been heart-broken but not surprised when Ginny wordlessly returned gift and birthday-card.
"I'm good," Ginny responded, clinging to Jones' arm. "No thanks to you."
Ron had to bit his lip to stop himself from yelling back. His mother staggered a bit and he grabbed her arm to steady her. For a second he saw concern in Ginny's eyes, but her face hardened again.
"I missed you," Molly whispered. She was a proud woman, a stubborn and spirited woman. Never would she back down from an enemy – real or imagined. But losing nearly all of her family had broken her back spine. Dumbledore's death had been the last hit. There were still days when she rambled and fumed about traitors and what a great man he had been, but those got rarer and rarer, the sound more like she wanted to convince herself. Her family had been her only purpose of life – and now it was gone.
"Too bad – I don't," Ginny hissed back. Molly staggered like being hit by a knife in the heart. Again there was concern and a hint of regret in Ginny's teary eyes, but again her face hardened and she whirled around, dragging Jones with her. The boys followed suit, not without Diggory glaring at them and Chentz looking somewhat concerned. Moments later Ron and Molly were alone again.
"I want to go home," Molly whispered. Ron pouted. He hand intended to convince his mum that he needed some more sweets for school. It was clear however, that she wasn't in any condition to continue their shopping spree anymore. And again it was Ginny's fault. Bitch!
"It's okay, Mum, let's go," he said, surprising his Mum with his soft voice. Slowly they walked down the street. From time to time he glanced at her face. The last few weeks had been troublesome for his Mum. More and more often she had those migraine attacks that started two years ago. Yesterday had been especially bad and he had feared that they wouldn't be able to visit London today. He expected it to return after the incident with Ginny. Didn't she know… no, she didn't, Ron realized. Ginny couldn't know, not with averting her own mother for more than a year now. Only Percy knew as well, and the traitor had left them as well now. Ron didn't need them. His mum didn't need them. They would…
"Mum?!" Slightly shocked, Ron watched his mother crouching down, moaning slightly.
"Mum, are you alright?" A stupid question, Ron realized. Obviously she wasn't alright, despite her straightening up again. Ron paled as he saw a thin trickle of blood running down from her nose.
"I don't feel so good," Molly mumbled, before simply crushing down.
"Mum?" Ron screamed. "Help. Somebody help. Mum? MUM?"
.
Golden City
.
He was in that borderland between dream and reality, between being asleep and wide awake. Sitting in a comfy chair, Antonin Dolohov allowed his mind to wander back and forth in time. Pictures of how it had been flooded his mind. Pictures of how it could be emerged from his imagination. This time there would be neither a Lucius "gold-bag" Malfoy nor a Bellatrix "mad-head" LeStrange around. He would be the Dark Lord's right hand, the highest among his followers, most respected and feared. Perhaps the Dark Lord would offer him the job of "Minister of Magic". Minister Dolohov – he liked the sound.
He would be richer than Lucius Malfoy after a while, with him taking control of the black market and the legal commerce of rare components. The big traders in the rest of Europe would flock to his side as soon as they realized who pulled the strings in Great Britain. Sure, he would have to relinquish a part of his wealth to the Dark Lord to finance his endeavours. This was a small price however for his newfound power and wealth.
His eyes wandered to the wall where a safe was hidden. He had stored the blasted ring in there, using a magical runed box to further protect it – and him from its influence. Unlike stupid Lucius he was clever enough to know what a Horcrux was and what influence it had on the mind of those around. Unlike mad Bella he wasn't crazy enough to actually embrace that influence. The Dark Lord had lifted the lethal curse from the ring before bestowing it to his most trusted follower. He didn't – and couldn't – however change anything about the soul-tainting influence it would have in the long run – should he decide to wear it. Antonin had worn it every time he was around his master, simply to prove his loyalty. He remembered with a shudder what a feeling it had been, what thoughts had crossed his mind. At night he had stored it away, to get a reprieve from the influence, something that worked less and less after some months. In recent weeks however, he had stored it in this safe, only risking a look now and then. He felt better now by far.
His eyes widened in a funny way as suddenly a jolt of magic pierced his mind. It wasn't even directed at him, but still troubling. It had invaded his manor, shot clean through his wards and the protections he put around the safe. A wail permeated the room, a wail not meant for the ears but for the mind. It was like the lament over a dear friend. What could enforce such a reaction from the ring? He was immediately convinced that only the ring and none of the other items stored in the safe could emit such a sound. After only a few moments his eyes widened again.
A Horcrux has been destroyed.
But which? It had to be the diadem. He didn't know where the Dark Lord had hidden it, only the nature of the item. Knowing his master, he assumed it had been somewhere in Hogwarts. Yes, it had to be the diadem, he thought while opening the safe. Madam Guille, bitch that she was, was far too powerful, careful and clever to lose the wand. With trembling fingers he opened the box. There it was. The ring looked as usual, only a bit shinier. It still emitted that aura of pure evilness, an aura even he didn't like.
What did this mean for his own search? He had made contact with a number of Asian "trading partners" after narrowing down the area where his master was kept prisoner. They had got some leads apparently and it looked like they would find him soon. It was mostly a question of payment now, he feared. He had to prepare his master's return and the ritual of revival. He wouldn't make a mess out of it like Wormtail and Crouch. And he had to send word to Madam Guille, in case she hadn't felt it as well. The wand needed to return to Britain.
Soon, Master, soon you'll be back. And you'll see who your worthiest follower is.
.
Hafnarfjördur
.
"That's really impressive."
Hermione actually preened a bit under honest Minerva's praise. It was the first time since her "re-humanization" she tried to use her newly-found Animagus ability. To her relief it had been successful and without any complications. Far easier than she had expected, as she was able to assume her cat-form and turn back into Hermione Granger.
"Do you feel any changes in your human form?" Minerva asked.
She was sitting with the quartet in her summer pavilion, a very nice little building on the sunny south-western side of the hill the hill-elves called home, with a splendid view of the surrounding meadows. Tomas had been the one to convince the other elves to craft it for her perusal, after getting tired of hearing Hildur complain for the umpteenth time about Minerva's bad habit to spend the most beautiful hours in some dusty niche of the clan matron's library. More often than not it was Hildur who snatched a book from Minerva's hands and exchanged it for a cup of tea, a sandwich or some fruit. The sandwiches were the most best Minerva had ever eaten. Those with little cucumber slices and cress were especially wonderful. She had asked Hildur after a recipe, only to learn that it wasn't Hildur but her niece Lina who created them.
Since then Lina had joined the little group and was now sitting again not far away on a tiny chair, keeping an attentive eye on her charge. Lina took her duties very serious, while being eager to learn everything new. This girl's ability to change into a cat was very interesting to her. Lina knew that her mistress was able to accomplish the same – in theory at least, as it was too dangerous to perform this trick while pregnant.
"I think my sense of smell improved," Hermione explained hesitantly. "And my sense of hearing as well."
"Your ears are twitchy like a cat's," Lina added unquestioned, pointing towards Hermione's left ear. She had noticed it moving on its own from time to time when some sudden sound crossed the area.
Hermione frowned but Harry agreed with a big smile. "She's right you know. It's quite cute actually." Hermione pouted a bit, unsure if she wanted to be addressed as "cute", in any form.
"That only means you're in synch with your cat-side," Minerva soothed her. "You'll learn to control it after a while, but it's a good sign. You had problems at first to turn back into your human form because you changed into a cat before really accepting this part of your nature. Now your mind and heart accept both sides of you. You should nurture it for a while – go hunting mice or simply doze in the sun and go explore in the night. You'll get stronger and healthier through it."
"You think so?" Hermione asked a little uncertain. She had still a strong orderly personality and it was difficult to accept this other side of her, lazy and playful.
"Trust me," Minerva reassured her. "Despite my old age, I mostly know what I'm saying." Nobody dared to object.
.
"I intend to return to Hogwarts for a week or two around my birthday," Minerva stated as they returned to their quarters in the evening. "Augusta demands to celebrate my birthday this year. Apparently someone," Minerva shortly glared towards Hermione, "told her about the birthday party at the Gryffindor tower last fall."
"That's wonderful," Harry exclaimed. "Do you need Madam Maxime's carriage again?"
"It's already organized. Healer Jannis will naturally accompany me, as will Lina."
"As your servant?" Harry asked, pondering, as there were quite a number of Hogwarts house-elves that would love to take care of Minerva.
"I'm not a servant," Lina growled. It was easy to forget her presence as she stayed mostly very silent, only watching and listening. "I'm not a house-elf." She was obviously very proud of belonging to a clan of free hill-elves. Hermione loved her for this, but over the years had come to the understanding that most house-elves would be frightened by such a prospect. Not complete freedom but fair treatment was the aim of the hour.
"I didn't…" Harry started to apologize but stopped as Minerva put a hand on the tiny elf's shoulder.
"You have to learn to be more patient, Lina," she scolded her lightly. Lina blushed and nodded, her long ears flapping wildly. "Lina will accompany me to take care of me. She'll later help me with Freya. And Matron Bryndis thinks it's a good opportunity for one of her younger elves to see other elf-clans. The hill-elves of Iceland don't have much contact with other clans. There are many… prejudices… on both sides. I think it will be most interesting."
Minerva left unsaid for whom it would be interesting, Lina or the elves of Hogwarts. Perhaps both.
.
"I want you to have this," Minerva offered Hermione a small package. It was wrapped into very colourful paper and those three-coloured gift-ribbon the hill-elves liked so much.
"But my birthday is not until next month."
"I know, but I assumed you could use it right now. And we won't meet for a time I fear, as you'll be occupied in Prague."
Hermione nodded. They intended to go to Prague again in two days and not return to Scotland before they solved the Ring-Horcrux issue. Thankful she accepted the gift and carefully unwrapped it. The content was a stash of thin books – handwritten journals it seemed.
"These are copies of my diaries about the time I learned my Animagus form and the hours I spent as a cat, learning to be in harmony with my playful side."
Hermione felt a little overwhelmed. This was a very private gift, one that showed Minerva's trust and attachment to her star pupil. Minerva started a bit as Hermione jumped and hugged her. "Thank you, Minerva."
.
"Don't wait for me," Daphne demanded, as her friends accompanied her to say her farewell to Matron Bryndis. "Enjoy your time with Minerva. I'll follow you to Prague as soon as it's possible. Harry is the most important for the search anyway. I'm only a bonus."
"A very cute bonus," Harry grinned, accepting that she was right about his role in the search for the Horcrux.
"Have you got any idea on why your mother needs your help?" Hermione asked, ignoring the playful banter of the couple. She was a tad concerned. Thirty minutes ago an urgent messages of Roxanne had arrived and already Daphne was on her way to London.
Daphne shrugged. "No idea. She only said it's urgent, that my family is okay and she'll need my help with something. I'll have to wait and see."
"I'll miss you," Harry whispered.
"I'll miss you more," Daphne said, equally because she meant it as to annoy Neville who was now making gagging noises despite it earning him an elbow into the lower ribs.
"See you soon."
.
Somewhere in Africa
.
The signs had been unmistakeable. One of the three Horcruxes that still existed when she left Great Britain had been destroyed. She had felt it and the wand she had promised to protect had been singing its lament. It was weakened now, struggling to rearrange the power flow. Madam Guille was unable to see those power lines connecting the Horcruxes and their master – else it would have been easy to find him – but they existed.
Tonight she received a message from Dolohov. He had noticed the change as well and confirmed that it hadn't been the ring they found and destroyed. According to his message his hideout in Prague was still safe and he was convinced of finding his master's prison very soon.
He'll need the wand, Madam Guille mused. One Horcrux would be enough for his return, but both would strengthen him. With him being imprisoned for months and his enemies certainly eager to kill him as soon as he was freed, Tom Riddle would need any ounce of magic available. Two choices were offered to her now.
First she could return to Great Britain. She still had some possible lairs there, some of them belong former – now dead – enemies. Because of the special nature of Tom's immortality, Dolohov would be more than enough to make the ritual a safe one. Her role would only be one of a watcher and protector until Tom was back to full strength. This was the more reasonable choice, the safer choice, but also the one she didn't like.
Second, and far more to her nature, she could stay in Africa. Her assistant could be trusted to return the wand to Africa and protect it from harm. He was a patient man, a careful man. He wouldn't get nervous or create any havroc because of boredom. In addition he had more than enough knowledge about the matter to step in should Dolohov be unavailable on the day of Tom's return. This choice would allow her to close another matter that had annoyed her for a long time. The team of Aurors and Vampires was still searching for her. She had no doubt they would be able to find her very soon. A confrontation would be dangerous, especially with Richard Madsin among the attackers. Among Vampires he was one of most fearsome melee fighters and according to rumours he was nearly immune against direct magic.
However, Baron Pascal would be at his side. She really hated the man. More than once he had been the one to spoil her plans, and he had coerced her French brothers and sisters into the ban built against her. As long as he lived, she could never return to her loved home. Yes, he would be there. He would be in the open and part of the attack, not hidden behind thick walls and dozens of guards. She would have to find a way to distract Madsin, leaving Pascal in the open. Perhaps she could even lure him into a trap with the promise of revenge – revenge for that Vampire bitch her underlings had killed.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she imagined his neck under her heel, the more she liked the plan. It would be dangerous. It would need some preparations. But it would be worth it.
Madam Guille smiled maliciously. She had traps to prepare and undeads to raise.
.
Prague – Mazur Residence – 30th of August
.
It had felt like coming home. It felt right to be here, walk through the bright rooms of the manor, take a stroll in the garden. Perhaps the reason was simply that they were allowed to be normal teenagers around here, not different from any other teenager out there. Despite the search for the Horcrux waiting for them out there in the city, in this manor they were simply Harry and Daphne, Neville and Hermione: four teenager, two couples, and one band of friends. Only they weren't four, not right now.
"Where is Daphne?" Grazyna asked. She had been waiting for them, the manor prepared for their return, where nothing had changed since the day of their departure. Even that Czech novel from Vítezslav Hálek was still resting on the sideboard, since Harry put it down there days ago.
"She wanted to follow us in a day or two." Neville answered, glancing towards his friend. Despite Roxanne's confirmation that the family was alright, he felt restless not knowing what kind of emergency had happened and made it necessary for Daphne to cut short her vacation.
"And you're still a girl I see." Grazyna ignored Hermione's glare, which only deepened as Neville and Harry dared to snicker.
"Yes, but she's now able to safely change into a cat and back," Neville said, while giving Hermione a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. The gesture calmed her down a bit.
"Really?"
Hermione nodded and proved the statement by assuming cat-form and running around a bit before turning into a girl again.
"Marvellous," Grazyna applauded. She sighed: "I would love to be able to do this."
"Can't you learn it as well?" Hermione asked. "You're the Head girl in Krakow, aren't you? Certainly you don't lack in the brains or talents. So what is stopping you?"
For a while Grazyna didn't answer. Then she started with a low voice. "It's a curse. A family curse. One of my forefathers annoyed the wrong man. He was kind of a prankster, I assume not unlike your Sirius Black. Yes, I know about him. Fleur wrote about him a few times." She smiled weakly. "He was an Animagus, like many members of my family before him. But while most used it for combat, spying or simply to relax, he used it to play pranks and annoy his political enemies."
"So one of them took it away from him?" Harry guessed. While he adored his godfather, he understood how someone could react in such a way. Pranks often weren't especially funny for the victims.
Grazyna nodded: "From him and our family. I could still learn to be an Animagus, but after my first change I could never change back. Two family members learned this the hard way."
"That's awful."
Grazyna shrugged. "That's life." She forced a smile. "And what do you have in mind now, back in Prague?"
"Finding a ring," Harry growled.
.
Harry had – after reassuring nods from Hermione and Neville – explained Grazyna the whole Horcrux hunt matter and the destruction of the Horcrux hidden in the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Naturally Grazyna knew about the artefact and was impressed that Daphne and Hermione would be allowed to study it. She actually looked like she would offer her left arm for such a chance – certainly she wouldn't be the only witch to do so.
"The destruction had a positive side effect," Harry explained calmly. "Similarly to when we cleansed the Horcrux from my head, I was again able to follow the links to the other Horcruxes. I already informed the team hunting for the wand of what I found out, and I hope it will be easier for them now." Harry had been disturbed to hear about the killed team members. His mind knew that losses were to be expected, but his heart wasn't willing to accept it.
"And were you able to follow the link to the Horcrux hidden in Prague as well?" Grazyna asked.
Harry nodded. "Yes, at least better than last time. It is still protected somehow, but it was… glowing. Like it knew of its brother's death." He walked to the wall where a map was showing Prague and the surrounding area. He pointed towards a neighbourhood near the edge of the city around a small hill and with a number of bigger green areas. Somewhere around here it is hidden. I had the impression that it was somewhere below the ground."
Grazyna nodded. "I'll procure some more detailed plans of the area."
"Perhaps he is using some old bunker," Hermione suggested.
"From World War II?"
"Yes," Hermione nodded.
"Would he use something this much Muggle?" Neville frowned.
"Dolohov is a racist, murderous pig," Hermione shrugged, "but he's clever."
"Alright," Grazyna sighed. "I'll try to get some old plans of the bunkers and dugouts back then. Perhaps we'll be lucky."
The trio of friends grinned. We. Grazyna was part of this now, it seemed.
.
Darfur – same time
.
Sheikh Malak followed Jerome through the camp of his tribe, a dozen of his family members, trusted warriors and counsellors trailing behind. He smirked as he noticed Jerome rubbing his right forearm, where a fresh scratch mark was visible.
"Exciting night?" he asked, his smirk intensifying.
Jerome shrugged. "You know her."
Malak actually did. Meryem had been a guest of his tribe for decades. According to his father, she simply appeared in his tent one day and helped his mother bring him into this world. It had been a very difficult birth and until her death twelve years ago his mother had been convinced that both she and her son owed Meryem their life. They weren't the only Asim doing this by far. "I heard you." Malak grinned. The whole tribe knew that the couple was very… agitated… at night. Jerome didn't even blush. After two centuries of being married to this very special woman, he lost all traces of bashfulness.
At last they entered the market place of the tiny village. Around a dozen families were living here; or had been living because now they were planning to relocate. They depended on two wells, one mostly used for watering the arid fields, the other one for drinking and cooking. The smaller one in the middle of the village had gone dry months ago and while the villagers stubbornly struggled to keep going, it simply wasn't enough. It would become another village deserted by his people. Now the whole village was waiting for him, their faces telling him that they had no clue what this was about either.
"Wait here," Jerome begged, before walking towards one of the huts. He called something, using that foreign language only Meryem and Jerome understood; and Yasmine. For an unknown reason Meryem had allowed her husband to start teaching Malak's little granddaughter the language as well. His thoughts were interrupted as Meryem left the hut, carrying a big wooden box. As they noticed Jerome simply watching his wife, two of the Asim warriors hastened to her side and offered to carry her burden. A single glare from Meryem convinced them to stop this nonsense.
It's either very precious or weighty, Malak mused, or both. Despite her more or less normal if well-toned looks, Malak knew that Meryem was stronger than three of his warriors combined. It was only one of her smaller specials. Slowly she put the box down, the lid clattering a little as it was loosely lying on the box.
"You love to keep us in suspense, don't you?" Malak smiled warmly.
Meryem simply grinned back and slightly bowed her head. "I wanted to show you something, Sheikh Malak, here is a present I got yesterday. And I'll need your help to activate it."
"Activate," Sheikh Malak wondered. His eyes searched the box for any hints. "From Scotland? Hermione?"
"Yes," Meryem nodded. "I gave her a gift before she departed. This is her way to reciprocate the gesture." Meryem had been happy to hear that Hermione had been able to solve her little furry problem. Bringing both human and cat side into harmony would allow her to grow. And she assumed it would bring Hermione and Neville together even closer, as the young man was already accepting his animal side as well.
Meryem put the lid aside and reached into the box, pulling out a big, very weird looking, stone. Malak guessed it to weight around two-hundred pound, as did his men who watched the show. Gently as it was a baby or some fragile pottery, she put it down. Only now did Malak notice that the little well had been reworked. It now offered a place for the stone to rest. What could be the meaning of… stop. Hermione. Water bringer.
"Yes," Meryem grinned. "Yasmine?" She called towards the hut, and seconds later his granddaughter appeared. She waived towards her family, not a hint of shyness on her face. Malak grinned. Yes, she was really Shadana's descendant. She certainly had the fiery temper and stubbornness of her great grandmother. And she had the special gift of her grandfather's family.
"Is this safe?" Malak asked a bit troubled. "The stone feels… wrong."
"It is. It only feels like this to you because it contains Hermione's gift," Meryem soothed his apprehension.
"This is water magic?" He asked, not daring to touch the surface.
"It is," Meryem responded. "However, she put something on the stone, making it that only a member of your family can activate it." She turned around towards the girl. "Yasmine, if you please. But remember: only a very small flame."
Yasmine nodded eagerly, offered her grandfather a toothy smile and walked to the stone. She looked quite cute standing there, concentrating on her special talent. She didn't use it very often, and wouldn't be allowed to train it before her eight birthday. It had actually been quite a shock when she used it for the first time, as it was mostly – but not always – passed on from father to son in their family. Suddenly a tiny flame appeared in her hand. Some of the villagers gasped. They knew about the gift of their Sheikh's family, but it was rarely used in the open. Slowly and carefully Yasmine moved her hand to the stone and allowed the little flame to leap onto a couple of runes that had started to glow as soon as she evoked her flame.
"Did I something wrong?" Yasmine asked timidly as nothing happened for some moments.
Meryem put a hand on her shoulder. "You were perfect. See…"
A first drop of water appeared on the stone's surface. It turned into a trickle, then into a small gurgle. The water trickled into the well, filling it slowly. It was not a stream, it wouldn't create a new lake, but it was a miracle nonetheless. It would help the villagers, and perhaps it would be enough. Perhaps this village wouldn't be deserted next summer.
He had called Hermione a water bringer…, Sheikh Malak mused, watching the water stone together with his granddaughter, Meryem and Jerome. A water bringer she was indeed.
.
Eighty-seven years later
.
With slow, scuffling steps Yasmine walked through the village. Like three generations ago, it was a tiny village, an unimportant village in the grand scale of things. To her, however, it was important, had always been. She was leaning heavily on her granddaughter's arm. She needed the support with her ninety-two years. Every year she visited the village, doing her duty. This year would be her last visit; she felt it in her bones. Her small great grandson was accompanying her. Hamza, unlike his mother, had inherited the family's gift. Today he would help Yasmine with her duty and next year he would do it on his own.
Hamza would light the flame to activate the stone. He would kindle the life-giving well, the well of Hermione the water bringer.
.
A/N
I got the idea about the Congregation book title from an essay I had to write (among other things) to get my current job: Criticism - a due, a duty, and a responsibility