In the Ministry Archives
Pulling a thick, loosely rolled scroll from the drawer, I shake loose a cloud of dust, causing me to sneeze.
Of all the places for a person with an allergy to dust to be, I highly doubt that the Grand and Historical Archives of the British Ministry of Magic is one them. And yet, here I am. This is just great.
"Quit your sneezing, MacMillan, you're stirring up more dust! Get back to work!" the slightly disembodied voice of Dolores Umbridge calls from the other end of the stacks.
It would be easier if you told me what I was looking for, Umbitch. "Whatever seems to catch your eye," really isn't very good instructions.
I shrug my shoulders and tug loose the ribbon binding the scroll in my hands. Reading the first line or so, I nearly drop it in astonishment.
This be the records of the Line of Merlin, from the days of Merlin's late grandson Bedwyr to the current Head, Harry James Potter, current Head of the Houses Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Dumbledore, Potter, and Black as well as the Reigning House Merlinus…
This is what she's looking for, I realize with a start. She's either looking for this record, or for Harry's records.
Damn. How, in the name of Merlin, am I going to manage to smuggle this out of the Archives, and from there the rest of the Ministry?
"Found something, MacMillan?"
I shove the parchment into my robe's breast pocket before turning around to find Umbridge only a few paces in front of me. "No, ma'am – my eyes and nose are streaming from the dust, that's all. I can be back working in a moment."
She smiles at me, the flabby face morphing for a moment into an insane smirk. "That's all right, Macmillan. It's late, and I'm going home for the night. I'll leave you to lock up, shall I?"
I nod. "I'll do that, ma'am."
She turns away. "Oh, and MacMillan?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Remember what I said about that promotion…"
"I remember, ma'am. Have a good night."
Meh, promotions. Fighting the Dark is more important – hell, Harry's more important than that. He saved my life, that day on the battlefield that was Hogwarts, stepping in front of and blocking a bone-shattering hex that would have killed me.
I feel the parchment in my pocket shift.
I need to find the rest of these records of Harry's…
I spend the next hour searching through the dusty archives, sneezing all the way, but in the end I have seven scrolls in my pocket – one each for the lines of Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Stephen Dumbledore, Wulfram Potter, and Seraph Black, as well as one for the line of Merlin and one for Merlin's house – the ones indirectly descended from Merlin through intermarriage.
I need to get these to Harry. Not only do I owe him a life-debt, he's my leader, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.
I stride out of the Archives, locking the oaken doors with a word. Then, the runes that are engraved in a half-circle upon each door begin to glow with an eerie ethereal light.
Why do you leave with records of ours? A voice seems to ask me. Why do you take the knowledge of your liege lord?
Because I must, I think. Harry needs to hear or see this.
The liege lord has no knowledge of this?
No, and he needs it. The ones who hold his power seek to destroy him, seek to kill him, and leave the Reigning House of Merlin destroyed.
If it be so, you may take the document you bear and give it to its proper owner.
Thank you.
I hurry from the Archives, nearly bowling over two Unspeakables on the way.
Harry, Harry, Harry. Got to get to Harry…
I Apparate to Grimmauld Place, breathing heavily. Knocking upon the door, I hope beyond hope that Harry will answer.
"Aye, I'm coming, I'm coming."
It is Harry!
"Ernie! The meeting's not 'til Sunday, what brings you here on a Thursday?" He lets me in.
I manage to pant out, "Something you need to see – and anyone else that knows you're Merlin's heir."
I can see Harry's cheeks pink slightly under his black and silver beard. "Told you of that, who did? Only those that live in this house, and Arthur and Molly Weasley, know of that."
"Not, who, what." I pull the wrinkled parchment from my robe pocket. "These are the records of your House, from Merlin's grandson Bedwyr, all the way down the line to you."
He takes the former scroll from my hands into his. "So it is." He sighs. "Well, there's no hope for it then, is there?" Shaking his head, as if to rid himself of the negative energy, he asks, "Why don't you join us for dinner, Ernie? We're having pub grub because Bill can't cook anything else, and it was his turn…"
I chuckle. "Sure, why not? You can tell me how it's been here, and I can tell you all about my most wonderful days in the Ministry!"
Laughing, we make our way down to the dining area.