A/N -Happy Halloween! Happy Samhain!!
For those of you new to my writing, Samhain is pronounced "Sow-in".
Dani
51 – A Lesson In Humility
"Well, that's completely ridiculous! Where would someone get an idea like that?" Agnes Prewett tossed her shock of vivid red hair over her shoulders and glared at the fourth-year class.
"Ridiculous or not, the Christian world strongly believes that Pagan religions are evil, and that Halloween is a day to worship the devil." Elizabett slowly strode up the center isle to the front of the class. "All faiths have a balance between positive and negative: the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Hindus, even Wicca and Druidry. However, the perception of evil, something that is not just negative but wicked and immoral, is truly a Christian concept. No other faith has a "devil", and yet, this group imposes that belief on others. Yes, there are negative deities, those that exist to create a balance in life for nothing can always be positive, but there is nothing that can be classified as "evil"."
"When I was home over the summer, I went to church with my Mum, and the vicar was going on about Pagan religions, because it was near Litha, the Summer Solstice, and there was a festival going on. He said that Pagans only honour three things: sex, violence, and greed. I couldn't believe the rubbish! My Dad's a Druid, and his main rule is to love and honour nature for it's the giver of life. You can't do that if you're violent or greedy." Portia Portelance's face flush with anger. "I just don't get it. Isn't there enough trouble in the world? Why add to it with stupid comments?"
"It's not stupid. It's ignorant," Elizabett began as she turned to face the class.
"Same thing," a boy in the back called out.
"Not really." Elizabett frowned. "Stupid implies that the person is dim-witted or slow. Ignorant means that they are uninformed, that they don't have the knowledge or information needed to understand. Many of you here are Christian." She absently pointed to the group. "It's dominant in the Western world. You celebrate Christmas and Easter, but you've also been exposed to and understand that there are other ways of believing. That's a good thing. You're more informed than most adults in the Muggle world. Now, how many of you, when you were little, went Trick or Treating?" She deftly changed the subject before it got too heavy.
About half the hands in the class shot into the air, and the chatter increased with a flurry of giggles. The other half looked around at their classmates with puzzled expressions.
"Personally, I've never experienced Trick or Treating," Elizabett admitted with a smile. "So, I had to do some reading about the ritual. It's quite interesting, and a lot of it is based in history. But, Muggles have twisted the stories to suit their own purposes. Samhain is quite different from what the Muggles think of Halloween. It's a religious festival to celebrate and honour our ancestors and what they've taught us. Halloween seems to be a night to worship candy." She grinned as the class rose in a cheer. "You're assignment…" The class groaned but continued to smile. "Write an essay, at least one parchment long. I want you to tell me… and eventually the class, how you or your family celebrate either Halloween or Samhain. If you don't or haven't celebrated either, then do a little research, find out what the celebrations are all about. During the next class, we'll share our stories."
The bell rang with the last words, and the students filed out of the class, already swapping their favourite holiday tales.
Elizabett wearily rested her backside on the edge of her desk and folded her arms across her chest. The lesson had gone well. Samhain was only a week away, and the Hogsmede weekend was coming up. The feast itself would be on Halloween night. Funny, she snorted to herself, how a school of witches and wizards celebrated Halloween rather than Samhain. She was curious to know just how many knew about the Pagan faith.
~~~***~~~
The fire in the hearth warmed the cosy chamber. Dark mahogany and heavy upholstery added to the comfortable feel as an icy cold rain pounded the diamond framed windows on the west wall. The heavy cloud and gloom of late October was succeeding in penetrating the atmosphere of the room as Thomas sat in a brocade wing chair in front of the blaze. Staring blankly as the flames flickered and danced before his eyes, his mind passed over the events of the last two months. With the exception of one extraordinary event, they had not been pleasant. His eyes closed mournfully.
Grindelwald's falcon had arrived shortly after returning home from Paris, and Thomas' elated mood quickly vanished with what was to come next. He had been summoned - the first time in a long time. Rosier had obviously passed on the information about finding him in the alley with Elizabett. Fear had gripped him and all thought was on whether she had also been summoned. As usual, there was no time to contact her as his presence was required immediately.
Apparating in a hopscotch manner, as Elizabett had taught him, he arrived in Hungary late at night. Standing across from Grindelwald's decrepit, black and white manor, he waited a few minutes pushing all thoughts of his love from his mind, praying to the Goddess that Elizabett not feel what he was about to feel, that she not come rushing to his aid the way she had done months ago. He truly expected some sort of punishment, some sort of torture, and braced himself for it. Inhaling deeply to gather his nerve, Thomas raised his chin and strode purposefully across the cobbled street to knock on the chipped, black door. It didn't take long for it to swing open, and he was faced with two large wizards who roughly grabbed him and forcefully searched his body relieving him of his wand. They moved to his sides and harshly seized his upper arms, lifting him slightly from the ground, and dragging him into the study, throwing him at Grindelwald's feet.
From his prone position on the rich, plush carpet, Thomas quickly scanned the room. There were four others present. Grindelwald sat in his favourite chair by the fire immaculately dressed and whirling his grey wand between his fingertips. The two burly henchmen stood guard on either side of their master looking more like wax figures rather than powerful wizards. And, in the corner of the room, a man lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, obviously dead. There was no sign of Elizabett, and Thomas breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Struggling to his feet, he was knocked back to the ground by an imperceptible flick of Grindelwald's wand. Thomas felt it wise to remain on his knees, presenting a submissive posture. It might earn him a few more minutes.
What occurred next happened so quickly it was a blur. Grindelwald ranted furiously, accusing him of siding with the Resistance, of betraying him, of not providing him with the information that he had been assignment to supply. He raged like a madman but curiously made no mention of Rosier's report. Had Elizabett not been seen? Had he managed to act quickly enough to get her out safely? Thomas' relief was momentary as Crucio was cast at a furious rate. Blood began to ooze from his eyes, ears, and nose as he writhed on the pristine carpet, but all accusations were firmly denied, his mind completely focused on his work and his home as consciousness began for fade in and out. He couldn't give in now.
An unintelligible growl emerged from the frustrated Hungarian as Thomas lay crumpled on the floor, and as he raised his wand to cast a final curse, the study door opened, and Thomas could feel another person enter.
"Master," the voice strongly but cautiously began. "If he claims innocence, he's telling the truth. I can prove it."
Thomas could hear Grindelwald reply and a brief conversation take place, but he couldn't hold onto consciousness long enough for details.
He woke the following morning under a tree in a park on the north side of Budapest, his body racked with pain, and blood smeared on his face.
A log on the fire split and crackled snapping Thomas' attention back to the present. Leaning forward, he took the poker from the stand and rolled the log over, then leaned back into the chair.
It had taken a long time to recover, and his parents hadn't accepted his explanation for the injuries. They were suspicious but couldn't believe what the evidence seemed to be telling them. They chose to watch him carefully, and slowly he grimly eased back into his daily routine.
As September passed into October, his thoughts often drifted to Elizabett. He desperately wanted to get in touch with her, but knew that she had returned to her life at Hogwarts, to her husband, and as much as his heart ached, he felt that he had to give her space. However, when Edvard came to him earlier in the week, teary eyed and lonely, he couldn't resist the temptation to write. He missed Elizabett. He missed her smile, the blue of her eyes, and the tenderness of her touch. He missed the love and care that she showed for his son, the gentle encouragement she gave to him, her strength and conviction, her loyalty. He snorted derisively to himself. Her loyalty. As much as Albus had neglected her, as much as he dedicated his time to other things, she stood by him, holding true to her vows…except that once, that one time when they were so completely connected that he thought that she could truly be his. He sighed. She had written back. Her answer had been "no".
~~~***~~~
"Are we ready?" Elizabett called as she swung her cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at the neck.
"I am," Catherine answered as she finished tying her boots.
"Almost," Albus called from the study. "I just have to finish this last…"
"Finish later," Catherine interrupted with an angry frown as she stood in the doorway of her father's workspace, small hands on her hips. "We've waited an hour already."
Albus shuffled the papers on his desk and piled them neatly on the right hand side. "Demanding little imp, aren't you?" he said with a smile as he came around the corner of his desk and tweaked her nose.
Catherine brushed him off with her left hand. "I don't like that," she said with annoyance as she turned to rejoin her mother.
"Most of the seniors are already in the village. We were supposed to be there a while ago," Elizabett reminded her husband.
"Not to worry," he assured with a genially smile. "We'll be fine."
Opening the door for his family, they headed down the corridor and toward Hogsmeade and the pre-Halloween Hogsmeade Weekend that they had volunteered to chaperone.
~~~***~~~
Main Street was bedecked with orange and black banners, and magically coloured, ghoulish bubbles rose from the fountain in the Town Square. Students raced through the rainy mist anxiously visiting their favourite haunts. The Olde Village Sweet Shoppe on the north side of the square had a line up outside the door and part way down the street. Madam Puddifoot's, who usually hosts the best Valentine lunch in town, had a special Halloween treat for the young patrons and screams of laughter could be heard ringing through the air. There was even a line at the Simmer Cauldron when the Dumbledores finally arrived.
"Are you hungry yet, or should we wait for a while?" Albus cheerily asked as they stood outside the wooden structure.
"It's too crowded," Catherine grumbled. "We should have come earlier."
Albus bent to his daughter's level to talk to her directly. She had been moody and sulky all day, and he was getting a bit cross with it. "Sometimes we can't always get what we want when we want it. I don't just teach at the school, I'm Deputy Headmaster as well as Head of Gryffindor House. I had work that needed to be finished before we left. Can you understand that?"
Catherine looked coolly at her father and steadily replied, "I understand, but I don't like it. Now, all the places I wanted to go to are full."
"So, we wait. There's lot's of other things to do and see." Albus rose and reached for his daughter's hand. She hesitated for a moment then put her hand in his as they began to walk toward the bubbly fountain in the center square.
As the three sat on an ancient wooden bench watching the gruesome figures emerge from the frigid water, a group of seventh-year boys came into view from a side alley. Albus instantly took notice as they made their way down the street heading for the bookshop. There was something suspicious about their behaviour, nothing overt, but the hair on the back of Albus' neck began to prickle. He startled at a sudden touch on his shoulder.
"They're up to something," Elizabett quietly spoke as she tipped her head toward the group, her hand now resting on the back of the bench.
Albus's bright blue eyes held a tinge of grey as he turned to give a serious half nod to his wife. Suddenly grabbing Catherine's hand and giving it a squeeze, he put on a pleasant smile and said, "I might be able to wiggle my way into the Sweet Shoppe and pick up a treat. We can go back later when it's less crowded to have a better look. Why don't you and our Mum go to Gladrags, and I'll meet you there. What would you like me to get for you?"
Catherine thought for a moment. "Sherbet Lemons," she finally said with a sad sigh. "And, a couple of Chocolate Frogs."
"All right," Albus said as he rose and strode down the path in the direction that the boys had taken.
There was a moment of silence before Elizabett placed a loving arm around her daughter's shoulders to pull her close. "What's with you today? You seem so sad."
Catherine stared at the fountain, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Finally, a big tear rolled down her cheek. "I miss Edvard and Uncle Thomas," she said quietly. "I haven't seen them in so long," she sniffed.
"Oh, Sweetheart." Elizabett gave her a gentle hug. "That's what happens when you live away from people you care about. Sometimes you don't get to see them for a while. Maybe at Yule," she suggested as she transfigured a tissue from a scrap of paper to dry the little girl's tears.
"Yule? That's so far away," Catherine cried harder. "I miss them now. Why couldn't they come today? Didn't you invite them?"
Oh dear, Elizabett thought. She thought she'd done the right thing by avoiding Thomas but had not considered how it would affect Catherine. Maybe she should have said "yes" to his letter. Obviously Edvard was feeling the same way. It was Elizabett's turn to stare into the fountain.
"No, I didn't," she replied apologetically. "I wanted a special day with you and your Daddy. At least the rain has stopped," she tried to change the subject, giving Catherine a cheery smile. "Come on. Let's go to Gladrags. Let's see what we can find."
Standing and pulling the child to her feet, Elizabett and her daughter walked hand in hand up the packed gravel path to Main Street. Turning left at the broom maker's, they slowly wandered to the clothing shop.
On the opposite side of the square, Albus had followed Tom and his friends to the bookshop and listened from an adjacent aisle as they secretly discussed a prank they intended to play: an experiment, they called it, involving Tom's special talent for getting animals to do as he wanted, and Mulciber's ability for convincing people to do as he wanted. McNair chucked at the possibility while Goyle volunteered to stand watch.
"I think it's time you boys headed back to the school." Albus came around the corner of the stacks to confront the conspirators. "I think I've heard enough to warrant an investigation into your plan and stop you from doing anything that may be harmful to others and possibly get you expelled." He stood his full, imposing six-foot height, his authority clearly understood by the boys.
"We haven't done anything wrong," Tom respectfully protested.
"Yet," Albus replied firmly. "And, I would like to keep it that way. Tom, you're a bright boy, gifted. Your talents should be directed toward more positive actions rather than manipulation and pranks. Now, all of you, please do as I say. Go back to school. I'll send a message to the Headmaster and Professor Slughorn that you are returning. One of them will be expecting you."
Albus watched as the boys left the shop, Goyle and McNair grumbling under their breath, but he missed Mulciber's muttered comment to Tom. "He'll get his."
