Meeting the Other Woman

Professor Bethaz made her way through the castle to the prearranged meeting room, though since the second task there had been no secrecy left to protect, Which gave the proceedings a half frivolous air. Half that was the nature of the third task, and the rest was that Tom had published the fact that the trophy they were meant to find was a contact portkey, intended to make the winner blindingly obvious without any need for the judges to interpret the results. Hagrid had followed suit somehow taking the notion of increasing traffic to the magical creatures wing by publishing a list of the magical creatures which were to be stationed in the maze.

Most of what they'd talk about might be teaching skills, or comparative duelling law, and even once potions ingredient procurement. Sometimes other professors would come. What it all came down to was the Mme. Bethaz didn't need really need to be on time, but she intended to all the same, though she had started early for a chance to wander the corridors of Hogwarts, enjoying the familiar landscape of portrait filled corridors and moving staircases. Beauxbatons had its own frivolous and blatant use of magic in the architecture, but there it was used differently.

As she passed a lit classroom with its door ajar, Bella thought she saw a familiar form inside and paused to look again. It was Neville and a girl with wheaten skin pouring over a book. She was about to continue on when she saw Victorix sitting beside them on the table shaking a portrait orb.

In an instant other anxieties pushed all joy of nostalgia from her mind, and she ducked into the room.

Victorix looked up first but soon alerted the other two with a coo of, "Moman!" which her speaking cap translated as, "Greetings, Mother. Welcome to our cave, isn't it glorious? I'm afraid the lackeys have gotten boring, but I do have this fancy ball which I suspect is not true."

"Vicki, what?" said the girl before Victorix's speaking cap finished.

By that time Neville had turned and stood, and given a nod that only acknowledged her existence long enough to extricate himself from a previous conversation in order to begin proper formalities with her. After a glance at the girl who now had caught sight of Mme. Bethaz and was taking a dangerously long period of time to adjust to the presence of a stranger.

"Um?" said the girl.

It took several seconds for Neville to unfreeze, and then finally say, "Miss Patil, I'd like to introduce Victorix' mother," and then he froze again.

Mme. Bethaz took her cue to step forward and offer her hand, "Ummah Bethazmaveth," said Mme. Bethaz, "Mistress Bethaz to my pupils, Professor Bethaz around here it seems. Vicki's Mum will do in a pinch but it's not my preference."

"Yes, Professor Bethaz," said Miss Patil. And she elbowed Neville's side. Probably an attempt to unfreeze him, again. Had he meant to get stuck there. Or had he merely forgotten her current alias.

Mme. Bethaz smirked at him.

Neville shuddered and looked away.

Mme. Bethaz circled them and the table to stand close to Vicki, who stood and hugged her for several seconds before turning to retrieve her dropped portrait orb. It seemed that someone had copied the fall-triggered sticking charm from Vicki's harness onto the orb. Was someone bored of retrieving toys that had rolled away? Was someone also in the habit of leaving her on smooth tabletops?

Victorix did seem momentarily content to stay seated.

Mme. Bethaz drew up a chair and sat down. Putting her eye level much closer to Victorix.

The other two did the same, Miss Patil tried to make small talk, but kept checking Neville's reactions. Neville didn't seem his normal self either. Either eliding Mme. Bethaz' previous name was costing him. Or … there was something else he wanted to communicate and hadn't yet found the words.

"Neville," said Mme. Bethaz, "Heir Longbottom, is there something you wished to say?"

He bit his lip.

"Out with it already."

"I know what I want to say is a compliment, but the words I've commonly heard to express it are … condescending. More condescending than is appropriate for the difference in our ranks."

"Ah," said Mme. Bethaz.

And after a pause, "say them and be done with it, I shall attempt to overlook the slight, and see the compliment you intend."

Neville lifted his chin and met her gaze. His face relaxed into a proud and happy smile, "Look at you, all grown up."

Mme. Bethaz chortled. And imagined that greeting back in time to the moment Neville had started looking awkward. Better and better.

Miss Patil looked aghast.

"Very good, Neville," agreed Mme. Bethaz, "So I am at that. A position, a title… of a sort, several youngsters that look to me in several different ways. Including the illustrious Fleur Delacour." I had reasons to hope not to return to Britain for a few years, but … no don't say that.

"Yes," said Neville, "Congratulations, on that as well."

Mme. Bethaz shrugged, "one must always capitalise on the skills one has, or learn new."

"Or both," agreed Neville.

"Precisely," said Mme. Bethaz. She turned to Miss Patil, "How about you, I see you are in gryffindor also, what else do you tell about yourself?"

Miss Patil said, "I am a horse animagus," she glanced at Neville, "I usually say Frisian to Europeans, but it's actually Kathiawari."

"How are they different, I mean besides regionally?"

"They both were originally war horses," said Miss Patil, "now they're both commonly known just for being big. I happen to be pure black, which is more commonly expected in Frisians and somewhat rare in Kathiawari, unless I'm going to go white later on, which is less rare."

"Ah," agreed Mme. Bethaz.

"And Kathiawari are known for being able to easily touch their ears together."

"Interesting."

"Which I think is rare outside breeds from India."

"Ah."

"Also, she's a snake charmer," said Neville.

Miss Patil, might have blushed a bit.

"Not quite the same thing as a parselmouth but still sometimes useful when living in a castle where certain parselmouths think they hid things better than they actually did. Or I suppose when there are multiple parselmouths plotting in plain sight and think they are immune to eavesdroppers."

Miss Patil apparently didn't want that information given out. So discretion was advised, or immediately reporting to Tom. A decision for later. Now would be the moment for reassurance.

"Oh, my," said Mme. Bethaz, "You see me all agog with envy."

Miss Patil smirked, "were you in Gryffindor?"

"No, but one of my best friends was, cousin actually."

"Oh," said Miss Patil.

"Speaking of friends and acquaintances in gryffindor, how are the Weasleys these days."

"Oi," said Neville, "The twins are sore but making up for their losses. Ron is hanging out with slytherins to play chess, and perhaps revise, it's hard to tell with him. His little sister is in slytherin, sometimes he sides with her against the twins. Not sure what else there is to say. Beyond passing notes to her brothers, her business doesn't bring her to gryffindor much."

"Hmm, fair enough," said Mme. Bethaz, and after a brief pause, she said, "I know he's not in your year or anything, but what's your opinion on the Hogwarts's Champion?"

"He's an violent arrogant bastard of a dark wizard," said Miss Patil, "But he'll listen to advice if you actually have a good suggestion."

There was a story there.

"Also scary smart," she said. Neville nodded to that.

"Is he one of the parselmouths you implied are around to be eavesdropped on?"

"He is one, yes," said Miss Patil, "But he knows what I can do, sometimes he greets me that way, even if I can't reply in kind without transfiguring an instrument and meditating for several minutes how to frame my message to a tune."

"Ah," said Mme. Bethaz and relaxed, "fair enough." So she didn't need to report. Which saved her a significant amount of honour no matter how she calculated.

"Did you hear what he did during the first task?" said Miss Patil.

Mme. Bethaz had heard plenty from those biased against him, it might be interesting to hear from … someone who … called him an arrogant bastard, but he was 'Hogwarts' arrogant bastard,' and for some that might cast things in a different light.

"Only in summery," said Mme. Bethaz. Which was more than enough to set her talking. Which gave Mme. Bethaz some time to analyse. Neville too by the looks of it.

Suddenly there was a turn of phrase that shocked her, though she didn't telegraph the fact by starting. But she listened more closely. By the end she was certain.

Miss Patil felt proprietary about Tom. Felt justified in condescending to him on occasion.

And while he sometimes acted only four years her senior, he was still the dark lord, who was known to be several decades older than that, Mme Bethaz hadn't actually asked why he was hanging out in a school to recruit followers since there were so many adults who Bethaz was certain would follow him again when he raised the banner.

Miss Patil trailed off, finally realising that she'd finished long before.

"Hmm," said Mme. Bethaz, "Miss Patil, please pardon me for being so behind the times, what with my travels abroad, almost a foreigner in some respects, but … what is your social status?"

She smirked in a condescending sort of way, "My mother is a princess, I'm only half royal, for having an English pureblood for a father."

Um, what?

Neville had introduced her to Miss Patil rather than the other way around. Though he had gotten stuck part way through.

'Half' royal might in fact rank above Ancient and Noble.

And then she waved it away as if social rank meant nothing. Perhaps to her it could mean nothing. Perhaps to Neville it could. Eldest heirs of most ancient houses that didn't believe in blood purity, and the wealth to uphold sponsorship contracts without fresh influxes of fortune every generation. Though if they formed an alliance, perhaps one couldn't be blamed for suspecting they believed in all the social posturing even if they would never claim to believe it aloud.

"And Mum wasn't a very high ranking princess to start with …."

"Ah," But still. "I see."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Patil."

Miss Patil frowned, glanced an accusation at Neville and said, "I'm Parvati by the way, my twin sister is Padma, she's in ravenclaw."

"And I suspect you emulate her ability with books, though perhaps you do not enjoy it as much."

"Hmm," said Miss Patil, "perhaps."

She seemed to interpret that as permission to end the interview and return to revising, but before making that decision she glanced at Vicki and Neville.

Neville noticed being deferred to and pushed back from the table, "To change the subject," he said.

"Please do," said Miss Patil … Parvati.

"If you could hire someone killed, who would it be?"

Parvati gave the appropriate startle, raised concerned eyebrows, and said, "Is this about that time when you were rumoured to have hired assassins to go after Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Mme Bethaz managed to neither choke nor sit up straighter. She didn't entirely suppress the rest of her twitch, but perhaps no reaction would have been a worse tell.

"In a very roundabout sort of way, yes," said Neville.

"Well right at the moment," said Parvati, "since we're on the topic. Have you considered Tom Riddle?"

"Hmm," said Neville.

"Not affordable," said Mme. Bethaz, "less so the wider his fame spreads because of this tournament."

Parvati's mouth dropped open. After a moment she closed it again, "Sorry, for a moment I was thinking in terms of the rumour that you could afford to send someone after Bellatrix."

Silence. Neville wanted to say something but wasn't saying it.

"Well give us an example of who you were thinking of," said Parvati.

"Ludovic Bagman," said Neville.

"Whatever for? I mean, he is loud at times," agreed Mme. Bethaz, "But that's hardly enough to send assassins."

"He welshed on his bet with the twins," said Neville.

A money debt to Parvati, but an honour debt for Neville?

Parvati caught the speculative gaze Mme. Bethaz sent at her.

"What?"

"I was just wondering what you and your sister were betting against him about, and how much you should have won."

"Not us," said Parvati, "Fred and George Weasley, bet on Krum ending the Quidditch world cup. Put in all their savings, the payout was supposed to be hundreds of galleons. And even worse, instead of going bankrupt honestly, he payed them in leprechaun gold, probably did the same to others. Not that I ever partook, but the parties in gryffindor just aren't the same when their smuggling operation has no budget for inventory."

"Hmm," said Mme. Bethaz, "For Molly Prewett's boys I might could be induced to work for free."

Neville's mouth dropped open.

Three or four expressions twitched across Parvati's face, starting with confusion, ending with realisation and then terror. She mouthed several syllables that were probably best not uttered in the presence of witnesses. And then a glance at Vicki.

"Neville, Vicki is your baby?"

Neville gave half a nod as he sat up and looked straight ahead, "Lord Black paid me never to make that claim."

He turned to Parvati, "Do you understand? never. Not without extensive negotiations, probably amounting to sponsorship contracts, and who knows what else."

Parvati glanced at Mme. Bethaz, an expression of mingled terror and … pity. Probably the appropriate expression for watching a friend care for a lamed tigress.

"That's what you meant when you mentioned, buying a client line, but not until you were Head of House."

"And have a legal heir, and confidence in the respect and loyalty of my other client lines, and several other things that probably, will never happen before Vicki goes to school. Which in effect means not soon enough that the House of Longbottom would be able to afford to buy out the House of Black's interests in," he waved his hand in Vicki's general direction, "The Line of Bethazmaveth or whatever." He frowned and stared at Mme. Bethaz, "I don't mind you going by that surname if you choose, but I don't like Vicki being burdened by it."

"Hmm," said Mme. Bethaz, "I'll be sure to come to you next time I'm on the run and picking an alias."

"Right," sighed Neville, "Never mind."

He turned back to Parvati, "I can walk you through all the details that usually go into transferring a client line between houses, but the summery is, I can't. I wish to protect her, protect them, but it is not my place, and the surest way I could ensure their fullest possible protection was to notify Lord Black the extent to which I was willing to get out of his way. And he agreed."

"OK, but," said Parvati. And after a long pause she said, "so saying you wanted to 'buy them' wasn't meant to be weird pureblood gallows humour about slavery or feudal lords owning their peasants, but actual technical terms about kinds of legal protection."

"Yes, and formalising family dynamics."

"So it should have also notified me about … what type of relationship you'd be willing to have with … Professor Beth in future."

"Um, sort of," said Neville, "generally I'd only get Vi … generally a House only … Hmm. It would depend on whether Lord Black was willing to transfer only Vicki, or Vicki and her mother. There are precedents both ways, but … generally the latter is done with marriage, and the former would normally only include Vicki and her descendants, though her mother might or might not be allowed or requested to help care for her. Of course things are even more unusual because Vicki is a girl. Ugh I am not summarising this well. And of course in the ideal circumstance, although Lord Black's name would be on the contract, his actual role in the negotiations would be more as Professor's Barrister."

"Never mind how you'd buy her," said Parvati, "never mind that you can't afford it, never mind that you aren't yet head of house, you said it originally to tell me what kind of relationship you'd prefer to have, what relationship would that be, (if you could do all these things that you can't)?"

"Right," said Neville, "Vicki or her Mother would be the head of a client line within the House of Longbottom. They'd be a generally independent family, but would have … an obligation to beg from me first before begging anywhere else. Likewise if anyone attacked them, I would have a legal duty to avenge or, more modernly, prosecute."

"So sort of feudal, but more like the rich uncle or something?"

"Certainly," said Neville, "With the expected exceptions for fostering under age children, etc."

"But also, almost not family at all."

"Hmm, correct, under the way I think you're defining family this time," said Neville.

"And since you can't do any of that she offered to let you be godfather instead."

"Yes."

"And … you haven't agreed yet?"

"Correct," said Neville.

"But you haven't refused either?"

"Also correct," said Neville.

Parvati glanced at Mme. Bethaz, "Is there a … honour problem with not answering?"

"He hasn't exactly not answered," said Mme. Bethaz.

"The honour problem," said Neville, "is agreeing to it before I'm seventeen, without getting my parents' consent."

"Oh, of course," said Parvati, "And you … aren't doing that?"

"I don't yet have the correct type of relationship with my parents to ask them."

"Oh," said Parvati.

Somewhere deep inside young Bella Black voiced annoyance at older Bella Lestrange for not feeling properly contrite about that. Which was to say, Mme. Bethaz sympathised with Neville the lack of relationship with his parents, but was under no illusions about the realities of war and battle the day her family and Barty Jr. had gone after Lord and Lady Longbottom.

Parvati turned to Mme. Bethaz, "I apologise that you needed to sit through my lesson, Professor Beth. Apparently I'm also partly a foreigner here."

Mme. Bethaz gave an acknowledging nod.

And the conversation lulled again.

"Speaking of awkward topics and relationship clarifications," said Mme. Bethaz, "what is the relationship between you two?"

Neville sighed, "That was much simpler to answer when I was four years from being Head of House, instead of three years from merely being heir and of age."

"How so?"

Neville glanced at Parvati, and looked back, "Parvati's family might or might not prefer formal negotiations. My family might significantly prefer the standardised courtship rites. The two are almost compatible if I were negotiating on my own behalf, but very much not, now that my parents are no longer incapacitated. At any rate …"

Parvati raised an eyebrow.

Neville shrugged, "no, I guess I can't summarise farther than that."

"Do you want me to incapacitate them for several more months?" said Mme. Bethaz.

"Certainly not," said Neville.

"Good," said Mme. Bethaz, "I had a bit of help last time, and they handicapped themselves by thinking that they needed to defend a certain nursery."

"What do you mean about the nursery?"

"I'm not sure what intelligence they had on us, but the intelligence we were looking for from them was: where the Dark Lord went, not what in Merlin's name Dumbledore had planned to do with you."

"What had he planned to do with me?"

"No one except him and your parents seem to have ever known. And they … managed to stay very vague. Which was inspiring in and of itself. The Dark Lord got wind of how important Dumbledore thought you and decided it had to be investigated at once. And he didn't come back from investigating in a timely manner … that's all I know."

"Then Tom Riddle, wouldn't know either," pointed out Parvati.

"You're his confidant?" said Mme Bethaz in mingled horror and disbelief.

"At … times?" said Parvati, "I accidentally helped him with his revival ritual, and he sometimes mocks me by letting me overhear details of other things he's managed to uncover."

"Like what?"

"Like I think he was bragging to one of the foreign professors that he was immune to all the unforgivables, and could counter two of the three in others, if he witnessed them being cast."

Um, what?

"That doesn't sound possible," said Mme. Bethaz, "But also like something he'd try to achieve and would brag about afterwards, if he managed. I wonder where he found anything subtle enough to counter Cruciatus damage."

Neville glared at her.

Mme. Bethaz waved his unspoken accusation aside, "What I did that kept them suppressed wasn't Cruciatus, though I'm unsurprised that the healers couldn't tell the two apart."

She frowned, "and it was my special assignment, I knew more about it than he did, by the end, before he left and I lost access to most of my mind to dementors. Perhaps it's something obvious I should have already understood. What would the counter curse look like? And why might witnessing it being cast have an effect?"

Neville sighed, "Never mind, they're still suffering aftereffects, if you have or find a counter curse, I'd like to hear about it."

"If there is one, I'll find it," she said, "before or after Mr. Bagman."

"I barely care about Mr. Bagman," said Neville, "On the other hand if you're taking care of that for free… could you … how much would you charge me to wait for my go ahead?"

"Why?" said Mme. Bethaz.

"If I'm not paying for the favour, I can't count it as a favour paid off to the twins, but I have another idea that would work better … contingently with his death."

"I'd charge a lot to synchronise anything in a way that risked exposing me."

"No, of course not," said Neville, "Just wait … about a month, I think."

Mme. Bethaz shrugged, "so any time I like after you give the go ahead?"

"Yeah," said Neville.

Mme. Bethaz nodded, "I can work with that, and if it's still before I have to leave for France I probably won't charge you for the inconvenience."

"So, talk Tom out of his cure for Cruciatus, and bag Bagman, what else would my lord like me to procure for him?"

"How much would you charge for Dumbledore?"

"What?" said Parvati.

Mme. Bethaz shuddered, "more than you can afford."

"And if I assured you he no longer wields the deathstick?"

"I'd want to know how you came by the information that he had it to start with."

"Eavesdropping on gods and heroes," sighed Neville.

Parvati glared confusion at the side of his head.

Mme. Bethaz shook her head, "No, still no. Unless you meant Aberforth."

"I'm sure I can afford Aberforth by traditional means," said Neville, "or will be able to the moment his older brother is out of the picture."

"You might be surprised," said Mme. Bethaz, "you know what sort of establishment he runs?"

Neville smiled.

Maybe he did.

Mme. Bethaz shrugged, "never mind."

Neville nodded.

"What have you got against Dumbledore?" said Parvati.

"A list longer than your tail," said Neville.

Now he was just being cryptic on purpose.

"I think I'd better go," said Mme. Bethaz, "And if you two are going to row I'll take Victorix with me."

Neville frowned, and turned to Parvati, "do you want to see the balance books next time you visit? I don't mind, but the moment Dad or Gran catches you showing interest in them, your Dad will be getting owls … within hours probably."

Parvati slumped back in her chair and stared at the far wall, "It should probably be my Mum, and I almost certainly ought to clear it with her first."

"Yes, probably," agreed Neville far too quickly.

Parvati bit her knuckles for several seconds, "How many balance books are there?" she said.

"No more than a bushel at the moment," said Neville.

Goose-flesh ran up Mme. Bethaz' spine. Perhaps there was a reason Neville could see eye to eye with her. Though she didn't think the House of Black had anything so formalised.

"Only a bushel," said Parvati thoughtfully, "going back how many years?"

"The limit is seven generations," said Neville, "Longbottom limits ourselves to six, to be on the safe side."

"That's fair," said Parvati, "but … only a bushel?"

"Yes," said Neville, "the last war wiped out a large fraction of the purebloods, the Nott entries shrunk by over thirty percent about when the insane half of Lestrange died."

"You've updated them yourself?" she said.

"I have."

Parvati nodded, she glanced at Mme. Bethaz for a long second before turning back to Neville, "Ours span three volumes and only cover since Mom crossed salt water."

Neville blinked, "Then she either keeps more detailed notes than we do, or she counts more people her peers than we do."

"Ah!" said Parvati, "Nobles oblige allows … forgiveness?"

"Allows ignoring slights unknowingly given," said Neville.

"Yes," said Parvati, "I suppose it must. I'd like to study some of your entries, I think it would not be appropriate for me to see whole books. I'm not sure how yours are set up, or if your family would appreciate the difference between the two."

"That is an interesting nuance," agreed Neville, "I'll think about how to explain that to my parents … and when."

Parvati nodded and turned to Mme. Bethaz, "There we go, our row is done, you can leave Vicki here if you want."

Neville looked between the two of them, and then smiled, like a cat who'd died and gone to live on a dairy farm.

The world wavered before Mme. Bethaz eyes. That wasn't what she's expected them to row about, but …

Neville got Bellatrix, in all the ways Tom had never admitted to. Parvati got Neville.

Neville could keep up with Bellatrix' bloodthirstiness though maybe not her anger or speed, Bellatrix might never keep up with Neville's … cold patience or the solidified and harnessed honour that carried it.

Parvati …

Little Bellatrix Black wanted to fall down in giggling worship.

Before she could give in to the impulse. Mme. Bethaz merely bowed a bow that was no longer in the protocol books, client in debt to royal house, murmuring, "my lady," and stalked out, leaving her daughter in their care.

If the two of them did get married, and she ever provoked the Lord Black far enough to disown her. That would be the time to try to swear allegiance as a retainer.

There was also the question of her outstanding oaths to Tom, who granted had already offered her freedom…

Conclusion

"Tunde," said Hermione, "I think I'm ready to explain what I've learned."

Tunde acknowledged that with an expression that didn't quite seem to mean a nod. And she packed up her things. And followed Hermione up to the top of the Arithmancy tower.

They sat in an unlikely patch of sunlight and Hermione explained.

"Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Delacour both said it was past time for you to be making your choice. Do you know what that means?"

Tunde shook her head.

Hermione shrugged, "I suspected that. Basically elementals are born without alignment to any power or to any god or principality, their choice seems to be permanent. Unlike humans who are born with a default alignment but with the ability to choose, the effects of which permanently change us body and soul and magic, but … that choice can be … repudiated and remade, though it is supposed to be very very difficult and painful to do. Or we can go through life without exercising our choice, leaving us more free in some ways, less free in others, but more to the point … less powerful. You on the other hand only develop to a certain point and then pause until you dedicate yourself to a power and / or principality."

Tunde nodded.

"You can read this book, on the powers as … humans understand them, but it might not be all that helpful to you. So far as I can decipher, the best naiads align to Death the principality, not Deathly the power. Followed closely in popularity by the powers of Plenty or of Chaos, which somehow is a light power for elementals."

Tunde shrugged.

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Tunde shrugged and nodded.

"Do you … want to make a choice?"

Tunde nodded.

"Do you know who or which you'd like to dedicate yourself to?"

Tunde nodded and smiled shyly.

Hermione flipped through her book, "Beltane is right around the corner, and might be ideal if you're going with Plenty."

Tunde smirked.

So she probably wasn't going with Plenty. "Otherwise there's nothing special until Lamas, and I'm not sure that's ideal time to use your choice for you or only for mortals. So … if it was me, I wouldn't wait."

Tunde shrugged, and nodded.

"Here's one of the generic dedication ceremonies, it's in the Lamas section, but I think it'd be easy to adapt to any power you wish. I'm not clear if the key words need to be changed for something more important to you than blood."

Tunde opened her satchel and pulled out parchment and quill, and copied out the dedication changing the spaces marked [light or dark or etc.] to 'Death' and the places for her name to, 'T' she left 'mind' and 'magic' alone but she changed 'body' and 'blood' to 'place' and 'nature'.

She finished and looked up expectantly.

As if she were turning in homework.

"Good," agreed Hermione, "You might need to say it three times to …"

They stared at each other.

"I'm not going to give you an assignment to write lines if anything else will work."

Tunde smirked, and waved her quill over Hermione in the sign of the cross.

It took until half way through the second repetition before Hermione recognised the motion.

"I am, but what does that signify here?" said Hermione.

Tunde covered her mouth, then pointed to Hermione, then back to her mouth.

"The Centaurs' stream said a christian did that to you, but … I haven't uncovered a great repertoire of ceremonies to do that or undo it."

Tunde raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what she had uncovered.

Hermione pulled out another book and flipped to The Exorcism.

Tunde scanned it, and pulled out another piece of parchment, copying and changing, again not writing full names of certain entities but keeping the initials the same. References to the whole Trinity were abbreviated to '[the names]' The intent was fairly obvious. A prayer-declaration-prayer rhythm that matched the original ceremony, abbreviated so that Tunde wouldn't have to write the names by which mortals refer to certain personalities.

At one vague and questionable paragraph Hermione hadn't understood and had been hesitant to use anyway was replaced with, 'Use your Standard Battle Sorcery here?'

Hermione took several seconds to reconcile that to the fact that that should not possibly mean, 'in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,' because Tunde had already intermittently abbreviated to 'in the name of [the names]' or just 'by [the names'. So it must mean something else, and if sorcery meant prayer, and battle or standard or…

Oh, the Lord's Prayer. She ran through it in her mind… It was battle sorcery. Or … more like campaign survival sorcery. Which matched so much new testament language for what Christians were meant to be doing in the world…

.

Finally Tunde finished and handed it back.

It was no longer The Exorcism, it was … Tunde's dedication re-written into Hermione's perspective and symbols.

And then something became very clear. She pointed "Is this … the same err … principality that you … revere and choose?"

Tunde nodded emphatically.

That explained the implications of holiness.

"Should this even work?" said Hermione.

Tunde nodded emphatically.

"What about … replacing this section with …" she got out her Bible which in the last month had regained a place in her satchel with all her other reference works. It helped that her new satchel came with an undetectable extension charm and therefore was large enough to carry more than only her school texts. She flipped to a poem that seemed to contain similar structure to what she was hoping to say.

She contemplated using it but there were subtle linguistic incompatibilities between praising God the Father for certain things and defining to St. Michael the Archangel what aspects of his office you were hoping to talk to him about. It would take a lot more work to change it the way she wanted, and the version Tunde was happy with was ready now.

Hermione shivered. Tunde's prayer didn't seem a Christian sort of prayer, though it did incorporate aspects that the little stream from the forest had tried to explain to them.

She needed to talk to someone a bit more experienced in praying to saints.

Mandy was the obvious person.

.

Down in the Ravenclaw common room Luna took one look at them and said, "I'm glad you decided to come, let's go find Mandy."

Upstairs in Mandy's room, Mandy said, "Hi Hermione, did you bring me another convert?"

"Nothing so simple," said Hermione.

"Tunde is an orphan water elemental," said Luna, "and she's several decades late for her … what water elementals do instead of confirmation. Because a misguided human bound her magic and voice from developing."

"Um," said Mandy, "so what do we need to do?"

"We've got some ideas what needs to happen and how to pray for that, but … "

Luna shuddered, "between a prayer for freeing a human from a demon, and a generalised desire to free Tunde's magic and voice, they've mixed up a prayer that will free her from everything. Even her banks and her nature. Almost certainly it would turn her from a stream into a swamp."

Mandy blinked. "This is so above my pay grade."

"I only wanted to consult you about the praying to saints thing, I just thought the prayer seemed wrong, but I wasn't sure if it was because I don't pray to saints so I didn't know how those are supposed to be arranged, or if it was in fact wrong."

"Hmm," said Mandy, "I'll help as much as I can."

So they collaborated, Luna couldn't help them choose words, only tell them when they'd chosen wrong.

When Hermione finally satisfied that maybe they had something workable, Mandy volunteered to make a clean copy. And unrolled the scroll back to the top. She frowned and looked up, "You know Jesus said, 'do not keep talking on and on, like some people do. They think talking a lot will help them get their point across. Don't be like them, your Father knows what you need even before you ask him.' Do you think His Generals would have a similar preference for concise speech."

"That sounds … perhaps too stereotypical of soldiers to be trustworthy logic," said Hermione.

"In other words yes," said Mandy. She stared at Tunde for a second, then closed her eyes and said, "Saint Michael the Archangel, In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen. We thank you for your continued protection. We're gathered here today to introduce to you our friend Tunde who has been unnaturally bound, and is now ready to dedicate herself to you. We pray you accept her as one of your own, free her from bindings that are no longer needed, and help her bind herself to you. Please guide her to be all that one of your naiads ought to be. To the glory of God and the redemption of the world. Amen."

"Amen," said Hermione, and really did mean it.

"Ämenu," said Tunde, then disintegrated into a rather large puddle on the floor.

Shades of the wicked witch of the west, thought Hermione, except this water is clean.

"Wow," said Mandy, "um."

Clean except swirling flecks of gold that didn't represent reflections of the lamp or the window.

But a moment later Tunde was giggling and snorting and pushing herself back up off the floor, and soaking back into her clothes. A few seconds more and her clothes were even dry. She arched and shrugged and stretched her neck and jaw. Then she looked down and lifted arms to look at the solid gold bracelets that now bound her wrists.

Exactly like Genii from Aladdin, Hermione shuddered, except maybe backwards.

But Tunde cocked her head to the side and stretched her fingers and somehow her wrists, and the bracelets disintegrated and reformed as finger-less gauntlets. Either scale maile, or dragon hide. Tunde nodded in approval and snapped her arms up then around in a gesture Hermione was certain was part of some martial art. The gauntlets trailed sparks in the air, as if their sheen was magical, not metallic. Tunde smiled and nodded again and relaxed and the gauntlets also faded from view.

And she smiled. In a way that was entirely unlike any expression Hermione had ever seen Tunde wear. Much more like Luna when she was asleep on Harriet's lap.

"So, How do you feel?" said Mandy.

"I have become Death's, Protector of Worlds," said Tunde, "I wonder how quickly I can earn a new name."

"Don't worry, there will be many opportunities," said Luna.

Tunde blinked, "I'm not sure I know how to worry anymore." She paused a moment, "I'm going to go get Dietrich's permission to visit the forest. The other streams will want to know I'm nearby."

She dashed to the door then stopped and turned back, then she returned and knelt and looked seriously first at Hermione then and Mandy, "Thank you for helping me. Thank you for permitting me belong to Death."

Hermione and Mandy both hid a shiver, but all three said, "You're welcome."

And Tunde jumped up again and ran from the room.

Hermione sighed, "well, that went well, eventually."

Mandy blushed, "the advantage of prayer over sorcery is that you're asking a person for help, instead of convincing your imagination of the ideal and the universe's expectation of what it should be manifesting to coincide. No need for lots of legal clauses or logic trees. It's not a law or algorithm or rune array."

"That's only true," said Luna absently "when you're asking the principality to act in line with their own agenda."

"Thank you both for your help," said Hermione, "So … what's next, exactly."

"The wand chooses the witch, the elemental chooses their principality, the witch chooses her Source or Power."

"Um," said Mandy, "I don't think Christians in general are all that condoning of sorcery."

Luna turned and looked at her strangely, "what exactly do you think prayer is?"

"Prayer talking to someone more powerful than yourself, maybe asking them to do something," said Mandy, "maybe even to do something for you, but it's not always asking for something."

Luna nodded, and then shook her head, "That's one of the things it can be, there's also the laying on hands thing, what did you think that was about, if not … being the 'wand' for the source of your power to enact a shared goal into the world."

"Hmm," said Mandy.

"You should both finish reading the books on sorcery that Hermione found, not with an intent to dedicate yourselves, but sort of to make sure you know some standard sets of words so you can avoid saying things you don't mean. Anyway, also definitely read the appendix on laws relating to dedicating minors, and other sacrifices of choice," said Luna "It might come up next year."

"What?" said Mandy, "I did not see that in the NEWT syllabus."

"It was in History of magic, back in October," said Hermione, "The Unconscionable Sacrifices act of 1783, Professor de Mimsy-Porpington didn't tell us anything about the act itself, given that it was after his time, but he was quite adamant that it was about time something had been done, because dedicating minors in a way that 'sacrificed their choice,' equated with to some kind of spiritual slavery or child labour or whatever, and was a rather different thing than dedicating babies in a way that meant 'requesting parental partnership in the nurture and admonition, etc.' Yes, it probably would influence the child's choice, but it should also make the child stronger and better informed about making such a choice, when they were old enough."

Mandy blinked, "I don't think Professor Binns ever covered it."

"I think there's been a two major revisions since 1783," said Luna, "can't quote any of them to you, but … can we study them, and can you help me convince Padma that she needs to know how and why they differ from common practice in India."

Hermione shuddered. "Yes, I'll help you with that."

"Helena would probably agree with Professor de Mimsy-Porpington, that the current law permits and forbids the correct ranges of things," said Luna, "though perhaps she would contest whether there even needs to be a law about it."

"Helena who?" said Mandy.

"Helena Ravenclaw," said Hermione, "The reason why the Grey Lady Disappeared is that someone brought her back to life and she moved to Hogsmeade where she keeps books for Dervish and Banges, and tutors in occlumency on Saturdays."

Mandy shivered, "Oh, my. And why am I the last to know?"

"It's not the sort of thing she wanted noised about," said Luna, "it's one thing to have everyone be polite but ignore you because your Mom is important, it's another thing to be come back almost a millennium later and be forced to endure fame because your Mom, though dead, still is famous."

"So, more of a medical privacy respect thing about being back to life."

"That too," said Luna.

Aftermaths: Duck

Moit sighed again, and tried to concentrate on his reading while across the table Glenda and Dietrich discussed recognition strategies, and the strengths and weaknesses of the various creatures that were supposed to be released into the maze for the third task.

A flutter in the corner of his eye caused him to glance up, There was a large white duck sitting on Dietrich's shoulder, rubbing the top of its neck against the side of Dietrich's head. Moit was strangely sure that he'd never seen that duck before, mostly because he'd never seen a magic duck, and that duck definitely had magic.

Also he was fairly sure that there were only 3 skin-walkers in the area, and he didn't think Tom's magic would look like that, even when wrapped up in a duck. So um … what?

After a few seconds, Dietrich put his hand up to its side / shoulder to steady it, while he sat up and adjusted his posture to better accommodate the weight.

The duck adjusted to all of that, then noticed Moit looking and lowered her head to quack at Moit.

The magic might be familiar actually, but surely he'd have noticed it around before. It wasn't like Dietrich's magic, even when he was wearing his dragon's magic on the outside, was enough to conceal all that, or the fact that there was a duck present.

"What?" said Moit, "why's there a duck in here?"

Glenda and Dietrich turned to stare at him.

"Where?" they said.

"On Dietrich's shoulder," Moit pointed.

Dietrich frowned, mystified. He felt again then turned and looked up.

The duck quacked at him this time.

Dietrich shrugged, and nodded, "That's fine, enjoy yourself. Um, do you want backup?"

The duck shook her head and and took a step backwards, off Dietrich's shoulder. Except she wasn't a duck anymore, and she was even taller for having jumped down of Dietrich's shoulder.

"So you're a skin-walker now too?" said Glenda.

"No," said Tunde, because … apparently it was Tunde, except her magic was definitely different, though now that he knew who it was, it made sense how familiar it seemed.

"Do you know when we should expect you back?" said Dietrich.

"No," Tunde shrugged, "In plenty of time for breakfast, I guess."

"Alright," said Dietrich.

She turned toward the door and trotted out.

"Did … she just talk?" said Glenda.

"She always talks," said Dietrich, "can you hear her now?"

"I think it's more than that," said Moit, "Has she changed shape into a duck before?"

Dietrich shrugged, "not that I ever noticed. I assume she'll spend a lot of time now as a duck or a horse, actually."

"To be entirely technical," said Glenda, "I think that was a goose."

"Whatever," said Dietrich, "I still think staying in my lynx form is the ideal method, that gives me the best sense of direction, fairly good hearing and smell, and definitely the best reaction time. It's only colour vision that is lacking, and I won't have much of that anyway once it gets dark."

"You don't care what's changed about Tunde's magic?"

"At least three witches here have been concerned about Tunde's magic," sighed Dietrich, "some of them stated it as accusations against Tunde, one's been more nosy and persistent, but also polite enough not to state anything as an accusation. And Tunde didn't seem to mind her investigations, and recently predicted she was finally on the right track. The fact that Tunde didn't bother to mention the difference tells me that it's not anything worth complaining about. As long as she's happy, I'm happy."

"I'm not sure that merely happy is how I would describe what I just saw," said Moit.

Dietrich raised an eyebrow.

"Did she turn down backup because she wanted to be alone, or did she turn down backup because she didn't want to wait for you to be ready?"

Dietrich shrugged, "partly both, partly neither, she didn't want to wait, and she did want to make some friends with people that aren't humans."

{End Chapter 11}