A TALE OF RIVALS

By Elk99

Chapter 23

A/N: So a brief note - I am fairly passive when it comes to reviews. I enjoy them and I welcome them, both positive and negative. Negative reviews however, I would ask be constructive. I read every review, and I enjoy getting positive, negative, but more importantly, constructive feedback.


"I don't know why he is doing this now but your Grandfather simply insists that now is the time to respell the family properties – all of them short of the Abbey," Madam Fawley said, clearly agitated as she paced across the floor of Ned Fawley's new office in the Ministry of Magic.

Edmund and Sullivan had been picked up from Kings Cross by their mother who informed them they would be first meeting their father at the Ministry, before spending the Holiday directly at Saint Midabaria Abbey.

"It's honestly fine, mum," Sullivan said airily, tossing his wand in his hands. "But can we not just go now and meet Father there?"

"It's not as if it is unfamiliar territory for us," Edmund said, quickly agreeing with his brother.

"No," Elodie Fawley snapped. "Your father has allowed us to wait in his office – a very nice office I might add, and we will wait for him and travel together."

Edmund and Sullivan shared an annoyed look. It was clear that their mother was most upset about not being able to host not only at the Promenade, but at any of the other family holdings. Edmund in truth, was excited to spend time in An Glóirmhar, which he had not had the opportunity to visit since the winter Holidays in his first year.

He was happy to have stayed at Hogwarts last Christmastime, which had the added value of exploring the Chamber of the Society of Seaxneat and receiving Gaeldorcraeft from Gemma Farley. The latter had been of particular value to his spell work, useful particularly for the revenge the Knights had wrought on Michael Corner. Maeve's Library of An Glóirmhar however, was for now, only available to him in small fragments of time and each opportunity to browse its tomes and manuscripts was a precious privilege.

"Edmund! Sullivan! Good to see you both," Ned Fawley entered the Office, interrupting Edmund from his thoughts on the Library. "Are we ready to go?"

"Finally!" Edmund and Sullivan said together, rushing to the floo powder on the mantle of Ned Fawley's personal fireplace.

"Remember when they weren't talking?" Ned asked his wife with a small chuckle.


Madam Fawley it appeared, was the most bothered by the development that the family would be spending entirety of the holiday at the Abbey, and wasted little to know time enlisting the help of the Sisters and Monks in decking the usually austere halls. Some of the Monks had decided to hide in order to avoid being assigned a new task, which was how Edmund found himself walking the grounds with his great-uncle, Michael Fawley.

"We missed you last year, Edmund," Michael Fawley commented idly, hands clasped in front of him as they walked along a forest path. "And much has changed since you last visited, much like much had changed the time before that."

Edmund was intrigued, but something deep down told him he was being tested. "I assume you are not referring to Ballycastle's shockingly downward trend in the League Standings, great-uncle," he answered, ensuring to keep his occlumency mask in place.

"Ballycastle… much like the status quo at Hogwarts… has been surprisingly underwhelming it seems," the older man countered, not to be deterred by Edmund's snark. "One hears things in my position… winds converge on this Abbey, and the whispers which are spoken in those winds are carried here, to my consciousness."

"Since when do you talk to the wind?" Edmund asked.

"I never said I did."

You… listen to it though?"

"Like many in our family before me," Michael Fawley began carefully, "I forsook any claim I might have on the Fawley Headship and came to this Abbey. I learned it's ways, I became committed to it's steadfastness against a world which moves far too fast, far too often, in far too dangerous directions. In order to assure the continuance of the way of life I have chosen, myself and my predecessors trained ourselves to listen to what has been said, how the world is moving, for we risk hasty action if we are taken by surprise. Hasty action is the downfall of many. It will not be the downfall of this Abbey."

Pondering the words, his thoughts brought him to all the experiences he had over the past years. "What is it that you have heard, pertaining the status quo at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"What makes you think that is the correct question to ask?"

"Hogwarts is the stage for the future," Edmund replied easily. He had many discussions to this effect with both Gemma and Daphne. "Changes of significance at Hogwarts is the long ripple which extends and rocks the boat. All other things would equate to splash, the effects of which are far less... lasting."

"You forget that in some cases the splash may be of such magnitude it is incomparable to gentle ripples," Michael Fawley was gentle but firm in his admonishment. But for the sake of our discussion I will consider it an apt analogy."

"It has come to my attention," the old Abbot continued, "that the Society of Seaxneat was rediscovered, and in turn, evolved."

"Saxon supremacists? At Hogwarts? Surely, great-uncle…" Edmund questioned skeptically, not even bothering at this point to deny he was familiar with the Society.

"I did say it evolved. I did not say it was the Society of Seaxneat any longer, but the magic that has lain dormant for so long has been revived in force, Edmund, and I, as well as the other Monks are well aware that Alfred Aeonor's compendium of magic has entered our walls."

It was all Edmund could do to not appear completely shocked at his great-uncle's knowledge of Gaeldorcraeft. As it was, he was sure surprise was evident all across his face. "I was not aware Alfred Aeonor was a subject of taboo in contemporary society."

"All that is unknown is taboo in contemporary society, otherwise you would not have been so secretive about your discovery… or acquisition," Michael Fawley challenged. "That being said, Alfred Aeonor was a celebrated wizard in his day, and within these grounds, you will find no challenge to your right to pursue such knowledge. I must mention to you though that Alfred Aeonor was quite fond of utilizing blood… a banned practice in most magical societies today. I shall not betray your confidence if you decide to test some of his practices for yourself, but I must insist that on these grounds the use of blood magic is sacrilegious to the higher purpose for which this Abbey serves."

"You have no objection to my pursuit of such knowledge though?" Edmund asked for confirmation.

"None, Edmund," Michael Fawley answered. "But I warn you that Alfred Aeonor is known today for blood magic, and the Society of Seaxneat was put down quite violently, and just as records of the Society still exist, there are bound to be records somewhere of the organization which was instrumental in its destruction."


Since the conversation with his great-uncle, Edmund had been on a one-track mind to visit An Glóirmhar. After dinner in the mess with the Fawleys and the Midabarians, he rushed off down the spiraling staircase that eventually led to the iron cast door. In Gaelic, Edmund recited the words We, descendants of the great Queen, Maeve, ask for entrance to her precious domain, and walked through the grey mist, solidifying back into the iron as he passed through.

Edmund walked into the center of the massive Hall, facing the statue of Maeve and the Balcony behind it containing the library of Genealogy. "Where can I find the Histories of Organizations in Magical History," he asked the statue.

A small door wedged between two much larger ones opened to his left. Wasting no time, he entered to find himself in a small room, a table at its center leaving room for perhaps two people to sit around it comfortably. "The Society of Seaxneat," he called out, watching as a stack of books was compiled on the table from various corners of the tall room.

This is too much for too little time he thought to himself. "The downfall of the Society of Seaxneat."

Over half the books at the table floated back to their respective places on the bookshelves, leaving only five tomes.

Time to get to work.


Dear Daphne,

I hope the start to your holidays have gone well. I have very much enjoyed myself and am looking forward to seeing you again at your family's celebration to bring in the New Year. Meredith has stayed in Berlin this year, and the remainder of my family will be attending the Macmillan's celebration, but I know that it is I who is getting the better bargain.

Grandfather has closed all the Fawley properties and we are spending the Holidays with my Great-uncle Fawley, who I have had the pleasure to engage in most enlightening, theoretical, discussions that may assist us in our more political aspirations.

As you know Daphne, our fledgling following must be filled with purpose besides loyalty to a person, and I believe I have found that purpose. Hopefully, with your help, we can polish it in order to present to our peers at the start of term.

I remain forever yours, and Ever present,

Edmund


Dear Sally Anne,

I know from my own experience that by the time this letter reaches you in Paris, it will be close to Christmas Day, and I subsequently wish you a very happy continuation of your Holiday.

I am enjoying myself tremendously, with access to a large supply of books to further my interest in Charms, although I fear Professor Flitwick will eventually tire of finding more for me to do. My course work for Ancient Studies has proven incredibly challenging, and I find myself often locked away to ensure its timely completion with a level of quality competitive to that of the fifth-year students in the class. While unfortunate, I think my decision to take this upper-year course will affect my academic rankings in our year. Regardless, I am enjoying it immensely.

I think often of our excursion to Hengist's Caverns the day before we went home for the Holidays. Not only the magic which surrounded the inscriptions on the wall, but that of the surroundings as well. I am looking forward to seeing you upon arrival back to Hogwarts.

Yours truly,

Edmund


Dear Meredith,

I hope you are enjoying your Holiday in Berlin. While I applaud your dedication to continuing your important work with Master Vitoff, I am under obligation to tell you to ensure you have some time to take a rest as well. This is after all, the second year Sullivan and myself are spending Christmas without you, and we both expect your studies and work to be well worth high quality as this is the second time sister dearest has not made it to Saint Midabaria.

It has been a long time since I have found the time to write, and I apologize for that, but subsequently have a great deal to tell you.

You have no doubt heard from both Sullivan and Mother subjects of Quidditch and Sirius Black, so I shall fill you in on experiences more unique to me alone. I elected to take Ancient Studies, and I will ask you to spare me the judgement, and have found it simply fascinating, yet concurrently difficult. Professor Shafiq is incredibly knowledgeable about the subject and I enjoy the discussions we have in class.

Professor Snape advised me earlier in the year that OWL classes would be difficult, and he has been proven right. However, is it not fortunate to leave my third year at Hogwarts already with one OWL class under my belt? I know that Mother is pleased of my academics even if she does not approve of the course.

I am also taking Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures – both fascinating subjects. Professor Hagrid is satisfactory as a teacher in CMC and has taught us proper handling methods of various dangerous beasts, which in my view, coincides well with Professor Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, where we are focusing on defense against magical beasts. It has made Defense and CMC much easier of a workload.

I am well ahead of the class in Charms and continue to earn the most points with Professor Flitwick, which is convenient as I struggle to maintain high quality in Transfiguration and Herbology. Terry Boot, my rival in Transfiguration has been consistently scoring higher on assignments, something I hope to rectify by the end of the academic year.

I mentioned Ancient Runes before… I do well enough in the class, it is perhaps made even more interesting by my partner, a girl named Salle Anne Perks who I have been calling on since Halloween. Sally Anne is very knowledgeable in Ancient Runes, and her assistance has furthered my interest.

I hope to spend some more time among our family ancestor's collection, so I will digress from my rambles, and hope you have a most excellent Christmas in Berlin.

Your favorite brother,

Edmund


Dear Edmund,

I hope things are well in the old country. Your mother's speech in the Ministry of Magic made the news even here in America. Mother framed the article from The Ghost. Dolly even asked if 'Madam Fawley would be the next Minister for Magic.'

Ilvermorny is as usual, a bunch of nothing. Ed Keyworth has been on my back constantly, threatening to catch up with me in Defense Against the Dark Arts. On one hand, I'm happy because like me, he's in Wampus and between the two of us we dominate in our House Cup, but at the same time it isn't always fun sharing the spotlight. He's a decent bloke though. His family is fairly well off, own a bunch of land down south in the Carolinas. He hosted a big summer party last year that all the Wampus and Horned Serpent folks in our year attended and it was pretty wild.

Dolly asks about you - a bit annoying really. How are thinks going with that Gryffindor girl you have been seen with? We definitely need to catch up. Mother has secured our tickets for the World Cup in England, so I am looking forward to catching up with you, Benjamin, Neville, and Sakiko.

I await your owl,

Martin


Christmas at Promenade-on-Finn was a much bigger affair this year compared to past years, as both Elodie Fawley and her Father-in-Law made every effort to make up for the closing of the family properties. Edmund found himself sitting at a long table between his Grandfather and Fr. Padraig, an old wizened wizard who was reportedly incredibly formidable with a wand. The bountiful table before him did little however to distract him from maintaining his occlumency as his Grandfather and Padraig hammered at his mental defenses, dually, both showing no signs of strain as they ate their food, their assault unknown to the rest of the Hall.

The assault was like no other, forcing Edmund to retreat deep into his mental defenses, raising the walls of his mental fortress. He was aware of the celebrations going on around him and was even able to nod politely while Sullivan talked about upcoming Ballycastle match against Kestrel, but a much larger part of him was inside himself. He stood in the buttress of the walls overlooking the surrounding land as two armies approached from either side – a small battalion on horseback faceless except for his Grandfather leading the charge, and a large infantry force, again faceless, but led by the old monk. Interesting how their different styles of legilimency allow my mind to categorize the best way to handle them.

Archers and flaming arrows flew out from the walls in all directions. He watched with interest as the approaching forces raised shields, blocking his first defense. Spells were flung at the walls from both sides, battering the stone and blasting it in some places. They wouldn't stand strong forever against those many spells. More arrows shot towards the armies, this time mixed with bright red stunners and yellow bone breakers, which felled some of the faceless, but not enough.

I need to be much sneakier. Suddenly, inspiration came to him, and he set off running down the stairs that would lead him to the Keep. In no time, or perhaps a lot of time – he had no idea how time worked inside the mind – he had made it to a wrought iron door which he opened and bolted behind him. He raced up the stairs, surrounded by books that housed the memories his grandfather and Padraig sought. Finally, he reached the top of the tower to see his two attackers had passed through the walls, with what seemed like hundreds of soldiers behind them, as far as the eye could see. The time was now.

He sat down, cross legged and closed his eyes in deep concentration. "SEPELIO!" he cried out, forcing all his concentration on one Latin phrase. Suddenly, everything went black.


"You utter idiot," Sullivan chuckled as he saw his younger brother blink awake slowly, obviously sore.

"Sully," Edmund rasped. "What happened? Where..."

"You fainted. Pretty spectacularly," the older Fawley brother chuckled. "In the midst of Christmas Eve dinner. And whatever you did caused quite a toll on Grandfather and Fr. Padraig as well, as they were flown back in their seats and were treated for mild concussions. Happy Christmas by the way."

"Did I really?" Edmund looked up incredulously as he looked around the empty beds of the infirmary. "I can't believe it worked.."

"What was that?" Sullivan asked sharply.

"Err, nothing, Happy Christmas, Sully. Where is everyone else?"

"Well Dad was called into the Ministry about an urgent disaster with the ICW's Quidditch Committee and the location Ludo Bagman and Crouch had set up for the World Cup. Mother was yelling at Grandfather last I saw, and who knows where the monks and nuns are," he finished with a shrug. "Sister Anne was here, left this potion for you, said it would be all you need to be good as new."

Edmund took the potion and downed it in one gulp, keeping down the acrid substance was worth it as soon he did begin to feel better, the soreness in his body fading to a memory.

"Have presents been opened?" he asked.

"We are opening presents with Grandfather," Sullivan responded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Dad will be at the Ministry all day and Mum is going to make rounds among the 'constituents.'"

"She knows she sits on a hereditary seat, does she not?"

"You know mum," Sullivan shrugged again. "But come on little brother, I want to open some presents so let's see if Grandfather is ready."

Edmund donned a grey cloak to cover the pajamas someone must have put on him last night and raced out after his brother down the halls to the annex where the family was staying, where they found Elodie Fawley about to step through the floo.

"Edmund! Happy Christmas!" she dropped the floo powder and wrapped her youngest in a hug. "Your grandfather has already had a talking-to but as soon as I get back, we are going to talk about risky tactics, do you understand me young man?"

"Yes, Mother," Edmund replied, sending a wan smile at Sullivan. Leave it to Elodie Fawley to sound so relived and so angry at the same time. "And Happy Christmas to you as well."

"You and Sullivan go find your gifts," his Mother dismissed them, "But watch out for that Grandfather of yours!"

Laughing, the two boys went deeper into the annex, where Simon Fawley sat in an easy chair, dressed in robes of pale gold, as he read from what looked to be Bathilda Bagshot's latest book on the History of Witch Ministers for Magic.

"Well, the Christmas Eve head basher makes his appearance," groused Simon Fawley, the effect ruined by the small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sullivan, there is a large package in my bed chamber that I believe has your name on it. Fetch it, please."

As Sullivan ran off to find his present, Simon Fawley turned back to his youngest grandchild. "Ingenious, but risky," he said with a faint smile. "You accomplished the objective – to protect your mind – and Padraig and I were taken by surprise, but a significant cost is associated with what you did."

"If I was being pursued for vital information it could work," Edmund persisted.

"So would suicide," his Grandfather countered. If the attacker had been malicious, serious damage could have been done to your mind, leaving you functionally brain dead."

Properly chastised, Edmund nodded back, not wishing to think such gloomy thoughts on Christmas Day.

"That being said," Simon Fawley whispered as Sullivan came back into the room with a large box, "I'm rather impressed you were able to pull it off."

Edmund grinned at the praise as he and Sullivan began ripping open presents under his Grandfather's indulgent eye.

"Wow, thanks Ed!" Sullivan exclaimed as he held up a pair of pitch-black flying googles, which created illusions – seen only by the wearer – of a Quidditch game underway. Sullivan spent a great deal of his time flying on the pitch even while practices were not scheduled, and the googles would be a good way for him to further practice his blocking.

In turn, Edmund received a set of training orbs from his brother. The box contained ten orbs of various shapes, sizes, and textures all of which could be used to charm or transfigure to his liking.

"A shop in Portugal makes them," Sullivan explained. "I know Charms is your passion and it is somewhat of an exercise set that both Charms and Transfiguration Masters use... You'll have to wait until you're back at Hogwarts obviously, but I think you'll put it to good use."

"It's great," Edmund smiled.

Apart from his training set, which he placed very carefully to the side, he received books from Sakiko and Benjamin, both detailing great wizards of their respective countries, and a very interesting book from Martin by Russian Statesman Efim Ketanov, Power in Practice. Tracey and Helen sent him gift bags from Fortescue's and Honeydukes respectively, and Blaise sent him an Italian TailorCharm, which would after instructed, groom him in the mornings to his specification.

Harlan sent him two tickets to the British Magical Symphony concert in June, Gemma sent him another subscription to TeenWitch (much to his chagrin), while Adrian sent him a book he desperately tried to hide from his Grandfather and Sullivan, Gladrag's Guide to Wooing the Witch: The Principal Authority.

The Fawley parents had given him his much expected and much awaited World Cup tickets for the coming summer – Sullivan got the same thing. Daphne had given him a new Dragon skin wand holster while Sally Anne had given him a cloak from Gottfrieds, a tailor located in Basel known for its fine weaving capabilities, and from Meredith, a pair of emerald cufflinks.

Rather good haul this year, he thought to himself. Sullivan seemed to agree, if the look of awe on his face was anything to go by. Edmund could understand why as he saw the broom laid out in his arms, Firebolt inscribed on the handle.

"Thank you so much, Grandfather," Sullivan said breathlessly. "It's…"

"Think nothing of the gift itself," Simon Fawley waved his hand dismissively. "You have potential to go professional. You deserve to learn how to fly on a top-charted broom."

Sullivan was speechless, and Edmund could understand why. After the money Grandfather Fawley had spent on the Nimbus 2001s in the beginning of the last school year, a new top broom was the last gift either Edmund or Sullivan would have expected.

"And for you Edmund," his Grandfather pulled a frayed book. "Your interest in the Ancient Studies demands you take this off my hands, but let's not let your mother know, you hear? And the contents are never to be practiced."

Edmund felt his jaw drop as he was handed a copy of Ritual Moste Anciente. He had heard of Professor Shafiq discussing the book, lost to many and in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts' Library, which contained old rituals, the practice of which was banned in England. "Thank you, Grandfather."

"Happy Christmas, lads," Simon Fawley stood up, straightening his robes. "Now go and be active while there is still light in the day."

Edmund and Sullivan wasted no time rushing out to test Sullivan's new Firebolt. After watching his brother do a few test flights in the clearing outside the Abbey, Edmund got the chance to fly on the premier broom. He started off slowly, testing out the differences from his House Nimbus 2001 and his personal SunSweep broomstick. After a few moments, he decided to kick it into gear, and was shocked at how fast the broom was able to go. After a few laps around the tall towers of the Abbey, he led out a joyous cry as he raced up towards the sky, relishing the cold wind against his face, which only kept him energized, his adrenaline racing.

Finally, after a few high loops in the air, he prepped himself for descending, directing the broom towards his brother who stood out with his hands on his hips.

"That was dangerous Ed," Sullivan admonished half-heartedly. "What if you'd been seen?"

"Cheh," Edmund laughed. "It's just muggles. They can be obliviated."

Ignoring his older brother's disapproving stare, he dismounted, holding the broom near reverently back to Sullivan.

"And anyway, we are still among the wards of the Abbey," he said. "A bit far off sure but still within the range of safety."

The laws which govern fate, much like the laws which govern magic, are unpredictable, and unlike magic, those which define fate are absolute in that fate is truly ungovernable, unplottable, and unpredictable. A silent specter, Fate waits precisely for moments when the overconfidence of a young underaged wizard is brough to reality by being spoken aloud.

Sullivan stopped cold. "Edmund," he managed to stutter out, drawing his wand.

Turning to face where his brother stared, Edmund felt his blood run cold. The scourge of children across Magical Britain. What was he doing in Ireland? How did he get through the wards?

Greyback.