The agitation about Sirius Black heightened with each day he remained on the run, both at the Circle and in the wizarding world at large. Even Luna found herself looking over her shoulder more often, and Ginny took to teasing her by calling her a hypocrite. But the conversation with her aunt Andromeda had opened Luna's eyes, and the danger suddenly felt palpable in a way it never had before. Luna had her first taste of living in a world of panic and fear, of seeing peril lurking in every shadow, every corner. She began having visions about her second cousin nearly every day. After weeks of making no prophecies whatsoever, Luna could not decide which was more unsettling: Seeing nothing or Seeing nothing but Sirius Black.
Luna decided that Lavender must have been right after all, but the thing obstructing Luna's inner eye was not another war. It had been Black himself, and her own mother's secret heritage. Her own Black blood. Now her Sight was restored, and she could read the runes again with that familiar instinctive tug of intuition. In her recent readings, the omnipresent perthro was now accompanied by another rune that kept appearing in spread after spread: thurisaz. The meaning of perthro still eluded Luna, but she knew what the jagged points of thurisaz were trying to tell her. Enemies, chaos, danger, destruction, self-defense. Revelation.
Most perplexing of all was that in all her visions of Sirius Black, Luna never saw him on the run. He never appeared to her as a fugitive; he never found the Circle; he never demanded some kind of twisted family reunion with Cressida; he never hurt Luna or any of the other girls. Instead, Luna saw dark stone walls weeping with damp and mildew. She saw a figure hunched on a filthy, threadbare bed. She could never see his face properly, but she saw a tangled mass of dark hair just like in all the wanted posters. Luna was haunted not by Sirius Black the escaped convict, but by Sirius Black imprisoned in Azkaban.
Fall brought more upheaval as the leaves rehearsed their quiet deaths on the boughs of the trees. On the first of September, Dementors on the Hogwarts Express struck fear into the hearts of Hogwarts parents, which escalated to panic when the news spread that the Dementors would remain at Hogwarts School until Sirius Black was apprehended. Considering how long he had already managed to evade capture, they feared the school would turn into a satellite Azkaban, a prison for their children. The parents of the Circle were all in an uproar and the girls were not much better, for many of them had siblings at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley lamented for what must have been the hundredth time that the Circle did not accept boys, so that she might withdraw her remaining children from that dreadful place.
Evidently other Hogwarts parents had the same instinct to remove their children from the school, for less than a week into the fall term at Hogwarts, the Circle had three new initiates. There had not been advertisements or a letter-writing campaign this time, and the existence of a peculiar magical establishment (not a school, never a school, for Cressida's sake) for girls had apparently spread by word of mouth alone. Luna was surprised and perturbed to realize that the Circle of Peloresow was no longer a small and safely guarded secret, and likely never would be again.
Cressida's frequent lambasting of Hogwarts in general and Albus Dumbledore in particular suddenly did not seem so unreasonable. In fact, many of the women and girls of the Circle now joined in on these tirades. How could anyone be sure it was safe to have Dementors at a school? There were rumors that Dementors were evil, anarchic creatures who barely obeyed the Ministry, let alone a school headmaster. What would happen if a student were to be attacked? How could Dumbledore allow such a travesty on the grounds of Hogwarts? This must portend even more Ministry interference at the school. And most of all, why should innocent children suffer because the Ministry could not do its job properly by catching Sirius Black, and Hogwarts could not do its job properly by protecting the students?
These rants met with much less resistance than usual, largely because Professor McGonagall was rarely at the Circle during the first busy weeks of term. And when she was able to pull herself away from the thankless task of keeping Hogwarts afloat during the rapidly unfolding crisis, she seemed much less inclined to defend Albus Dumbledore. On one occasion when Cressida devised a particularly clever insult about the headmaster, Luna thought she saw Professor McGonagall press her lips together to hide a smile. More often than not, however, McGonagall grew pale and her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles when Dumbledore was mentioned, or else she contrived some reason to leave the room. The others did not seem to notice, but Luna saw the pattern.
Professor McGonagall's long absences from the Circle finally came to an end in mid-November. Busy as she was, the professor could not bear to miss the long-awaited trip to Whitby Abbey to commemorate Saint Hilda's feast day. They all took a portkey in the form of a battered old road map to a grassy stretch of land nestled in the curve of the River Esk. It was a windy Yorkshire morning, a good deal colder than in Cornwall, and the girls huddled close together for warmth. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that her daughter bring a shawl on the excursion, half of which Ginny now draped over Luna's shoulders. However, nothing could dampen Professor McGonagall's spirits. She had been planning this journey for months, insisting that the girls research Saint Hilda, the abbey, and the Synod of Whitby in preparation.
"Now, girls, who can tell me when Whitby Abbey was founded?" She quizzed them as she gripped her hat, set her shoulders, and set a brisk pace towards the abbey in spite of the wind.
"Well, the first monastery was founded in six hundred and fifty-something. But it wasn't called Whitby, it was called Strath..streath…Strathshall or something long and hard to pronounce like that?" Susan Bones still spoke timidly, but the lackadaisical ways of the Circle had mostly broken her of the habit of raising her hand before speaking as if she were still at Hogwarts.
"The name was Streoneshalh, but close enough. And yes, the first monastery on the site was established in 657 AD. Six hundred and fifty-seven! Even our Cressida cannot turn her nose up at the ancientness of the site," McGonagall paused for a moment to admire the prospect of the ruined, hollow church with its turrets striking upward into the grey November sky. A small pond in front of the ruins lent a certain picturesque quality to the view.
"No, indeed. Older than Hogwarts, in fact," Cressida railed, "I rather wonder whether we should have come here first and seen whether the Circle might have been founded here, given the antiquity!" Minerva and Cressida swapped gentle smiles, and Luna was astonished at the possibility that she might have just witnessed what could be called gentle ribbing between the two of them. She wondered whether she had imagined it, as the two women's barely-disguised rivalry had been ongoing for as long as Luna could remember.
"But then we would have had to be in Yorkshire, my duck," Ginny cried, doing a rather poor but effective imitation of a northern accent.
"There has definitely been magic here, a long time ago. I can feel it," Luna said. She lifted her face towards the abbey and sniffed, as if she could smell dormant magic like woodsmoke carried on the wind. This didn't feel the same as the magic at Cornworthy Priory or even the magic in the witch's cave in Cornwall. Perhaps the secrets here were better hidden, or perhaps the magic had lain dormant for longer, centuries longer, and had grown weak and faded. Or she might be imagining it all, as Ginny was always apt to remind her.
"Well, of course there has been magic here!" Professor McGonagall scoffed, "Saint Hilda was a prolific Seer and one of most talented witches and gifted diplomats of the entire Middle Ages."
They approached the abbey from the southeast, stepping over an old Muggle road and dry stone wall. It might be a more dramatic prospect than Cornworthy, but it certainly was not as secluded. The sounds of Muggle vehicles could be heard quite distinctly, and there was even a car park for Muggle tourists who came to admire the ruined abbey. Professor McGonagall must have come earlier that morning to put Muggle-befuddling charms on the place, however, because there was not a single Muggle in sight.
"We couldn't have started the Circle here. There are too many Muggles wandering around. Plus, it's in even worse shape than our chapel," Rania said.
As they drew nearer to the abbey, they saw that she was right. There was only a single building, much larger than the chapel at the Circle, which had neither windows nor a roof. Mother Nature had reclaimed it some 450 years ago, so vines now grew up the crumbling walls and generations of birds had made their homes in the nooks and crannies least exposed to the elements. Its chaotic beauty touched Luna, and it occurred to her that the fey would approve of an open-air sanctuary such as this. The fairies' sensibilities aside, it would make an unsuitable home for the Circle, and she thought that their little rambling complex of simple buildings suited them much better.
"Ah, but the fact that even the Muggles are interested in it only demonstrates how very important Whitby was! Kings, queens, and bishops alike all came to Saint Hilda for guidance. And as we well know, the abbey was the site of an important theological debate in the seventh century. Even in her glory days, Cornworthy Priory would have been a mere footnote in the chronicles, and certainly not important enough to host an event that would decide the future of English Christendom," McGonagall's voice sounded uncharacteristically chirpy, and she kept touching the stones around the entrance to the building as if traces of Saint Hilda's wisdom and charisma might still linger there.
"For Morgana's sake! Is this how she is when she's lecturing about Transfiguration?" Luna whispered to Ginny.
"Oh, no, this is way worse. She's just sort of strict and very matter-of-fact at Hogwarts. But she's clearly absolutely wild about all this stuff. Haven't got a clue why…" Ginny muttered back.
"Maybe she should teach History of Magic instead!"
"Ha! Maybe she wants to, but it's not like old Binns is going anywhere anytime soon," Ginny chortled.
"Minerva, what did you mean when you said the first monastery on the site? Is this one not the original?" squeaked Mrs. Figg, who was the only one other than Professor McGonagall who seemed genuinely interested in early medieval Christianity.
"Well, Cressida will no doubt be deeply grieved to learn this, but the current building does not actually date to the seventh century. Who can tell me why?"
Susan nearly raised her hand and then lowered it after glares from Cressida and some of the other girls who were veterans of the free-flowing conversational tone of lessons at the Circle.
"Vikings raided it!" Ginny answered, the first sign of enthusiasm she had shown so far on this particular field trip.
"Well, yes. But do you remember when the Vikings raided? Or why?" McGonagall asked, sharing a look of knowing exasperation at Mrs. Weasley.
"I dunno, a long time ago?" Ginny shrugged, "I reckon they must have come on their longships up the Esk and attacked from that way!" She ran towards the river as she pretended to wield a broadsword and shield, letting the ratty old shawl billow behind her like a banner. Luna picked it up from the ground and stowed it under her arm.
"Ginny, come back here!" Mrs. Weasley called after her daughter, but they all knew it was useless. Ginny was difficult to rein in once she had decided to lose interest in something.
"Does anyone else know?" McGonagall asked.
"The…eighth century? Ninth? I always forget how the whole century thing works. In the 800s," Noura said.
"Yes, the monastery was raided several times between 867 and 870. So that's the ninth century. After the original site was destroyed, it laid abandoned for over 200 years before a new monastery complex was built over the course of several centuries. That is what we call Whitby Abbey today, although there is now only one building extant." Professor McGonagall concluded her lecture and led them through the door into the sanctum itself.
"That we know of!" Lavender said, "Maybe there's more buildings that are hidden, like at Cornworthy," she smiled at Luna with undisguised admiration.
"Ginny, come over here!" Mrs. Weasley called again, and this time her daughter obeyed, drawn by the prospect of exploring the old ruin.
Luna took in the interior of the abbey, with its columns of rough, irregular stone arching towards the clouds overhead. The place had lain dormant for over 200 years, and that had been over a thousand years ago. It was antiquity on a scale Luna had never contemplated before. Two hundred years ago was 1793, and a thousand years from now would be…2993?! Unfathomably far in the future. No wonder the magic felt faint, particularly if the witches had left after the first monastery was destroyed and not returned.
"Girls, don't climb on that. Now, are we all ready for our mock debate?" Mrs. Brown asked.
"Mock synod," McGonagall corrected her, "But yes, have you all got your notes?" Her pale cheeks flushed pink with excitement, and she appeared utterly unaffected by the groans of the girls. Despite all their jokes about discovering the magical ruins of another lost compound of women's magic, the primary purpose of their visit was to learn about the Synod of Whitby and to practice the diplomatic strategies they had been learning about in the rhetoric circle.
"Yes," a few of the girls answered as they pulled scraps of parchment from pockets and knapsacks.
"Now, why don't we have our Romanists over here, and our Celtic Christians over here?" McGonagall divided the girls into two groups.
"Luna, have you got your notes, dear?" Cressida chided.
"Yes, Mum," Luna pulled her notes from her mokeskin pouch and shuffled them with rather more fanfare than necessary, but took her place on the side of Celtic Christianity without any further protest.
"Now, who would like to set the scene? What was going on in Britain in 664, and why was the Synod of Whitby so significant?" Professor McGonagall asked as she shepherded the two groups to the front of the church and gestured for the adults to form a rough semicircle.
"Parts of England had only been recently Christianized, and there were still inconsistencies in what different churches believed and the way they did things," Padma rattled off dutifully.
"Yes, very good. And what were the differences between Celtic Christianity and Roman Christianity?" McGonagall prompted.
"It was all a bit silly, wasn't it? The main things they were fighting about were which day they celebrated Easter and how the monks wore their hair," said Sylvia Fawcett.
"Come, now. The tonsure issue was the outward expression of much deeper theological debates. The Ionians, or the Celtic Christians, claimed to be continuing a localized form of Christianity that had been established in the British Isles for several centuries. While the Roman faction wanted the English church to conform more closely with the Pope in Rome, who was at least nominally the head of the entire Church, although not in practice. But why was it important? And why did Saint Hilda lobby to have the synod held at her abbey?"
"Well, it would determine the future of the Church in Britain, I suppose. It was an important decision even if it seems silly to us now," Aviva ventured.
"It was about power. It didn't really matter what the decision was, but whoever got to decide would be allowed to make more important decisions, because the synod would have established their authority. And Saint Hilda already had the king's ear. By hosting the synod, she pulled the strings of both the church and the king," Luna said. She suddenly realized that with that much power, it did not even matter if Saint Hilda was a Seer. She could create the future she wanted by sheer force of will, regardless of what she Saw in her prophecies.
"Exactly right, Luna. That's why Hilda was so remarkable for her time. Much like Hildegard of Bingen, she understood that her influence as a woman appeared limited in scope, at least at first. She was only a woman, only a nun. But she used her inferior position to her advantage. She leveraged it by pretending to be much humbler than she was. She claimed that the will of God moved through her, and that she was only a vessel. She could be trusted because she was a mere woman."
"Like feigned modesty," Rania said.
"Precisely. We've discussed this before in our rhetoric circle as an example of dubitatio, in which the rhetorician expresses doubt or uncertainty, particularly about their own knowledge or competence, to gain the sympathy of the audience."
"But she was probably using magic too, wasn't she? Persuasive charms, maybe even brewing potions or baking special bread to feed her guests," Noura said as she passed out sachets of persuasion-boosting herbs she had harvested for her team from her own beloved herb garden.
"Well why did she lose, then?" asked Ginny, who had refused to take her place with her assigned team and instead insisted on leaning against one of the crumbling pillars. She was in fine form, even more determined than usual to incite mutiny by sabotaging the proceedings in any way she could.
"That's a very good question. Neither Bede nor Stephanus is clear on that point in their accounts of the synod. It appears that Hilda argued intensely for the Celtic position, but she did not ultimately succeed in persuading the council," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing for Ginny to join the fold with the others.
"But Saint Hilda was originally taught by a Roman priest when she was a child, isn't that right? It stands to reason that she might have been hoping for a Roman victory all along, even if she felt obligated to defend the position of her later teachers," said Mrs. Figg, who had been the only one to study the readings Professor McGonagall had assigned with any diligence.
"Indeed, I have often wondered that myself. She did not protest once the council had made its decision. In fact, she defended the council's choice and insisted on following the Roman church until the very end of her life," McGonagall said.
"Well that's silly. She must have wanted Rome to win all along, then, yeah? Why else would she just roll over and take it if she didn't agree with it?" Ginny puffed out her cheeks and let out a slow, annoyed breath, clearly wishing that ecclesiastical questions such as these were decided by swordplay rather than subtle diplomatic negotiations.
"Maybe she saw both sides, and it didn't particularly matter to her which side had won once the decision was made. Like Luna said, she got the power and influence from hosting the synod anyway," Lavender reasoned.
"But why would she argue for something she didn't believe in? That seems like a lot of work all for nothing," Caroline said, in the annoying nasal tone she had that made everything she said sound like a whine.
"Caroline, I never thought the day would come, but I guess there's a first time for everything! I agree with you. A whole lot of work for nothing. Sort of like this whole project," Ginny declared from her spot in the corner.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean! You always listen to what I say," Caroline simpered and twirled her plaits. Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her mouth with some biting retort, but Professor McGonagall cut her off.
"We'll likely never know why Saint Hilda made the decisions she did at the synod," McGonagall said, clearly trying to steer the conversation back on track, "But what's most pertinent to our current exercise is learning the methods and techniques of persuasive argumentation, and the various magical means that can be used to further that end. Today you will be testing several methods which affect both the speaker and the audience. Are you ready?"
Most of the girls nodded, some more eagerly than others. Ginny merely picked at her shoelaces.
"Then the Synod of Whitby is officially called to order!" McGonagall proclaimed, "I will be taking the role of the king, who presided over the council but did not engage in the debates. When it is your turn to speak, you may use any magical means you have prepared to make yourself more persuasive, or to make the audience more amenable. Each speech must make us of at least three rhetorical strategies we have discussed in class…"
Cressida gasped audibly at the blasphemous mention of "class." That unfortunate choice of words aside, Professor McGonagall's tone had also grown didactic and droning, the way Luna always imagined her Hogwarts lecture voice sounding. McGonagall cleared her throat. When she spoke again, the unfamiliar voice was gone, replaced by the one Luna knew best, which she supposed must be McGonagall's Circle voice. Luna wondered how McGonagall spoke away from the Circle and Hogwarts, with her family, by herself.
"Er, that is, the rhetorical strategies we have discussed in the rhetoric circle. Let us begin. The Celts won the knut toss, so they will go first."
Luna stepped forward. The Ionians had already agreed that she would make the opening speech in the debate. This was not necessarily because of her status as the raven queen, but because she was the only one brave enough to go first. She reached into her mokeskin pouch, retrieved a flask, and took a swig of the charisma potion the girls on the Celtic Christianity team had brewed together.
Honey to sweeten the tongue, yarrow for courage, cinnamon for success, fennel seed for confidence, dandelion for charisma, and juniper berry for good luck. The concoction tasted sweet at first, but a spicy aftertaste lingered. A tingling sensation traveled from her tongue to the roof of her mouth, down her throat and into her belly. Luna was suddenly aware of her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth. It felt as if it had been coated with a warm, pleasant patina of charisma and eloquence. She was seized by an intense urge to speak, to say anything, confident in her knowledge that she would be able to say it well.
Now it was time to attempt the persuasion charms they had all been practicing for weeks. Luna's mercurial wand still only cooperated less than half the time, so she had been borrowing Lavender's during practice. She gripped the cedar wand in her hand and faced the audience.
"Audite commoveri!" she pointed Lavender's wand at the women of the Circle, biting the inside of her cheek until she drew blood. Luna was not entirely sure whether blood magic could be mixed with wand magic, but she hoped it might add extra potency to the spell. The cedar wand felt like a friendly acquaintance in her hand now after weeks of practice, but she was sure that the charm was weaker because she was not using her own wand. Her blood would have to bridge the gap, as it so often did.
There was no great change in the demeanor of the women, no glazed over eyes or fawning sighs. A few of them smiled, but there was no way of knowing whether that was any indication that she had performed the spell properly. They might have merely been taking pity on her because they thought she was nervous. It would have to do.
Now to attempt the silver tongue charm. It was riskier because it involved pointing a wand at her own head, and not even her own wand, which though temperamental, was at least bonded to her. Once during practice with the cedar wand, the ends of Luna's hair had begun smoking gently. This time, she winced as she raised Lavender's wand to her temple.
"Suadeo maxima!"
Her hair did not catch on fire, at least. While the potion had been warm, the charm made Luna feel all smooth and cool. She could feel her back straightening and her shoulders relaxing. The chapel was silent now apart from the shuffling of feet and the rustling of the wind through the gaping holes in the windows and roof. The other team was beginning to shuffle restlessly, and her own team gave her encouraging but somewhat impatient smiles. Luna touched her tongue to the ragged flesh on the inside of her cheek, tasting the metallic tang. She shuffled her notes, took a deep breath, and began.
"The monastery on the island of Iona is home to an ancient and esteemed Christian tradition founded by the great Saint Columba himself, a true son of Ireland. Saint Columba was a devout Christian in the tradition of Saint John the Apostle himself. But Saint Columba adapted his faith to his homeland, channeling it into the old Celtic ways to make something new and beautiful and distinctly British. And it spoke to people. It is not merely the question of tonsures and Easter, but the legacy of Saint Columba himself that is up for debate today. He who was responsible for converting so much of the British Isles. He who performed countless miracles! He who preserved ancient knowledge that might otherwise have been lost to the Viking and Roman swords and the sands of time! Surely an indigenous British Christian tradition is an invaluable gift from our ancestors, and many would say it is our duty to protect it for future generations."
Here she paused for breath and remembered Professor McGonagall's constant reminders to make direct eye contact with each member of the audience. She attempted to do this now. Her eyes roved over the women, trying to gauge the success of her argument and by extension, the success of her potion and charmwork. Cressida was smiling and listening with rapt attention while Professor McGonagall was scribbling notes, but that was to be expected from both of them. The others seemed to be listening intently, although a few eyes had begun to wander.
"But all these feats surely pale in comparison to the might of the Roman Empire, do they not? Rome, which tramples all in its path. Rome, which cannot bear for anything to be different from itself. Rome, which conquers Europe and takes all the curving, tangled paths made of local stone and turns them into straight Roman roads. Rome, which seeks to turn every city and town in the world into a miniature Rome. Now Rome seeks to colonize our lands once again, this time with a foreign brand of Christianity. Rome descends like a snake, devouring all the weak mice who dare to wear their tonsures differently and celebrate a different rite. What does Rome know of Britain? What does Rome care? If it were up to Rome, we should all be speaking Latin and wearing togas, and there would be no difference between a Roman in Britain and a Roman in Africa and a Roman in Rome. That is what it means to be conquered by an empire, is it not? So, if we are all pleased to be Roman subjects, if we all wish to see our own culture and language and traditions die, then I urge us all to vote for the Roman position today. But if you care about our heritage, and our right to practice our beliefs in whichever ways we see fit, you will not vote for Rome. Because a vote for Rome is a vote for our own annihilation."
She made eye contact with the audience again and bowed to indicate that she was finished. There was a smattering of polite applause, and her teammates clapped her on the back when she took her place among them.
Rania stepped forward to make the opening arguments for the Roman Christians. She also performed the silver tongue charm and crowd coaxing charm, but she did not drink a potion. Instead, she had Noura's sachet of herbs tucked in her pocket. She cleared her throat.
"I would like to remind the esteemed synod that Saint Columba lived in the sixth century. He died five hundred and ninety-seven years after Christ himself. I would also remind you that any good he did on this earth, any miracles he performed, were the result of our Almighty Father, and not Saint Columba himself. God does not see us as Britons or Romans; he only sees us as his children. And the one true faith does not have a culture, nor a language. Saint Paul reminds us that there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for we are all one in Christ Jesus."
Here Rania paused for dramatic effect.
"We are one in the faith, and any attempt to deviate from the precedent set by Jesus and his apostles is a fool's errand. The Nicene Creed calls on us to believe in one holy apostolic church. One church. The apostolic church. And who was the apostle of all apostles? Saint Peter himself, the rock of the church. And did Saint Peter build the rock of Christ's church on the island of Iona? No, he built it in Rome. And therefore, in order to remain a part of the one holy and apostolic church, we have been called upon to conform to the example set by Rome. To do otherwise would be to blaspheme, to break with the mother church, and to dishonor the very wishes of Christ himself."
Luna's cheeks burned even as she clapped politely with the others on her team. Well that was just…that was just stupid! All they were doing, really, was aping the exact same argument that had been used at the original synod of Whitby. As the debates continued and each girl took her turn, it became clearer and clearer that her team's best efforts to turn the tides of history were futile. The same arguments were rehearsed again and again: the appeal to Saint Peter, the insistence that Britain was inferior to Rome, the call to conform merely because everyone else already had. Above all, the belief that Rome was superior because Rome had always been superior, and that was only because Rome had interpreted Jesus's words about Saint Peter to be about Rome itself. In the end, the council only debated for a few minutes before declaring Rania's team the winners.
Luna had thought she did not care about the debate until she lost it.
"You argued admirably," Professor McGonagall said. They were sitting on a crumbled pillar near the altar while the others explored the ruins of Whitby Abbey. Luna had humored Ginny and Lavender for several minutes by pretending to search for hidden buildings with runes, burning herbs, and a mixture of blood smeared on her forehead. But Luna knew from the beginning that they would not find anything. There was nothing there, or if there was, she wasn't worthy of finding it.
"You really think so?" Luna kicked a pebble.
"Your use of anaphora to characterize both Saint Columba and Rome was particularly effective. And then pretending to belittle Columba's achievements was an effective use of liotes. I did think your simile comparing Rome to a snake and the British Isles to mice was rather weak, but the metaphor about roads was much better. And then you finished strong. Pretending to encourage the audience to vote for Rome, only to turn the tables on them by claiming that voting for Rome would be a vote for their own cultural annihilation? Very powerful indeed."
"But it doesn't even matter. We lost." The loss still stung more than Luna had ever expected.
"Come now, there's no need to sulk. And there is certainly no shame in losing. Particularly not when you were taking the losing side of a debate that was lost over a thousand years ago," Professor McGonagall smiled.
"But that's just it! They didn't even try to do anything new. They basically just used the same arguments as the original synod. It's totally circular logic. Of course Rome thinks they're the most important, so of course they're going to say Rome is more important than everyone else. And they all believed it! Why, just because Rome says so and has always said so?"
"Just because an argument is based on a fallacy does not mean it is not convincing or effective. It's one of the truly frustrating things about the world. Now is as good a time as any for you to learn this."
Luna ignored this sage and well-intentioned advice, continuing her rant as if the older woman had not spoken.
"Or just because something is older, it's automatically better? Why is Saint Peter automatically better than Saint Columba? Just because he happened to be alive so he could meet Jesus? So just because Hogwarts is a thousand years old, is it better than the Circle? No one here would say that's true, but they all voted for that position!"
"Ah, but Luna, that opinion is very common, even in the Circle. Your own mother often expresses such an opinion often, in fact! You and Saint Hilda were both swimming upstream, I'm afraid. It's a difficult position to argue. It's going against the grain to refuse to conform in a society so influenced by…well, conformity."
"I think Saint Hilda must have wanted Rome to win. She must have lost the debate on purpose. She just must have!"
"And why do you think this?" McGonagall leaned closer and smeared the blood from Luna's forehead with a tartan handkerchief. It was an oddly maternal gesture, and the girl unconsciously leaned closer to the woman, almost as if to lay her head on McGonagall's shoulder.
Luna had not thought that far ahead. She simply hated to think that she had tried her best and still lost, and that Saint Hilda had tried her best and still lost. Surely if someone as great as Saint Hilda had wanted to win, she would have. There must have been a reason. Finally she lit upon it.
"Rome was thousands of miles away! She'd probably have more power and influence without the authorities breathing down her neck like they would be if they were in Scotland," Luna cried.
"It's possible. But we really have no proof either way. And you'd do well to learn a lesson from Saint Hilda about losing gracefully."
"But I'm the raven queen. And she was Saint Hilda. We can literally See the future! We're not supposed to lose."
"You're only a girl, Luna, a human girl. And I assure you that Saint Hilda was human as well. You're both fully capable of losing. Perhaps it will even do you good," McGonagall pulled away from Luna as she put away the handkerchief, all tenderness replaced with her usual briskness.
"But people come to us to ask what they should do! And I'm supposed to figure out all this new magic stuff, and have all the answers. If I lose, and people see that I can lose…I don't know, it seems wrong," Luna struggled to articulate what she was trying to say. She was remembering her mother's reaction to discovering Luna had lost her ability to make prophecies. The panic, anger, and above all, the fear of others finding out. But she couldn't tell McGonagall that she had temporarily lost her power. Her mother had forbidden her.
"No one expects you to magically have all the answers," said Professor McGonagall. Luna raised her eyebrows, and they both knew that McGonagall was not exactly telling the truth.
"Well, it definitely feels that way a lot of the time. Luna, tell me a prophecy. Luna, decide how the Circle should be run. Luna, rescue Ginny from the Dark Lord. Luna, discover a bunch of hidden magical buildings."
"Luna, about that," Professor McGonagall's voice sounded different again, but this time it was soft, almost timid.
"What, about finding hidden buildings? I already told Lav and Gin, I don't think there's anything here."
"No, no. About the Dark Lord's diary. Have you hidden it somewhere safe?"
"What do you mean? Of course, I put it under…"
"No, no, don't tell me where it is!" It was the closest Luna had ever heard Professor McGonagall come to shouting at her or anyone else.
"I'm sorry. But why shouldn't I tell you?"
"Professor Dumbledore has been asking questions."
"About where I put the diary?"
"Not exactly. He has done more research about the nature of the diary. I think he suspects that the binding spell you did was not…that is to say, I think he would like to examine it again."
"He's done research about the diary. So, what has he found out?"
"I'm not at liberty to say. Even uttering the words…" McGonagall shifted her gaze away and took the handkerchief out of her pocket, folding it and refolding it into a neat square.
"But you don't want him to have it again."
"That's not what I said," Professor McGonagall's voice grew quiet again, and she wouldn't meet Luna's eye.
"So why can't I tell you where it is? I trust you, of course."
"There are….other methods of extracting information from people."
Neither of them said it, but they were thinking the same thing. Torture. Legilimency. Killing families and friends. Threatening death, or worse. All the methods the Death Eaters had favored in the last war. But McGonagall couldn't possibly think that Dumbledore could…? The Lovegoods were no friends of the man, but surely, he wouldn't be capable of…?
"You are beginning to doubt Albus Dumbledore," Luna said.
"What?!" Professor McGonagall, who had been looking at the sunset streaming through the hollow rose window, whirled to face Luna at last.
"How could you possibly say such a thing? Utterly ridiculous. Silly girl, just like your mother."
"Well, I…" Luna began. Then it occurred to her. She was merely a silly girl, but she could be the vessel of something more powerful, just like Saint Hilda.
"I've Seen it," Luna said simply. It was more of a mistruth than an outright lie. She had not had a prophecy in the strictest sense of the word, but she had seen it all the same. She had seen McGonagall's glances and evasions; she had seen the meaning behind her careful questions. She was able to guess what might come to pass based on what she has seen.
"Have you really?" McGonagall's lip trembled, and the handkerchief was now a ball in her clenched fist.
"Yes. I've seen it coming for quite some time. Months now."
"Yes, I suppose that's right…It really, properly started when he allowed those…those things to come to our school. As if our students are inmates! He claimed that Fudge pressured him, but we all know Cornelius Fudge is a spineless, sniveling idiot. If Dumbledore had truly wanted to stop it, he could have," McGonagall was suddenly speaking a mile a minute, and Luna was left trailing in her wake, inferring only from context that she was referring to the Dementors coming to Hogwarts.
"I spent the entire summer cleaning up his messes and trying to keep his precious Harry Potter safe. He insists on sending the boy back to that awful Muggle house summer after summer, and I told him that eventually it would be too much for Harry. I know Harry, I see him every day! Albus barely knows the boy. And look what happened: he ran away! There was only so much that boy could take before he snapped. And now the latest crisis is that more and more students are withdrawing from Hogwarts. Some of the girls are coming to the Circle, of course, but some are leaving and being sent to other schools, or being schooled at home. And he's gone so far as to insinuate that there's a conflict of interest because I'm a member of the Circle! How dare he question my professionalism, when I have been nothing but a consummate professional and he has…"
Luna listened in silence for several minutes. It was if a Howler had been opened and Professor McGonagall was unleashing years of resentment and pain. Luna did not know what to say, and finally decided to clear her throat rather loudly. McGonagall suddenly seemed to remember where she was, and that she was talking to a child. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief and coughed.
"I, er, apologize. But may I just ask? Have you Seen…whether I stay at Hogwarts?" It had not occurred to Luna that McGonagall was considering leaving Hogwarts at all. She of course had no idea whatsoever. She had never had a prophecy about McGonagall, not even about something so trivial as the color of her boots. But there would be no advantage in admitting that. She had come this far, she might as well carry on telling McGonagall what she wanted to come to pass, all while pretending she had Seen it in a prophecy.
"Well, I have seen that there has been a break. Perhaps an irreparable break," Luna tried to make her voice sound thin and airy like her mother's.
"I've seen you drawing closer and closer to the Circle. That doesn't have to mean you are being drawn further away from Hogwarts. I've seen a bleeding lion on a crest, half red and half purple."
"But if Dumbledore forces me to choose?" McGonagall prompted. Luna closed her eyes, trying to make the whole charade seem believable. She was beginning to understand how her gift could be an armor, even a tool. A weapon.
"I think you would choose the Circle. I've seen a cat walking away from a castle, into the woods."
"Yes, I suspected as much. I've felt it coming for some time now," McGonagall sighed. She folded her arms and Luna noticed for the first time that she wore a thin silver ring on one of her fingers. The professor fiddled with it absentmindedly.
"Thank you for sharing that with me. But back to the diary. I don't want you to tell me where it is. Or anyone else, for that matter."
"Okay."
"Don't think about it for a while. Don't mention it to anyone. Wait a while – several weeks, maybe a couple of months. And the next time the thought occurs to you quite naturally, just pops into your head out of the blue, go to where it is hidden. Make sure it's safe."
"I will." Luna said, "But what would happen if Dumbledore found out where it was?"
"He says he only wishes to examine it."
"But that might not be all he wishes to do?" Luna seized again on the true meaning buried deep beneath the carefully chosen words.
"Dumbledore is a brilliant wizard, a great wizard. And I know he has good intentions."
"But how do you know…?"
"You sound like your mother now. Albus Dumbledore has done more to defeat dark wizardry than anyone else in the past hundred years. He has made great sacrifices and I'm sure he always does what he believes is right."
"But what he believes is right isn't always what's right."
"Listen to me, Luna. It is said that Albus Dumbledore is the only man the Dark Lord ever feared. And it's true. Make of that what you will."
Luna thought about what it meant to be the kind of man even the Dark Lord would fear.