It's been a while. Life got very busy and this chapter really did take eight months to write. Happy New Year, and a renewed thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story. Tonally, a quieter chapter, but it's been a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy.
The Meeting
~11th September, 1941...
Mortimer was anxious. Martha noticed it in the way he spoke quickly and concentrated so deeply on making the two of them tea that he ultimately forgot about their conversation, and then about the tea itself.
Martha's unanswered "How are you?" hung awkwardly in the dense kitchen air as she considered what on Earth had brought on this strange attitude.
Apparently, Albus Dumbledore had a habit of being unfashionably early. Mortimer had insisted in his most recent letter that she arrive an hour or two before their usual weekly meetings. It was unusual that her amicable friend would be that desperate to avoid being left alone with someone, but Dumbledore was obviously a risk he wasn't willing to take.
Aside from this, Martha knew almost nothing about the man. Only that he worked at the wizarding school and was helping Merlin to keep an eye on Tom whilst he was there. She wasn't sure why the three of them were meeting today, but if it was enough to tear away the professor from that very task then it had to be important.
Finally, Mortimer sat down beside her- at the dining table this time instead of their usual seats at the kitchen counter- and began to gulp down his scalding hot mug.
Usually their meetings felt relaxed, as if the last had never ended when the next one began and they could fall seamlessly into conversation. This time it felt different. It felt awkward. As if Mortimer knew far more than she did about what they were here for.
"So what's all this about?" She tried, "What's happened?"
"I think we should wait." Mortimer replied, eyeing the hallway expectantly.
Martha nodded, but she couldn't help feeling a little hurt.
It was ten minutes before the doorbell rang. Mortimer disappeared into the hall, and after the familiar sound of the latch on the door clicking open, Martha heard a muffled voice, deeper than her friend's.
"Mr Thomas, good to see your face. Hope I'm not intruding?"
"No, you're in perfect time, Professor," Martha heard Mortimer lie in reply.
When Dumbledore entered the living room, he had his mouth open to say something, but it shut abruptly when his eyes fell upon Martha. Her first good look at the man came rather as she expected: he appeared older than Mortimer, and a little smarter in appearance. No matter how her friend tried, he always appeared a little tousled around the edges, but Dumbledore's unusual robes felt precisely polished. The way he carried himself spoke volumes that he was a confident academic, and though he had already removed his grey cap, he mimed the gesture of tipping his hat in greeting. It was amusing.
"I didn't know we would have company." Dumbledore said, indicating Martha with a welcoming smile.
"Oh," Mortimer said nonchalantly, slipping back into the room behind the man, "I must have forgotten to mention it."
Martha suspected he deliberately hadn't.
Dumbledore moved swiftly over to her, giving her hand a light kiss and fixing her with twinkling eyes that lit up a modest, but genuine smile. She couldn't help but feel a little charmed. There was a quaint amount of mystery that surrounded the professor. It might have reminded her of Mortimer, if it wasn't for the fact that the perplexing enigma of her friend eclipsed Dumbledore's mystery entirely. Despite it, she'd always had the instinct that she could trust Mortimer; but with Dumbledore, she wasn't so sure. She felt the troublesome curiosity that had brought her into this mess light up like a fire in her chest once more. Maybe she'd given up with Mortimer, but she would figure Dumbledore out.
The raven haired host gestured for everyone to sit, pointing his wand absently toward the kitchen, where the kettle got up and began making his second guest a mug of tea.
"You know Tom Riddle?" The professor asked.
"I practically raised the boy, yes," Martha replied as she saw Dumbledore raise an eyebrow over at her friend, "though Mortimer has done a better job than me so far."
"Mr Thomas certainly has high hopes for that boy." Dumbledore replied in a way that suggested he left much unsaid, and though he answered Martha he directed his words squarely across the table at Mortimer.
From beneath his inky mess of hair, the man just smiled.
"I believe introductions are in order," he said warmly, ignoring Dumbledore's comment, "Professor Dumbledore, this is Ms Martha Cole, the head of Wools Orphanage where Tom grew up. Martha, this is Albus Dumbledore, one of Tom's professors at Hogwarts."
There followed a brief interlude of nods and smiles as she and Dumbledore pretended they weren't desperate to get straight on to the point of their meeting.
Eventually, Mortimer began.
"Today I want to tell you about two things: one that happened recently and another that occurred some time ago. The point is not about why I didn't confide in you before- I had my own reservations- it is because I need your advice now." The dark haired man paused to meet the gazes of his guests, "An old... friend... told me that I can't face this destiny alone. I need there to be no secrets between us, so we can work together and save Tom Riddle."
Martha noticed the way Mortimer eyed Dumbledore when he said "save", as if to insist to the professor the aim of their meeting. Perhaps he saw Tom as she had at first: a devilish boy needing to be kept at bay, and if so, could she win him round?
The other motion that she caught was the way his expression darkened at the mention of secrets. Martha had long since realised that there would always be secrets surrounding Mortimer Thomas. She was reminded that even after everything, he still reeked of mystery far more than any stranger would.
Maybe that was part of what had kept her around.
Her friend had started speaking again, his hands clasped together on the table top.
"Three summers ago Martha and I visited a cave." He said, drawing in a long breath which Martha copied when she realised what she might be about to hear. Why now?
"She had taken the children there the previous year on an outing, and Tom disappeared into the cave with two of them," Mortimer continued, addressing Dumbledore who wore a curious expression, "they were never the same afterwards, and we took it as a possible lead for the reason Tom is... the way he is. In the cave we found a crystal, and when I took it home, I was given a vision."
There was a pause in which Mortimer wrung out his hands nervously, and Dumbledore gazed blankly into space with a small frown. Eventually, she found his gaze falling on her.
"I'm certainly intrigued, but I have to ask first: are you a member of the magical community, Ms Cole?"
"No, sir."
Dumbledore turned now to Mortimer, "I've always had a great appreciation for muggles, but I have to wonder if it's wise to breach the statute of secrecy and involve Ms Cole in such a dangerous affair. Need I remind you that we are dealing with a potential dark lord?"
Mortimer actually looked a little sheepish at first, but after a quick glance at Martha he was filled with resolve.
"Martha was my rock that day in the cave. I'm not sure I could have retrieved the crystal on my own. She's one of the most insightful and intelligent people I've ever met, and I will protect her. I'd never claim to see myself as above the law, but in Martha's case, I won't back down."
Martha found herself holding her breath as Mortimer stared Albus Dumbledore down with such intent. She'd come to know of forces beyond her wildest dreams, and at times she couldn't help but wonder why her friend would keep someone so weak in comparison so close to his side. It meant a vast amount that Mortimer was willing to justify her company when it was challenged.
Finally his expression softened, and he appealed to the professor with a small plea.
"Please, I don't want the ministry involved with this."
Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Hogwarts has always kept the ministry at arms length. You can rest assured, I am comfortable to do so if you see fit."
"Then I'll continue." Mortimer said, satisfied, "You know that I work in ancient runes. Old languages detail old magic, and I specialise in the oldest kind. The magic itself was lost to humans after the disappearance of the Druid tribes, but artefacts of the Old Religion still retain their power from the Earth. Most of these relics belonged to the Druids, who ensured that they would disappear with them, but some can still be found. The crystal of Nehatid has the power to grant seers visions of possible futures, and the legend says it originates from the birthplace of magic itself."
"This is the crystal you found in the cave?" Dumbledore asked.
Mortimer nodded, "I'm certain."
"You said you saw a vision," the professor mused, "I'm not so knowledgeable on the ancient magicks, but they have piqued my interest over the years, and I know this: the Sight is incredibly rare even in modern practice, perhaps you are from a bloodline of Druid seers?"
"Maybe, but I doubt it. The Old Religion works in often inexplicable ways. It's puzzled researchers for centuries, and I believe, if I've learnt anything from my work, that I was shown this vision for a reason. Not because I wanted to- they've driven good men to madness- but because I needed to in order to save Tom."
Martha hadn't dwelled on what it might be like to see the future, but now that she did she understood wholly the sincerity with which Mortimer spoke of madness. To be burdened with the knowledge of what was to come seemed to her like stripping a person of their free will to make choices. It would be easy to be consumed by the paranoia of trying to stop or ensure what you saw. Perhaps at the time Mortimer had put on a brave face, but what he had seen could have been harrowing. Part of her wished she had pressed him more about it at the time, but even then she wasn't sure she'd have been much help.
"I'm going to tell you what I saw, but I need you both to understand that these kinds of crystals only give one possible version of the truth."
Martha and Dumbledore nodded, both eager and perhaps apprehensive to hear more.
"Do you have a pensive?" Dumbledore asked, only barely masking his intrigue.
"No," Mortimer said, taking a deep breath as if to prepare himself for something he didn't want to face, "I know what I saw, I'll tell you."
And so Martha finally learnt of what had happened that summer in the cave. Of Tom's raw display of power that had frightened two children so deeply that they wouldn't speak of it. Of the visions of his family- his mother under the ridicule of his grandfather and her pining for Tom Riddle Sr, and of the Gaunts: the final, muddied bloodline of Salazar Slytherin.
She couldn't help but bury her head in her hands when she relived the night that Merope had given birth at Wools, and she listened silently as Mortimer described the face- which Dumbledore confirmed to be Horace Slughorn- that spoke to an older Tom of his great future.
There was a long pause after he finished, and whilst Mortimer waited expectantly for his guests to process his account, he seemed lost in further thought. When Dumbledore finally spoke it seemed to jolt her friend back into the present with some reluctance.
"I'm glad you've related this to us. Our opinions may differ a little, but in the end we are a mutually beneficial trio, I'm sure."
Martha nodded at this, she hoped so.
"Did you see any more of Tom's future?" Dumbledore pressed.
Mortimer took a beat before he answered, "No, I didn't see any further."
Martha narrowed her gaze a little at his response. Something in the way he had forced his eyes up to meet the professor's made her skeptical. If he had seen the future, and Tom was redeemed, he would certainly mention it. Either he was telling the truth, or he withheld something much darker.
Less versed in Mortimer's nature, Dumbledore seemed satisfied, and moved on.
"I've plenty of questions, but I assume your recent experience was linked to this one. Perhaps it will answer some as you tell it."
"Yes, of course," Mortimer replied, gathering himself to do it all over again, "I'll begin."
Mortimer obviously struggled to give bad news. Or to talk about himself. Or both, for that matter. It was heartbreaking in many ways to hear the tale of Tom's recent visit to the Gaunt house behind his guardian's back, but what seemed most painful was to watch the man tell it. To admit to his failures and to skim so lightly over the moment where he may have saved Tom's life from Morfin, but also from the darkness within himself. Tom had learnt a truth that would change his life forever, but Mortimer had managed to talk him down.
"The tension dissolved a little, maybe, over the rest of the summer, but I know something has changed for good. I'm used to dealing with problems on my own, but I know I'm not enough anymore and I need your help to rescue this. I know we had our little deal Dumbledore, but this isn't me giving up. Just reaching out."
Martha felt apprehensive as the blue eyed professor regarded her silent friend coolly. The wizard knew the conversation was resting in his hands, and whilst he thought he was happy to hold it there. When he noticed Martha's awkward glance, he looked bemused. In a slightly dark sense it might have been funny to him.
"So Tom was conceived of a love potion?" He said finally.
"Yes."
"Often tragic children. It's said they're incapable of love- if you believe in such hard lines between emotions." Dumbledore seemed genuinely remorseful to speak of Tom in such a hopeless light, but he believed what he said.
"An emotional gap would explain his utter lack of empathy when he lived at Wools," Martha began, "but I believe he has that capacity. Mortimer brings it out in him."
"Its interesting," Dumbledore mused, addressing the dark haired wizard across the table, who had barely spoken, "from what I've heard, Tom is a different person around you."
"Sometimes I forget how dangerous he is, but Martha's right, Tom is capable of emotion and he feels very strongly."
"Right now he is channeling that into hatred. For his father, for anyone who might have abandoned him." Dumbledore added gravely. There was an unspoken word that passed between them all: Mortimer was the closest to a father that Tom had, what would happen if the boy turned on him?
"You were lucky you could talk him down this time Mr Thomas, but he could lash out again."
Martha turned abruptly to Dumbledore. "Look, regardless of what happened in Little Hangleton, the problem here is not Mortimer, or his methods. The problem is what happens when Mortimer isn't there." She said, gaining more confidence as she continued, "Perhaps if you spoke with Tom more at school? The more bonds he forms with others the better."
Dumbledore held her eye contact a long time, carefully considering what she had said. It was easy to feel small in between two very powerful, experienced wizards, but she assured herself that she wouldn't be here if her opinion was not wanted.
"You have a point, Ms Cole. I've turned down Tom's companionship because of my suspicions, but it would be worth working more closely with Horace- however much the man strains me."
"So it's agreed?" Martha said. Her companions nodded.
"I'll keep in touch." The professor confirmed.
They discussed the details a little longer, and both she and Dumbledore had clarifications to make about Mortimer's accounts. They reached little conclusion on what to do about Morfin, but they all agreed to keep a close eye on what Tom was taking out of the library and that Dumbledore would begin sending letters fortnightly. As they spoke, Mortimer finally began to relax, and he said how pleased he was that he'd brought the three of their heads together.
Eventually, to Martha's intrigue, the conversation returned to the subject of old magic.
"Do you have the crystal of Nehatid in your possession?" Dumbledore asked.
Mortimer nodded, "It's safe."
"The fewer people who know about it the better, I imagine." Martha said.
"Could I see it?" The professor prompted cautiously, and Mortimer hesitated a moment, something dawning on him.
"It should be okay. If the crystal had anything more to show us, however, I think I would know." Her friend conceded eventually, getting up from his seat and inserting his wand into the keyhole of a door adjacent to the kitchen. He placed his palm against the wood as he did so, and out of the corner of her eye Martha saw Dumbledore cock his head curiously as the man disappeared inside with a call of: "I want to show you something, give me a moment."
A few, awfully silent seconds passed as Martha listened to the sound of a clock somewhere in the room, and Dumbledore tapped his thumbs gently on the table in a rhythm she didn't recognise, but the man clearly enjoyed. She wondered if she should say something now that they were alone, but Dumbledore broke the silence.
"You know, I've never met anyone like him," He said. Martha was surprised for a moment, but couldn't help agreeing.
"I doubt either of us will again. There's something about him that feels..." she trailed off.
"That feels as though he is more." The professor added, putting perfectly into words what she couldn't, "What he is more than, I don't know, but though he walks among men I couldn't truthfully say I think he exists as one."
Martha was lost for words for a long moment. Struck suddenly by the question of who her companion was. What he was. Mortimer was her best friend, she concluded after the thought caused too much of a stall in her mind for her liking, and it wasn't worth dwelling beyond that.
Dumbledore seemed to think the same, "It's a silly thought, I guess I am just drawn to him."
"Why do you want to see the crystal? Mortimer said it won't show him anything else."
"A relic from the birthplace of magic itself? I think any wizard would be mad to pass up such a rare opportunity." He said, then added, "Though he keeps it under wraps, Mortimer is one of the most knowledgeable people in the world on Old Magic- though there are few to begin with. I know the crystal is in safe hands, but I'd love to lay eyes on it." Dumbledore explained, guessing Martha's thoughts.
She couldn't help wondering if the professor actually trusted Mortimer with the crystal. After all, he thought it was naive the way he had attached himself so closely to Tom. It wasn't far to stretch. However, he'd shown himself to be far more complex than she'd imagined. There was a kind of darkness in Dumbledore: a cynical realism toward life that judged every man the same and juxtaposed his outward curious charm and hopeful, humorous quirks. She had no idea what to make of him, but for some reason she hoped they'd become good friends.
Finally, Mortimer entered the room carrying a large leather bound volume and a small drawstring pouch. He set each carefully down on the table without a word, indicating to Martha their fragility and age. He flicked through a few modern book marks that looked out of place amongst the stained parchment pages of the large book before gently easing it open around two thirds of the way through.
The page was covered in a strange, handwritten language that Martha couldn't read. The characters were nothing as she had seen before, but there was something beautiful about them. The idea that someone had painstakingly etched every stroke for the chance to pass on whatever knowledge they contained. A watery illumination showed a cave, covered in in crystals that glowed with a pale blue, inky border.
"This page was written by the seer of the fallen kings, Taliesin, at the end of the third century." Mortimer said, pulling Martha from her trance-like gaze at the open book. "I'll read it for you."
"Few sorcerers have seen the crystal cave. The valley in which she lays is to be the last refuge of our era, as it is the first refuge of Magic in this land.
The cave holds the secret to time itself, and offers great knowledge to those who know how to tap into its nuances without becoming overwhelmed. Knowledge of what is, what has been, and what is yet to come. The secrets the crystals reveal are unique to each seer alone.
But with knowledge comes immense danger. There are those who say the future is hidden to all but a cursed few. In my years as a seer to the great Kings, I have come to understand my gift and it's relentless responsibility where many have failed before me. Talented sorcerers have been driven mad by their visions, and I have found it comes with the selfish belief that one can change what he has seen, when what he has seen is almost never as it turns out to be. To become narrow-sighted in the face of omnipotency.
As for the crystal of Nehatid, it was hewn from the birthplace of magic to search for apprentice seers. Because of the dangers of the crystals, many seers shun their abilities, making the search for willing successors to protect the cave even more challenging.
Whilst the great Kings speak of Taliesin the all-seeing, who has mastered the crystal cave, in truth I am but a servant. To kneel at the sheer presence of the Old Religion in the cave is the most humbling act my kind can endure. The Old Religion grants me visions in return for my service, and at times of her great need, she compels me to look, such that I cannot resist what she wishes to show me. It is akin, almost, to the bond between a Dragonlord and his dragon, but the mighty Kilgharrah would scorn me for such a comparison.
Kilgharrah talks often of a time when the crystals fate my path will cross with Emrys. Long after the fall of the Kings the greatest sorcerer to walk the Earth will enter the crystal cave. The personification of magic itself will return to where he was born and reclaim what he can never lose. My task is to ensure he knows where to find it.
Let us hope that the lands of Albion are united by Emrys and the Once and Future King. When a creature of Magic at last takes human form in this world, may he be a servant of the Old Religion and may the balance of nature remain in tact. That is the wish of a wise old man.
Many disregard the possibility of Emrys. That such power cannot be contained within one human vessel, but the crystals never lie and Kilgharrah is certain. When the Old Religion walks the Earth, the magical peoples who still follow the ancient customs shall know him as they know themselves: the son of the earth, the sea and the sky."
There was a long moment of silence as everyone took in the words that were almost two thousand years old. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.
"So the Prince of Enchanters was merely a vessel for the Old Religion?"
"We aren't sure. Taliesin was as vague in his writing, as in life." Mortimer said, breaking from his narrative, "Seers often are." There was an odd sadness to the way he had read, as if each line was somehow difficult for him. Martha could simply chalk it up to translating the runes into English, but something told her it went deeper than that. He didn't like reading about the crystal cave, so what did he feel was necessary to tell them?
Dumbledore chuckled, "So you knew him in life, then?"
"Only partly, he'd been dead a few hundred years by the time we met." Mortimer deadpanned, closing the book. It took her a second to catch the sarcasm. "There are those who say Emrys was born to help King Arthur unite the lands in a golden age. There are others who say he was to be a safety net when the Old Religion sensed it would soon decline. No one really knows."
"And what do you believe?" Martha asked, and Mortimer paused for a moment, as if this was a question he had pondered many times before.
"Whether he was made in self preservation or in hope for peace, neither were successful. Merlin was arguably the biggest failure of the Old Religion." He answered honestly, and then realising his words had dumbfounded the room into silence added, "Just the musings of an overly ambitious academic, I'm sure. I read it somewhere."
Martha didn't know much about Merlin besides the fantastical legends of King Arthur and the round table that she told as bedtime stories to the children at the orphanage. The version she liked to tell depicted Arthur as a young, orphan village boy who rose from nothing, pulling the sword from the stone and becoming king. In truth, Mortimer told her Arthur had been of royal blood through and through, and whilst he seemed unimpressed with the various versions of the legend, Martha liked the sentiment of her own. It didn't matter if it was true or not.
In the wizarding world, however, Merlin was the central figure of the legend, and she was shocked to hear Mortimer take such a nonchalant, critical tone about a man who was worshipped in his culture. Or maybe, that was exactly the perspective she'd expected her friend to take.
She noticed that Mortimer had taken hold of the small leather pouch, slipping a large, angular crystal into his lightly trembling hands, which became perfectly still on contact with its cool, glassy surface. When she'd glimpsed it before in the cave, it had pulsed with a strange glow. This was the first time she'd been up close to it, and after Mortimer's rich exposition she was underwhelmed by its dull, lifeless hue. It was as if the crystal's inner light had gone out, and Mortimer set in on the table with a hollow thud.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" He said, "I want you to touch it, both of you."
Martha placed her hand out across the table, and Dumbledore followed a little more hesitantly. The crystal felt unnaturally cold to the touch, and spiked goosebumps along her arm.
Initially, nothing happened, and then Mortimer brought his hand gently down between theirs on the surface. She felt a pulse of warmth, akin to swallowing a hot drink and feeling its heat move down your throat into your stomach, except the warmth spread from her fingertips through every vein in her body. She was paralysed with delight, rejuvenated as she had never felt in her life. She decided in that moment that she never wanted to take her hand away from the crystal that was now emitting a lucid, mesmerising glow. She'd never let go.
She gasped as the giddiness began to make her feel light-headed. The power pulsing through her veins came in waves of shocking tingles that made her twitch. It was no longer warmth that she felt, but burning. Burning or drowning or both. Her vision blurred into liquid fire; white-hot and overwhelming. Just as she felt like she would be swallowed whole, a firm hand gripped her wrist, yanking her away from the crystal and severing the terrifying connection.
She fell back into her seat, breathing rapidly and blinking spots from her eyes. Looking to her left, she saw Dumbledore staring wide-eyed at the crystal, his own hand held close to his chest from where he had pulled it away. Mortimer remained holding her wrist gently whilst she recovered and tried to process what on Earth she had just experienced. Only her friend retained any kind of composure, and she couldn't help but wonder how.
"What... What was that?" Dumbledore breathed deeply, and it was the first time Martha thought he looked old. The twinkle in his eye had been utterly eclipsed.
"That is the Old Religion. In its purest and oldest form, that is magic." Mortimer said as he picked up the crystal- Martha found herself wincing as he touched it- and put it back in its pouch, dull and foggy once more. "I wanted you to feel it, because it's the only way I think you can truly understand. It would overwhelm most muggles, since they're not used to channeling magic, but I knew you were strong enough, Martha. If there was any danger, I wouldn't have."
Martha was reassured by this, she had certainly been shaken.
"The Old Religion is the life force of the earth. I've studied it for years, alongside many other great wizards, and it is still barely understood. But we know this: that the most skilled sorcerers in history- like Taliesin- were never masters of magic, they were servants. That powerful magic is always gifted for a purpose, and most importantly, that the Old Religion is about balance. And when these three things collide it is known more commonly as destiny." He paused to let out a bitter chuckle, and though it ruined the dramatics, Martha was captivated by what she heard.
"I couldn't be sure when my path first crossed with Tom if it was coincidence or something more. But then after the vision; how Tom excelled so quickly in school and of course his family history I couldn't deny it anymore. True, Dumbledore, dark times may be coming, but the future of the wizarding world starts with this boy."
"But what are we to do in the face of such ancient magic?" The professor said, indicating their party of three: a teacher, a spirited matriarch and a peculiar man with old books. He was right to question why they had been chosen by fate for this task, but Martha saw that her friend truly believed in them. For her, that was enough.
"If it is my destiny now to save Tom," Mortimer replied, "then I will go to the depths of Hell and back again to do it. It seems bleak, but I'm determined to learn from past mistakes. Yes, there are forces at play larger than we can conceive- and it's important to see that because those forces are scary. But they definitely don't diminish the importance of kindness, patience and trust when it comes to simply helping Tom grow into a man we can all die proud of."
Mortimer rarely spoke of death. Martha had often rambled on about old age during their weekly catch-ups, joking that she hoped the children she looked after day and night would finally return the favour once she was on her own death bed, but she never asked her friend what he thought of his own future. She thought back to what Dumbledore had said: that he wondered, in some way, if Mortimer was a man at all. It seemed silly, but after discovering the existence of magic and turning her life upside down, it wasn't hard to believe. However, if her companion admitted that in saving Tom he saw some kind of purpose- some kind of closure for whatever secrets he surrounded himself with- then she was all in.
"These days," she said, "I'm ready for anything."
Mortimer nodded in reply, immensely grateful. He turned more nervously to Dumbledore, who was still turning the information over. By nature, he was cautious.
"To the depths of Hell it is then, Mr Thomas." The professor said at last, to her relief.
"Call me Mortimer, please." The raven haired man replied, and Dumbledore was about to say something when a cool, blue light erupted from the leather pouch on the table.
Brow furrowed in alarm, Mortimer didn't immediately respond. He seemed reluctant and oddly nervous to approach the crystal despite all the knowledge he had of it. Like an unwelcome telephone call, he glanced up at the pair of them in hesitation and they both indicated that he would have to answer it.
"It wants to show us something." He said at last, finally reaching across the table and letting the glowing crystal fall deftly from its pouch. Martha found her gaze drawn instinctively to it, not to admire its sheen and strange inner light, but to look beyond.
As if viewing the heart of the earth itself her head pounded with the crystal clear image of a vast cavern filled with great shards of clear, mineral windows. It was different to the feeling of magic coursing through her, and though her gaze was locked her lips could be forced to move.
"Are you seeing... what I'm seeing?" She managed to choke out.
"What does it mean?" Dumbledore echoed, confirming.
Mortimer placed a gentle hand on her arm as he swept the crystal back into the bag and she was released from its hold once more.
"It means," he said, looking between the three of them with a deep breath, "that the crystal of Nehatid wants to go home."
Martha POV! Super fun to do, I've been invested in the idea of this trio for a while now. Dumbledore has definitely been the hardest character to write, Tom the second. He's younger in this fic than in the HP books, and I think there's a kind of darkness in him, but that's just my feeling and I'm not totally sure what I make of him.
Another note to say that I started uploading this story to A03 (find me under the same name) at the suggestion of a reviewer. Have also begun editing older chapters- only for spelling and fluency, nothing major.
Back to Tom next chapter, but some interesting stuff for these three, too!