Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters and elements from the world of Harry Potter, created and trademarked by JK Rowling. I do not claim ownership over any Harry Potter characters or the Harry Potter world. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is not claiming to be any part of the Harry Potter canon. Thank you to JK Rowling for letting me play with the characters and not suing me for writing them into a new situation.
Light of the Moon
Chapter 17
Hermione held the Heart of Ophidia, twisting it in the morning sunlight that slanted in through the windows. It was cool in her hand, even in the warmth of the light.
She shook the flame-shaped object again, watching the pebbles bounce around before settling down into a pattern on the bottom. She thought they glittered metallically, a precious mineral of some sort.
She'd been shaking and observing the pebbles in the Heart for the better part of an hour, and so far, she didn't see any pattern she recognized, nothing repeated in such a way as to be obvious. But she felt a tingling in her fingertips that told her there was something significant about the fact that the little rounded rocks always felt like they were set down deliberately. Her intuition was rarely wrong when it was signaling this strong.
Last night she'd dreamt of a woman singing. It was high and faint, beautiful and calming. Just the sound of it made her feel powerful and whole, and she'd woken up energized and excited.
The Great Lady, Ser Slughorn had called Ophidia. It wasn't uncommon for countries to be referred to as women, often a motherly archetype. In a country as mystical as this one however, it was likely more than just legend and folklore, or ancient custom. There may very well be a sentience, or a force that drove Ophidia, as Slughorn had suggested.
She found it fascinating to think about, and shook the object again, watching the water funnel with air bubbles and then go crystal clear. There was something so calming about it.
Last night she'd been upset. She'd been processing a lot of distressing new information, and had an emotional confrontation with her fiancé. But this morning she felt incredibly serene, like those pebbles under the water.
She was interrupted from her musings by Pheme announcing Astoria and Luna for lunch.
The first thing her friends did as they settled in, was ask about the dinner with Ser Slughorn.
"I've already heard several accounts about how Ser Black was quite taken with you," Astoria announced. "He appears to have been impressed by your level-headedness. Of course, most of the things I've heard have had the words 'for a Muggle-born' added on to the end." Astoria rolled her eyes, conveying what she thought of that sentiment.
"Well, I've heard quite a different rumor," Luna said, in her sing-song voice. "I heard a rumor of the Queen running through the halls in her nightdress, holding on to the hand of the King."
"No!" Astoria gasped in disbelief. She swiveled, looking from Luna to Hermione and bounced in her chair. "Start with that, start with that!"
Hermione colored at Astoria's enthusiasm. The woman was clearly expecting a more salacious story than she had to tell. Although, considering what the King had revealed about his previous marriage, perhaps Astoria was correct in expecting an exciting tale.
Quickly, Hermione resolved not to mention anything about the reason that the King had come to see her. She cast a sidelong glance at Pheme, who had the slightest of a guilty look on her face, and resolved to talk to her later to remind her not to say anything about the questions she'd asked or their late-night jaunt to view the Marvolo family tree. It was the King's secret, and obviously he had gone to great lengths to keep it very private. She was not going to spread the news around like casual gossip, even though a part of her wished to have someone else to talk to about how it made her feel.
Last night, she might have made a different choice, maybe even felt tempted to wake her friends to tell them this latest development. But today, after a night of calming dreams, she found herself inclined to keep the information just between herself and the King.
"There's very little to tell," she hedged, trying to think of a good reason why they would have been out together so late at night. "And we most certainly were not running. Strolling, perhaps, in my night robe that is as fancy as any ballroom dress I've ever owned. He was simply walking me back to my room."
"Where were you going? Were you drunk?" Astoria asked, a fleeting concern in her eyes that their future queen was unable to hold her liquor.
"No, of course not," Hermione protested. "And even if I was, I'm much more likely to fall asleep on the couch than to run around the castle wreaking mayhem."
"Well," Astoria said, reasonably, "it's just that I've heard some things about Gryffindors."
Hermione looked at Luna, who shook her head and protested, "Not from me!"
Then Luna shrugged. "Gryffindor parties can't hold a candle to Ravenclaw parties, anyway. So predictable and boring. If it was a Ravenclaw party, you'd be running through the hall naked, blindfolded, and reciting Arithmancy formulas while everyone else changed the configuration of the walls."
Not knowing if she should be insulted or relieved that Gryffindor parties were boring and predictable, Hermione emphasized, "But I wasn't drunk. I'd barely even had any alcohol, I was so busy talking with all the guests."
"Right," Astoria said, "so what's this about wreaking mayhem?"
"Not a thing. I just went to look at the Riddle family tree. Talking with Ser Slughorn about the history of the Marvolo family made me curious to look at it—to—to see where my place on it would be." That was all mostly the truth, anyway.
Astoria and Luna looked at each other as if deciding whether or not to believe her.
It had also been her first kiss with Tom, but she decided against telling them something so private. She wanted to keep it to herself for just a little longer.
She decided to distract them with a topic change. "Ser Slughorn was really quite informative. Among other things, including the Riddle family tree mural, he was telling me about the tattoo on his arm." She looked at Astoria cautiously. "I was hoping I'd be able to ask you some questions about the Mark today."
"The Mark?" Astoria asked, her hand automatically straying to where Hermione assumed her own tattoo was.
"What mark?" Luna asked, looking from one to the other.
In answer, and with no reluctance, Astoria rolled up her sleeve, revealing the black lines of the serpent and the skull. "The Mark of Ophidia," she said with pride, turning her forearm so they could both clearly see the details.
"Apparently," Hermione told her former schoolmate, "it's common for Ophidians to get the Mark tattooed on their arms during their citizenship confirmations."
"Oh, yes," Astoria said, excitedly. "The age of 11 is such a milestone. Receiving our wand confirms us as witches and wizards, and receiving the Mark on our arm confirms us as children of Ophidia. Then, of course, we start school." She traced the lines of the snake with the same reverence Hermione had observed that Ser Slughorn had shown.
"Legend has it," Astoria continued, her voice dreamy, "that in a time of dire need, Ophidia will call all of her children to her. Wherever they may be, the Mark of their loyalty, this sign of their devotion, will bring them home. To protect and to preserve. For glory, for honor, for power." She slid her sleeve back down over the tattoo. "I have no idea whether it will actually work that way. History shows that none have been called by the Mark since the time of Ptolemy. It could just be a pretty story, to remind children that they have a place in society."
"You get a tattoo before you even start school?" Luna questioned, frowning. "And everyone gets it? What if someone didn't want to get the tattoo."
Astoria frowned, slightly insulted. "Why would anyone not want to take the Mark?"
"Aesthetic reasons," Luna said, acerbically, causing Astoria to laugh.
"Well," the Ophidian witch said, her expression clear again, "it's not a requirement, anyway. I've seen plenty of foreigners who make their home here in Ophidia, and they don't take the Mark."
"How would you know?" Hermione interrupted. "Most Ophidians wear long sleeves and gloves. Can you tell when someone doesn't have the Mark?"
Astoria had to pause to consider that. "I suppose I can. I've never really thought about it. I always know when I'm with someone who hasn't taken the Mark, but I've never asked them to confirm it for me, so I suppose I could be wrong." She shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Hermione sighed. "Well, as a foreigner and a Muggle-born, I suppose I'd like to know whether taking the Mark is a significant facet of Ophidian culture, and whether having the tattoo—or not having it—is going to affect the respect that Ophidians have for me and whatever policies I may enact."
Astoria raised her finger to make a point. "Actually, I do know for sure of one person who never took the Mark. The Queen's Consort, Tom Riddle. He was from Brittania, and though he married Queen Merope, there isn't any evidence that he was expected to take the Mark. And the portrait in the gallery often has his sleeves rolled up, so you can see that there isn't a Mark." She looked at the others. "So there's a precedent for a Consort, as a foreigner, not to be required to bear the Mark."
"Why do you not refer to Tom Riddle as the King? Why do you always call him the Consort?" Hermione asked, just realizing what had been bothering her about the term of address.
"Well,"Astoria began, before she stopped, having to rethink her words. "I guess, because the King was more of a King in name, rather than in duty. Queen Merope ruled the country, she was the Marvolo to wear the Crown. King Tom was…her husband. The Consort."
"So, am I going to be a Queen, or a Consort?" Hermione wondered aloud, suddenly feeling anxiety that she was going to live the life of a figurehead, her only purpose in life to smile at events of state and dance with ambassadors from other countries.
The idea made her sick to her stomach, but quickly, she remembered Tom's words to her—the way he talked to her as if he was expecting her to be a partner, both in marriage and in rulership.
"I suppose," Astoria said, slowly, "it depends on you. King Tom did very little in politics, and seemed content to let Queen Merope lead the country. You don't have to be the same."
"If I bore the Mark," Hermione said, "would it be easier to expect that I was going to be actively involved in the ruling of this country?"
"Yes," Astoria said, with only the slightest hesitation. "Your loyalty would be unquestionable, and no one could argue that you didn't have the best interests of Ophidia at heart at all times."
"Hermione, you're not seriously considering this, are you?" Luna protested.
"As it happens, I am," Hermione said. "If it will show the country that I take my position and responsibility to the community seriously, then I think I have to consider it."
"You are Brittanian," Luna said, softly. "You would deny your own heritage?"
There was silence while Hermione tried to put together the thoughts that had been swirling in her head ever since the dinner party the night before.
"Brittania-born," she finally said. "I do not have to deny my heritage to embrace a new life." She was reminded of Riddle's words telling her that though she was Muggle-born, she was never really a Muggle. Strangely, just as it had caused very little pain to let go of her future as a Muggle, it was almost painless to think of foregoing a future in Brittania.
Her future was here in Ophidia. She recalled the voice that had sung to her, calm and serene.
"Brittania-born," she repeated, her voice stronger. "But a Daughter of Ophidia, nonetheless."
Astoria nodded, her face serious but pleased.
Luna's expression, however, was inscrutable, and she did not respond to Hermione's assertion.
Hermione knew her friend would need a little time to adjust to the idea. She was feeling quite radical at the moment.
"How is the tattoo done?" Hermione asked. "I assume there's a spell."
"Yes," Astoria confirmed, after a sidelong glance at her friend who still seemed less than pleased at the conversation. "Twice a year, there's a ceremony. All those of age come before the Queen—well, the King now—to swear their allegiance. Those who emigrate from other countries tend to be very few, and they probably have separate ceremonies at the time they swear their allegiance. The King places his wand on your arm, and performs the Morsmordre."
"Morsmordre?" Hermione thought back to her ancient language lessons. "Death. And Biting? To bite death?"
Astoria laughed. "I suppose so. I've never thought about it. I'm sure it indicates loyalty till death, of course. The bite probably refers to a serpent's strike." She straightened her back with pride. "For someone to challenge Ophidia is to court death. A snake will strike so fast you won't even see it."
Her hand shot out like a snake to grab Hermione's arm, and she jumped.
"It only needs to bite you once," Astoria continued. "And before you've even fully comprehended what has happened, you've already crossed the Veil. Ophidia has not been to war in centuries. It has not needed to. But a serpent quietly minding its own business doesn't cease being dangerous."
"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione said, wryly. She looked down at her arm. Astoria had grabbed her right where her Mark would go, if she was going to get one.
She imagined the ugly black lines across her pale skin and grimaced.
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