The crypt was easily ten times as large inside as it looked from the outside. A passage on one side indicated that there was even more. Bright chandeliers hung from an impossibly high ceiling. The walls were intricately carved. On closer inspection, it turned out to be lists and lists of names -- Beth thought of the Vietnam war memorial back in Washington D.C., although these walls were beige instead of black. Each set of names was preceded by a date; the year of induction, Beth guessed, since they mostly came in pairs. There was a slot by each name; in some of them, rings rested.
Jules Rothbard stood at the front of the room, his merry face now grave. When everyone was inside and quiet, he began to speak.
"Baltus Gatherum was a friend, classmate and colleague. Some of us remember him back in his first days at Hogwarts -- he was a brilliant chess-player and no good at all on a broomstick. As he aged he rose to the top of the class; graduated, to the great relief of the gamekeeper Ogg, with an emphasis in Magical Creatures; and went on to work with the Ministry of Magic. He spent time in law enforcement, hunting down poachers ... served as a consultant on several books, which are still widely used ... became a devoted husband and father of seven. He has lived in America, Italy and Morocco, in addition to this his home country.
"As a member, he did his duty. His achievements reflected glory on the Slytherin house throughout his life. He resisted the Dark Lord many years ago, though he lost three children in those times. While at Hogwarts he left behind detailed descriptions of some of the many secret passageways in the castle, which are still used by the student chapter.
"Baltus was a success, and we are here to honor his memory." Rothbard felt around in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "He wore this ring well. Now we commit it to history."
He reached over and slid the ring into the slot beside Gatherum's name. Beth realized that some of the older members were crying. So that was what the rings in the slots meant -- the owners were no longer alive to wear them.
Several minutes of silence passed before Rothbard spoke up again. "We will be gathering in the anteroom in fifteen minutes. Until then, please stay here." He left via the passage at the right.
There was nothing to do but look around at the walls. Some of the older members stood in huddles, presumably reminiscing about the deceased, but the younger set spread out along the walls to read the long lines of names. Riggs and Richard went straight to the name of Tom Riddle, under the heading "1940", and stood together gazing up almost in reverence.
Evan stood alone, looking impassively at the wall, hands behind his back. Beth came up beside him curiously.
He acknowledged her with a brief flick of his head. "I was named after my father's best friend," he said, almost lazily, and gestured to a place on the wall. It read:
Evan Rosier
Benjamin Wilkes
Both names had rings in the slots beside them. "Oh," Beth said, growing red, "I didn't realize, I'm sorry --"
"It's all right," said Evan brusquely, and his face closed off.
Not knowing what else to say, Beth backed away. Melissa was nearby, so she joined her hastily. By the irritated look on her face, she should have known better.
"Look at how many of these names are men!" Melissa fumed, staring up at one long lists of engravings. "There was only one woman in the original group. Then one after her ... and three years until the next! It's outrageous!"
"Jolly right," a resolute woman beside her spoke up stoutly. "The Society owes so much to women, but there have been so few of us. Only thrice has a woman served as president in the student chapter, and it was twenty years before even that."
"Who was that?" asked Melissa, eyes shining.
The woman straightened further. "That was I. Dorothea Fox."
Sensing that Melissa had just met her new idol, Beth moved away to let them talk. She wandered along the walls, gazing at the names. Some of them were familiar, some outlandish ... and every one held secrets and stories, she realized. Daedalus would have his name carved here, but no one would know that he was an Animagus. How many others were Animagi as well? How many were past presidents? How many, like her, were part Muggle?
At least one.
Beth went farther down the wall, calculating in her head. She'd joined the organization in 1991 -- subtract twelve from that -- and it made --
1978.
The numbers stood out boldly in the wall. There were two names underneath it; neither name had a ring resting beside it. The first, Jefferson Raffia, was wholly unfamiliar. But the second ...
Her hand shaking, she reached out and laid a finger over the name of Lycaeon Parson.
It felt like an explosion had gone off in her head. She was speeding through space, her mind was reeling, spinning, searching --
Suddenly all was still.
Like a vision, Beth saw a stone wall with bars over a tiny window. It was nighttime outside. Inside -- it was a depraved stone square, with little more than a thin cot and a cold, bare floor.
Something on the cot stirred, and Beth realized that someone lay there. It rolled over. It was a man, long and lanky, with bushy blonde hair past the shoulder and a large hawk nose protruding from a gaunt, battered face. His eyes were half-lidded, and he was muttering to himself. The prominent chin, the dark eyebrows, were so familiar --
It was her brother.
Beth jerked with a start. The image vanished from her mind and she was left staring at the wall of names. Her hand had fallen away from the inscription. Anxiously, she thrust her hand back out and planted a finger over the name.
Again she soared through consciousness. She was again in the cell, watching the scene as if it were a movie. Lycaeon huddled on his cot, still muttering under his breath. She could see his lips move, but there was no sound -- not the crashing of waves, not the cry of sea birds, not even his ragged breathing. She stared, transfixed, at the figure of her brother. This was what he had become ... twelve years in Azkaban had hollowed him out, run him dry. His fevered eyes looked like they had never seen a happy day. His cheeks were thin, thinner than they were in the old photographs. By the moonlight she could see that his blonde hair was streaked with gray, and stubble rose along his jutting chin. The Parson profile, she thought absurdly.
Suddenly Lycaeon lurched to his feet. He stumbled to the window, almost as stiff as their aged father, and gazed out from between the bars. Beth held her breath. Then he turned away and, astoundingly, bent down to the floor and began clawing away where it met with one wall.
Painstakingly, he pried out a single brick and reached into the gap that it left. He pulled out a handful of thin slips of paper, chose one randomly, and thrust the others back before shoving the brick into place. Then he sat on his cot, bending close to the paper, to read it in the moonlight.
Beth willed the vision to focus in on the little slip of paper. She couldn't make out the words; but she knew the script well enough. It was signed, "Dad".
"Beth?"
The sound of a voice broke up the vision in her head. She was in the vault again. She ran her hands over her face. Bruce was beside her, looking worried.
"Are you all right? You were pretty spaced out."
"I'm fine," she said, too hastily.
Bruce followed her gaze to the name on the wall. "Is that your brother?"
Dry-mouthed, Beth nodded.
He gave her a skeptical look, but Bruce was nothing if not discreet. "Come on, it's time to eat."
"Eat?"
"They're having a feast. Honor the dead. You must have been really spaced out." He looked concerned again. Beth gave a shaky laugh.
"Yeah, guess so."
She followed him into the crowd and through the passage. After a few feet, they came out into another room, just as large as the first.
The room to the right of the crypt was stone, and brightly lit with sconces on the walls and a pair of gorgeous chandeliers. A long table was set for dozens of people; it would obviously accommodate all of the members, students and alumni. "All this is inside that squidgy building," Bruce wondered, gazing around at the marble columns.
"Like it?" asked a ruddy, thickset man beside them. "I worked on it. Took the five of us a whole year."
"It must have been a beast to hide," Beth said politely. "When you were building it, I mean."
The ruddy man laughed heartily. "Not at all," he chortled. "We built it the Muggle way -- paid for the plot fair and legal. Masonry's an old and noble trade. It's enchanting the whole thing that took so much time."
"Attention please!" It was Rothbard, calling from the front of the room. "You'll find your names by your seats. Not too much ruckus now!" Of course, ruckus was exactly what ensued as the whole membership tried to seek out their assigned places. Several of the older members used basic locating spells; at least two of them placed their wands in their open palms and let them spin around until they pointed at the right spots. They hadn't done anything like that in Charms yet, so Beth had to walk up and down the room until she found her place: sandwiched between "David Gudgeon" and "Artaxerxes Manning".
She sat down and waited for everyone else to filter in. None of the student members was less than five seats away; she'd be on her own, surrounded by adults. Beth shuddered.
"Hi, I guess we're dinner partners."
She looked up. A handsome, clean-shaven man in his early forties was smiling down at her. His face was tanned, his hair brown and closely cropped. There was a long, very noticeable scar crossing his left eye. He dropped into the seat beside her and looked over at her name tag.
"Hmm, Elizabeth, is it? I'm Dave -- Davey, if Rothbard has his way, but Dave's fine with me."
"I'm Beth," she said, shaking his hand.
"It's a pleasure," he replied, eyes twinkling. He looked up. "And what do you know! It's old Artie."
A thin man with a scraggly rat's moustache sat on Beth's other side. "Artie, indeed," he said, in a narrow sort of voice. "You've never called me my proper name, you know, David."
David Gudgeon shrugged. "You look like an Artie to me."
"And you," said the scrawny man, his moustache twitching, "look like as much as a rogue as ever."
"Oh no," avowed Dave. "I'm worse."
There was a clinking sound from the front of the room. Jules Rothbard stood there, tapping his spoon on his glass for attention. Richard was seated next to him, looking downright thrilled to be there. Once the room was silent, Rothbard gave his wand a few quick flicks.
"Omniphera paribus; conjorus vino!"
"I thought it was ceteris paribus," Beth whispered, half to herself.
"That's one version," Dave whispered back. "This one covers everyone within sight. Handy for gatherings and such."
Rothbard raised his goblet, and everyone else went along with his lead. Beth found that her glass had filled up by itself. He exclaimed: "A toast -- to Baltus Gatherum!"
"Baltus Gatherum!" the throng repeated. Beth joined in with them, and took a sip.
Rothbard sat back down, but Richard, perhaps carried away by the spirit of the moment, leapt to his feet. "To the glory of the snake," he cried, raising his glass, "and to the founder, Tom Riddle!"
Beth had never seen a toast before that night, but surely this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Many of the younger members raised their glasses with Richard -- herself included -- but just as many others fell into a troubling silence and did not follow. A few of the oldest inclined their goblets only slightly. After several awkward seconds, Richard sat back down.
Food magically appeared along the length of the table, just as the wine had before. Beth helped herself to several slices of succulent roast beef and a very fluffy dinner roll. No matter what else they did, apparently the S.S.A knew how to set out a good meal.
"Well my heavens, you're the famous Parson girl, aren't you?" Dave laughed out loud suddenly, halfway through buttering his dinner roll.
Beth gave him a dubious look. "Hardly famous."
"Of course, how could I have missed it? Luke Parson -- Lycaeon -- he was inducted in my sixth year! He talked about you all the time, went on about his blonde baby sister." Beth blushed. "I was on the Quidditch team with him. Incredible Keeper." He frowned suddenly. "I couldn't believe when I heard he'd turned Death Eater."
"Me neither," said Beth hollowly.
"Of course," interrupted scrawny Artaxerxes, leaning over to them, "it's an all too familiar story. We lost many of our own to the Dark Lord's following, both as victim and as criminal. For instance, your little dark-haired friend -- the Wilkes boy -- his father was a Death Eater who chose to be killed rather than captured. Those years were perhaps the Society's darkest time."
"So that's why there aren't a hundred and twenty-four of us here," Beth guessed.
Dave nodded grimly. "Can't come if you're dead or in Azkaban."
There was a pause as all three of them fell into silence.
Beth took the chance to look up and down the table. Melissa was half a length away, sitting beside Dorothea Fox with a look of adoration on her face. Bruce was nestled between a fat, cheerful hausfrau and a man that looked to be on the losing side of seventy. Up at the front, Richard and Rothbard were chattering heartily; Riggs was nearby, deep in conversation with a grizzled, bespectacled man.
"They've put the officers at the front, then?" Beth guessed, nudging Artaxerxes.
The skinny man with the moustache looked up from his mashed potatoes. "Oh yes. Past student presidents at the fore. Jules Rothbard's the oldest of them -- that's how the association President gets the job, you know. Oldest of the student presidents. Your young friend up there is fifth or sixth in line."
Beth grinned. "Don't tell him that. If Richard found out, he'd probably assassinate everyone before him."
Artaxerxes snorted into his roast beef. "Wouldn't be the first."
Beth's smile faded, and she felt a sudden chill.
"Same with the secretaries," Dave added quickly, his mouth full of roast beef. "That kid on the right, looks like he's got a stick up his -- well, stiff-looking chap, he'd be yours, right?"
"Uh-huh." Beth contained her laughter. "That's Riggs."
"He's sitting beside Ebenezer Nott. That fellow's been secretary since back in the Riddle days. I've been to plenty of these funerals, and he always sits at the same place, right there at the corner, five down from Rothbard. Puts down rogue creatures for the Ministry. He's a bit of an odd duck, but he's brilliant. Handles a Killing Curse like it was a Cheering Charm."
"You're one to speak of brilliance." Artaxerxes let out a high-pitched laugh that was so thin it made him sound nervous. "Though I think I'd give you more points for nerve than brains. David Gudgeon mapped out the Forbidden Forest in his five years in the student chapter," he told Beth, moustache twitching. "He almost got himself killed any number of times."
Dave shrugged. "Someone had to do it. Plus, I got to carry away this cool scar." He tapped the gash over his left eye. "Kicked in the head by a centaur, fifth year. 'Course, I had to let out the story that I got it while playing chicken with the Whomping Willow. " He laughed. "Ended the game at Hogwarts forever, or so I'm told."
"Nobody tries to get near the Weeping Willow now," Beth confirmed. "Although -- earlier this year Harry Potter and one of his friends drove a flying car into it. Smashed it clear to heaven."
Dave Gudgeon was suitably impressed.
The meal was good; so was the company. Dave and Artaxerxes had plenty of stories about their days at Hogwarts, and plenty of comments about the accuracy of each others' tales; for the most part, Beth was content to sit and listen to them chatter about days gone by. At one point they asked her which professors were still teaching at Hogwarts; when she mentioned Lockhart, Dave practically lit up.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, of course! My mother's half in love with him -- has all his books. She must write him twice a month. I'd better not tell her he's there, she'd try to re-enroll herself."
Beth was enjoying herself so much that she was surprised when Richard came over and nudged her shoulder.
"It's a quarter to one," he said. "We're leaving in a few minutes. Gather round the Portkey in the other room by then."
Beth bid a disappointed farewell to her two dinner companions.
"Keep in touch," Dave Gudgeon urged her. "Send an owl any time."
"Likewise," said Artxerxes thinly.
Reluctantly, Beth left them and joined her classmates in the other room. They gathered gradually; Riggs came in last, while Evan Wilkes appeared to have been there for hours, looking up at the name of his father.
Madame Pince was not with them. "The way she carried on, you'd think she'd at least come back with us," Bruce said.
"She's visiting," said Richard. "She won't be home for a few hours. All right, one minute, gather round and make sure you've got a grip on the mug!"
As before, they circled around the beer stein on the ground and waited. The familiar jerking force came, pulling Beth and the rest of them off their feet and whirling them through undefined space until they landed in a heap in the Vase Room.
It took a while to untangle themselves. Finally Richard spoke. "Well! Hope you all had a good time!"
There was an enthusiastic clamor as everyone tried to share what they'd learned and heard that evening.
"That's the kind of shindig I want when I buy the farm," said Uther cheerfully.
"Good, because that's exactly what you're going to get," said Richard. "How was your dinner company?"
"Wonderful!" Melissa's eyes were shining. "I got to see my Uncle Ollivander, and I haven't seen him since the summer. And Dorothea Fox -- she's amazing." She said the name with reverence.
Richard clapped his hands. "Good, good, that's exactly what I wanted to hear! A chance to make new contacts, get in with some of the greatest wizards of our time -- that's what the Society's all about, isn't it? Advancing the house through fraternity and secrets!"
"We've had some of both," said Riggs.
"You can never get too much of either," said Richard fervently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Author's Note] A coupla points for my four or five faithful readers. Ani -- The Dark is Rising has its own category under Books on FF.net. It's a five-book sequence, starting with Over Sea, Under Stone, and I HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommend it to EVERYONE. It's the best fantasy series I've ever read. Deeply stirring, entrancing imagery ... Kame - Good question, who's the star, Beth or the SSA? You can probably tell by the first book that it's hard to have /any/ hero at all, without disrupting the Canon. I love Beth, but I'd say she's more of a vehicle for telling a good story than an actual "star" ... so the answer is, the Society. UnrepentantReader and Sophie W. -- thanks, and updates are coming at the rate of 2 per day as long as I can keep it up. Kocchi -- come back! We miss you!