The tendrils of doubt had slowly creeped into her mind insinuating its devious way through her carefully maintained facade of confidence and security. Hermione had rarely failed and when she did she had always been able to turn failure around by throwing herself wholeheartedly into the endeavour succeeding through hard work and persistence. Unfortunately, those two traits were of no effect now. The marks of her failure were apparent in her clenched fists and tear-stained face.
You need to believe in your heart more than in your mind.
Magic is a raw, primitive sense that must be felt and experienced.
Trust in the sensations you feel and the magic will flow.
Strength comes from knowing your weaknesses.
You will not know your limits until you loosen control.
Calliandra and Genevieve's words repeated over and over in her mind as she stared hard at the small mirror. She had started her training in the Old Ways today Christmas Eve. Calliandra and Mrs. Longbottom had spent three hours with her explaining all that her training would entail. Tonight she had her first exercise. She was to practice drawing on the magical energies around her and learn the sensations her body felt. Her aura would reflect the draw and the level of control she was exerting. By sustaining and controlling the draw or pull, one could accomplish magical tasks far more complex than those done with a wand. With a strong will, control could be executed with pinpoint accuracy. Hermione looked into the mirror. She could see her aura but it was indistinct. It was nothing like Calliandra's vivid aura when she had shown her the steps earlier. Hermione had the will but her faith was weak. Her need to maintain control was too great to give free reign to open trust and feeling.
A witch or wizard raised by magical parents never questioned the state of magic. It was simply there, everywhere, all the time. It never came to their minds to doubt its very existence. But Hermione was muggle born. Such blind acceptance was not her due. Even when she had received her Hogwarts letter on her eleventh birthday, she did not believe. It took a visit from Dumbledore to make her and her parents understand what being a witch truly meant. Even after so many years at Hogwarts, in her heart of hearts she had doubted she belonged in the wizarding world. To resolve her doubts, she had pursued her studies with near pychotic zeal equating achievement with acceptance and equality. Even so the slights and insults still stung. She was muggle born and that was the one thing she could do nothing about.
The Tradition coming into her life changed all that. Her very heritage was acknowledged and even coveted. She was made welcome and accepted. She had no doubts whatsoever that she belonged with them and they to her. Now all she desired to do was make her contribution and do what was expected of her. The task was proving to be a challenge that cleverness and persistence alone could not conquer.
It had been two frustrating, tiring hours of practice with little result. She stood up and looked outside her window. The moon was high and bright. Two hours was the limit. Her teachers would know if she exceeded it. As she prepared to take a shower her thoughts turned inward. To her mind magic was energy existing all around to be manipulated into some useful purpose. It was nothing more than a tool which she had to learn how to wield and use properly through charms, spells, hexes and the like. But she was learning that magic at its purest was more than a tool. To be used to its fullest extent the wielder had to have faith and trust in the spirit of magic not just its physical manifestations. One had to trust. One had to let go. One had to believe.
I know what it means to do magic. But do I believe IN magic? Do I know what it means to BE magical? Her glance fell on the worn leather book on her nightstand. The professor believes in me. Of all people he believes in me. I wish I could believe in myself.
Nicholas Flamel gazed out the tall window in the headmaster's office to the darkened forest beyond. His hands clasped behind him. "I have seen many things in my long life - heroic deeds done by heroic men, moments of pure thought and wisdom in the midst of chaos and heartwrenching kindness in the face of malice. Good and bad, pure and evil. I have seen them in all their multitudes. But tonight I have done the hardest thing I have ever done. I told a deliberate lie in order to protect one friend and deceive another."
"Thank you, Nicholas." Albus Dumbledore looked at his mentor and friend with shame and regret in his eyes. "It was not my place to ask but thank you."
"We have truly come to a strange pass when I am forced to lie to Filius about your physical condition. When will you reveal the truth?"
"Hopefully I never have to."
Nicholas turned around to face him. "Albus, you chide Severus for keeping secrets but you are a past master at it."
"What would you have me reveal to them? That the weariness in my heart threatens to engulf me every day? That I am weaker than I let on? That I know I will not be able to withstand a prolonged battle with Tom past a certain stage? That the whole point of the creation of the companions was to replace my ebbing strength? That the Blessing's weakening is tied to my own deterioration?" Albus leaned back into his chair. All his defenses were down during this most honest of conversations. "I lie to give them hope. I force others to lie to maintain the illusion of that hope. I can give them little else. I can do even less."
"You must tell Filius and Cera. By not telling them you devalue their worth and disregard their strengths."
"No. I cannot. I will not. There are enough who know the truth - Minerva, Flavius, Poppy, Severus and you."
Flamel looked steadily at his former student. "Why will you not tell them?"
"What would they think if they knew how handicapped I was? They will stand and fight and die by my side. They will not run as they must. Others may fall with me but not them. They and whatever is left of the Tradition will hide Harry and the other children."
"So you are actually taking the advise of the Tradition elders now? That IS surprising."
"Even this old dog must learn new tricks. I was foolish to think that I could protect anyone by myself. James and Lily would still be alive today if I had allowed the Tradition to help in their protection as Severus pleaded with me to do. I will not make that mistake again."
"The Tradition has kept our ways secure and secret for generations. They have resources I can only guess at." Nicholas looked pensive. "It amazes me that they have kept their existence a secret for so long yet have forged alliances that have lasted hundreds of years."
"Dedication and discretion bred into every generation I suspect. I pray that Tom never finds out about them."
"I would think that Riddle would think twice about such a confrontation. His past pattern is attacking the weakest members around the strongest until he can overcome the strongest through deceit or by sheer force of numbers."
"Oh, I am secure in the knowledge that Riddle would have little chance of overcoming the Tradition's combined allies. However, the Tradition is vulnerable right now. Too few in their younger ranks to succeed their elders. The last war decimated their core families."
"Hence their increased security and secrecy. Taken a look at Ollivanders lately, Albus? Flavius has employed wards I have never seen before. A sand flea encroaching on Longbottom property would set off all the alarms while assaulting Castel de Remeis would be suicidal."
"I believe those new wards are the handiwork of young Hugh." Albus laughed softly. "The creativity of the young is astounding."
"One forgets how young they are and how much time they need to grow older." Nicholas mused. "They are the real hope."
The old couple lay in bed spooned against each other. They talked in unhurried low tones. The man adjusted the worn duvet tucking it securely around them. The woman wiped a tear from her eye as she flipped through the album. Arthur and Molly Weasley carried out the same ritual every Christmas Eve. Every year they cried tears of joy at all they had been blessed with. And every year they wished the same wish - for their family to make it through another year.
"Look at Ron there. Hard to believe he's almost as tall as you now, Arthur."
"Do you think he'll need new robes?"
"No, I'll just mend one of Percy's old ones. But he'll need new shoes as shiny as his new prefect's badge." Molly closed the album.
"I feel so proud of them all, Molly. I can't express it well. I just hope that they know how I feel. Every day at work is worth it because of them."
"Oh, Arthur. I'm sure they know."
"Well, another Christmas past." Arthur gave his wife a sweet kiss. He noticed the frown on her face. "What's on your mind?"
"I just worry about what will happen with you-know-who." Molly clasped her husband's familiar hand.
"Now, don't fret so, Molly. That's Dumbledore's job." He took the album from her hands and put it on the nightstand. "We're better prepared this time. Besides tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts is it?"
"You're right, Arthur. I'm being a fusspot for nothing." Molly replied. "I never thought we would have four plus a professor at Hogwarts next term! We've done well, Mr. Weasley."
"Yes, we have, Mrs. Weasley." Arthur extinguished the light. "We have indeed."
Author's Note: A new chapter at last. The Wishbringer planning and story took a lot out of me and I had to take a break from this story for a while. I will do my best to have updates more frequently. I have no intention of abandoning this piece.
Readers and reviewers thank you for your patience and I hope you continue to enjoy.
mavidian