New Perspective 1
THE CHOSEN
By Bellegeste
A/N: Seems some of you were fazed by the last chapter. I think canon Neville is underused. I find him a very interesting (though not romantic) character. Don't worry, this is not going to be HG/NL.
This chapter is less horticultural, although… well, you'll see.
The Borometz is mentioned in early texts, so that part and most of the references are factual. Other more magical aspects are mine, as is the pseudo-Chaucer. (It might be a bit shaky. I'm not a medieval English scholar).
Chapter 3: THE BOROMETZ
"…there growth a manner of fruite as it were gourdes,
and when it is ripe men cut it a sonder, and men fynde
therein a beaste as it were of fleshe and bone and bloud,
as it were a little lambe without wolle, and men eate the
beaste and fruite also, and sure it seemeth very strange."
Sir John Maundeville: Travels (1356)
The tiny creature lifted its even tinier nose to the breeze and sniffed. For an instant it froze on the spot, doe-eyes darting towards the gateway where Hermione and Neville crouched, transfixed. With a skittering side-step, on dancing, cloven hooves it pranced round in a tight circle and stopped again, little legs splayed and rigid, tail twitching. It looked like a ball of cotton, or a miniature lamb, the size of a kitten, totally white and completely, perfectly, adorably woolly.
"Oooh," sighed Hermione, lost for words.
Relaxing, the lamb lowered his baby-soft head and nibbled the grass. Hermione saw that it was tethered, and that its grazing was confined to a small circle.
"What is it?" She mouthed the question, frightened even to whisper for fear of startling the animal. It was, without doubt, the fluffiest, dinkiest, prettiest, cutest thing she had ever seen and - well, she wanted one. Crookshanks' feline charms were coarse by comparison.
Neville put his finger to his lips…
XXX
"A Borometz? I've never even heard of it." And that, coming from Hermione Granger, was quite an admission. First Horcruxes, now this - she was slipping.
"Don't beat yourself up about it, Hermione. They're rare, really rare, fantastically rare – some folks doubt that they even exist. This is just the most amazing, incredible thing! If people knew I'd cultivated a Borometz right through to fruition, this place would be besieged with wizards – Healers, herbologists, historians – the lot! It's just… well… it's…"
Neville sniffed and blinked and smiled, his eyes beaming happiness and achievement.
"Cultivated?"
"Oh, aye. It's a plant, didn't you know? A plant-animal, a zoophyte, whatever you want to call it. Botanically it's either a cibotium or a dicksonia - the big-wigs can't make their minds up. But it's more commonly – commonly, ha! – known as the Vegetable Lamb or, sometimes, the Tartary Lamb. You hardly ever find it listed in herbals these days."
'Mary had a little lamb'? Stop it, Hermione.
"Tartary? That bit of Eastern Europe that the Tartars overran in the 13th Century?" Geographical history may not have been Hermione's forte, but hers was better than Neville's.
"Don't ask me." Neville pushed out his lower lip and shrugged. "It's in that neck of the woods. But don't let's get hung up over names – Borometz is just the Tartar word for 'lamb', I think, or maybe 'vegetable'. Or maybe it's Syrian, or Scythian – one of the two - something like that. I forget."
"So if I stroked it," asked Hermione, "would it feel warm, or cold?" The technical classification was of less interest than its teddy-bear qualities.
"Warm, probably - wolves attack them and eat them – but I wouldn't try, if I were you. They look sweet, but they bite. So legend has it."
"Legend?"
"About four hundred years ago the Muggles had a real bee in their bonnet about the Borometz - sent expeditions all over the world to track it down. They'd read descriptions in early texts, and they wanted to see one for themselves. Well, you would, wouldn't you? I know I would. Went to China, Persia, Japan, Australia, Russia …
"Eh, but you don't want to be getting it muddled up with barametz – that Russian psychoactive snake oil stuff. That's extracted from the fresh leaves of an Asian evergreen. No similarity at all. I suppose the oil does give off a cloud of thick, white smoke when you heat it, but that's about where the resemblance ends." Having launched off along a lateral branch of thought, Neville found himself dangling in mid-air…
"What were I saying? Oh, yes, there were all these stories in ancient Chinese texts, and they must have got passed on to the Greek scientist people… and then there are accounts by medieval Knights and monks, about the Tartary Lamb… oh, and the French have got their own Frenchified name for it (typical, eh? They would…) - but they never found a live one. All they could come up with was some fern root that the Chinese street vendors carved into crummy animal shapes and flogged to tourists. There was some big, botanical hoo-hah, and the whole thing was denounced as a fraud – or, at least, as unsubstantiated."
It wouldn't have been the first time that accidental sightings of a magical creature had given impetus to Muggle mythology. Think about mermaids. Unicorns. Dragons. Centaurs.
"The real mystery is where the seeds come from in the first place," Neville went on. "I've been looking it up in my gran's books - see, you're not the only one! – and there are no recorded examples of propagating a Borometz from collected seed samples. But guess what? Wizard lore states that the seeds are deposited by phoenixes – in their droppings, you know. But they don't germinate unless the phoenix sings."
"No wonder they're rare," Hermione breathed. When had anybody last seen Fawkes? Not since Dumbledore's death. "Shouldn't we be notifying the Ministry? Get it officially on record? There must be a protocol for events like this. I could ask Ron's dad."
"What? And have the place crawling with reporters and photographers? Do you really think Narcissa'd go for that? If I'd wanted publicity I'd have written to Luna - the Quibbler would have a field day. No, it won't be here long; let it live in peace…
"You see, the seed develops into a large fruit rather like a melon," explained Neville, sounding more and more like an extract from Magical Herbs and Fungi. "It is carried on a stalk about two feet above the ground. When the fruit ripens it splits open – and there's the lamb, all curled up inside."
"But why does it have to be tied up? Wouldn't it be nice to let it run about?" asked Hermione. "Lambs are frisky things; wouldn't it like to frolic?"
"That's not a leash, Hermione." Neville's face was suddenly deadpan. "That's its stem. It's attached to its navel, like an umbilicus. If you cut it, it dies. The lamb grazes the grass within its reach, and when that's finished, it - um - I'm afraid it dies anyway."
"Oh, no!"
"Aye. Very sad. That's why this is so special, so precious - they only live a few days."
"And then…?"
"The book says it's very pleasant oven-roasted with rosemary, garlic and a sprig of mint!"
Hermione's acid glance pickled him.
"That's not even slightly funny. You wouldn't!" Hermione had occasionally flirted with vegetarianism, but now she found herself questioning whether that option was ethically acceptable either. Neville shook his head.
"Nay. I couldn't. But it would be right criminal of me not to – er – use it, when the time comes… The flesh is recommended in the book as a decoction for 'wardynge off moiste and melancholie humours' - a kind of early anti-depressant by the sound of it, as well as being nutritious. Doesn't sound like it's stunningly magical."
"What is this book?" Hermione wanted to know, ready to add it to her mental bibliography.
"It's taken from a manuscript from some medieval monk chap, Friar Odour-something – oh, bummit, I've forgotten his name now. Most of the magical sources are Chinese, and the translations are rubbish. You'd think wizards'd make a better job of it. It's the fleece that has the properties. I knew you'd ask, so I copied this bit out - here."
Fishing a scrap of paper out of his back pocket, he handed it to Hermione. She recognised the same, painstaking script that he had used on the envelope of her letter.
'Whan that oure worlde with discorde may be rente,
Planetes y-turn'd from hir dailye intente,
And swich stryfe as disturbeth man or beeste
- from righteous Lordes to the very leeste –
And men mak woful lamentacioun,
The lamb is borne for oure Salvatioun.
Lo! Soules y-smerte in darknesse and wanhope(1)
Behold, the Lagneau(2) heertes-ease brings, and Hope.'
Hermione studied the ancient verse, reading it over several times, a frown of concentration crimping her brows.
"Are you positive this is about the Borometz? It sounds biblical to me – the bit about 'salvation'. The guy was a monk though, so I suppose that figures. Christianity did tend to rather hijack lamb imagery. Was he a Muggle, did you say? Must have been, if he was a monk - sorry Neville, silly question. Have you got any corroborative sources - cross-references, any kind of validation?"
"Oh, there are loads of descriptions of the lamb itself, but not many of them talk about the magical powers. It's like they're all so bowled over by how cute it is, they never quite get beyond that. Sort of 'beauty is its own reward' idea. Some of them talk about it bringing the gift of prophetic divination, and others go on about sucking the bones while you're casting spells – can't see how you're going to pronounce the words if your mouth's crammed full of bones… Even the magical sources are vague - they refer to 'benefits' and 'comfort' and 'fulfilling a need' but they're not very specific."
"Oh, come on, Neville. You make it sound like a cup of tea or a hot-water-bottle. What is it - a portable, woolly 'Room of Requirement'?"
Hermione couldn't help thinking that Neville hadn't done his research very thoroughly. He dropped his head, staring down at his feet; up until that moment he'd been feeling proud of his efforts.
"There is another line, later on, where Friar Thingy talks about the 'majyk flees' and 'peace'. I didn't copy it all out because he went off at a huge tangent - half a page describing something totally unrelated and then he said, 'I'm not going to mention all that stuff'. Can you imagine trying that on with Snape - four inches on the interaction of the volatile oils in Lavender and Motherwort, and then write 'but my essay's really about the antiseptic alkaloids in Woundwort'? Or with Slughorn? Would he even notice though – Ron says the Slug Club automatically get Os, and everybody else gets an A. Would have been fine by me - better than straight Ds…"
That was the second time Neville had made an unprompted allusion to Snape. The man had been figuring prominently in all their thoughts recently - but was there any particular reason why memories of the Potions master (Defence Against the Dark Arts master, Hermione corrected herself. Even after a year with Slughorn, it was still Snape whom she associated primarily with Potions) should be preoccupying Neville's subconscious?
They were sitting on a wooden garden bench beneath an arching rose pergola, entwined with sweet briar, climbing dog rose and rugosa, the fragrance of the loose-petalled flowers so potent it smelled artificial. In other circumstances it might have been considered romantic. But the two friends were too engrossed to think about anything or anyone except the Borometz.
"Legend also has it," said Neville, "that the Vegetable Lamb only flourishes under certain, special conditions. At first I thought that meant the soil and the weather - it would explain why the sightings have been in China and the Middle East and not in this cold, duff country – but when I read it more carefully I realised it didn't mean that at all. Listen to this, Hermione."
There was an air of barely suppressed excitement about Neville as he cleared his throat and prepared to quote another passage which, this time, he had evidently memorised. His cheeks were flushing pinker than the roses in the arbour.
"This is from 'Our Herbal Heritage': 'The appearance of the Borometz can be considered in no wise an arbitrary occurrence. The phoenix, in its infinite wisdom, sheds the seed with care, entrusting it to the custodianship of a worthy servant. It is he who has been chosen to nurture the Lamb. He it is who will identify the hour of need; he in whose hands lies the authority to decide upon whom to bestow the healing power of the Fleece.'
"Do you hear that, Hermione? Custodian? That's me! I've been Chosen!"
End of Chapter.
1 y-smerte: afflicted by; wanhope : Middle Eng. 'despair'
2 Lagneau : French etymology was widely evident in Chaucerian English. (F. 'agneau' – lamb). Lagneau and Borometz were used in England interchangeably until the 15th Century, after which the Tartar term became the more commonly used designation.
A/N: Google Images has pictures of a Borometz. They are mainly taken from woodcuts, so they don't give a true indication of the cuteness and fluffiness of the 'real' thing.
Next chapter: NARCISSA
"But that wasn't why I asked you to come," said Neville to Hermione.
So why did he? We still don't know why he is at Malfoy Manor. Read on and find out...