Films About Ghosts
Chapter 26: What Became of PercyShards of bright light and a bone-chilling cold. Something smelled terrible. His body weighed a thousand pounds and seemed to have no borders as it melted and merged with the ground.
Somewhere, someone was calling for him.
But it wasn't his name at all.
"Laramy!" a woman cried, shaking his shoulders. Percy opened his eyes and saw a haze of white light and brown shadow. He closed them immediately—the light made his head pound. "Are you all right?" A hand touched his face, then drew away hastily. "No—"
"No," Percy said crossly as opened his eyes for the second time, "Where are my glasses?"
"Your what?" the woman asked, in a very different voice. "Glasses, did you say?" A creamy-brown blob with a smattering of blue in it moved in front of him. "Why do you need them?"
"Yes, I need my glasses. I can't see properly without them," Percy grunted as he tried to sit up. He was stiff and sore all over, as though he'd been thrown against a wall or fell from a huge height. Maybe both. The brown-blue-cream blob vanished from in front of him and put firm hands behind his back, supporting him. She was warm and smelled faintly sooty.
"Describe them to me," she said. Percy imagined the expression that went with the tone of her voice: one of complete concentration. He'd often seen something like it on Hermione Granger's face when she was reading at the Burrow. Percy wondered, with a jolt of fear, if this was Hermione Granger, years and years in the future. When was he? Where and when had that hourglass taken him?
"Well, they've got metal rims, one for each eye, that hold lenses—lenses made of glass, that are sort of curved and make things that are close up clearer." He thought of his own glasses. "Er…and there's more metal bits that hold the lenses and the frames onto your head, that hook over your ears." Percy made a gesture as though putting on glasses.
"Try these," the woman said, hooking something over his ears.
For a moment the world looked precisely as it had before: hazy light and murky shadow. Slowly, then faster, it began to sharpen and delineate itself into the interior of a large wooden building. It looked like somebody's classroom—or workshop. There were cauldrons piled in a corner, many twisted out of their ordinary shape, and several wooden bins with their contents marked on the front with a line drawing of the plant. A wooden opening in the floor—a trap door—signified at least one other floor beneath them. In all, the building looked like a transformed barn.
Percy realized that there was no way these could be his old glasses—these were even better.
The woman moved back in front of him. She was older than he was, probably in her early thirties. Her long brown hair was braided into a heavy crown around her pale, heart-shaped face. A few silver threads streaked her temples, and fine creases pleated her forehead and the corners of her overlarge brown eyes. Black blotches flecked her arms and hands, as well as her face and the sleeves of her cream and blue dress. Did she have a disease?
"I didn't realize that the same effect could be realized by putting the glass in front of the eyes," she said, half to herself. "I'd been trying to think of a way to improve weakening vision in the old, but I had confined my research merely to the degeneration of the eye itself."
Percy gaped at her. "You just made glasses out of nothing," he told her.
"I had your description to go on," she waved it off, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face and leaving an inky black smudge in its place. "Being told what needs to be done is easier than discovering what is needed on your own." She smiled vaguely at him, obviously preoccupied, her fingers dawdling with a feather tucked into her hair.
Not a feather. A quill pen.
Percy remembered Ariane's description of her first teacher, Rowena Ravenclaw, and felt his logical mind fall into shards. Brown hair, ink smudges on pale skin, spare pen tucked into her braids. Oh, dear God.
"Where am I?" he asked urgently, trying to get up. "When am I? When is more important than where. Is this Hogwarts? What day is it?"
"Stay sitting," Rowena commanded, pushing him easily back to the ground. "Calm down. What's your name?"
"Percy, Percy Weasley. Is Ariane here?" he demanded. Rowena went chalk white.
"She's dead," she said bluntly. "Ariane Slytherin is dead and buried."
"No, her name is Ariane Somerled," Percy corrected her, and then backtracked. "I mean, you're Rowena Ravenclaw, so I shouldn't be correcting you—sorry—but I know she's alive. I saw her just two days ago." It was too hard to deal with, this talking to a legend business. He had never dealt with anyone more important than Mr. Crouch, and though important, he had a long way to go to achieve "legend" status. Percy rubbed his throbbing temples.
"Ariane isn't a name so uncommon as to be unique. Describe her to me," Rowena ordered, her slightly bulging eyes wider with worry.
Percy swallowed hard, feeling as though there were a golf ball lodged in his throat. "She's not tall, and quite slender. Skinny, if you're unkind. Her hair is silver, and curly, and her eyes—" he broke off. How could he explain eyes that were the color of twilight, which watched him as though he were the most perfect thing in the world? After a moment, he murmured, "I would be honored to be the person that she sees in me."
Rowena stared at him for a full three minutes, her fingers worrying the quill pen tucked into her hair. "You aren't Laramy as I know him," she said finally. "When are you from?"
"A thousand years in the future, give or take," Percy said. His mind was tangled in knots—Ariane had told him about Laramy, the boy she'd fallen in love with and consequently died because of that love. She had told him about her older brother, the horribly jealous Salazar.
Below them, a door banged open. "Rowena!" a man bellowed.
The female Founder clapped a hand over Percy's mouth. "Why have you come here?" she whispered. "It isn't safe."
"Gathered that," Percy mumbled into her palm. "Ariane told me things."
"Rowena! Come out of hiding, you witch!" the man beneath roared.
She rolled her overlarge eyes and called, "What's he done this time, Godric?"
"Nearly exhumed the body, that's what!" Godric shouted, his voice shaking the floor. "I found him on his way down to the crypt with a bloody slew of black-robed loonies."
Percy felt the blood drain out of his face. "The Death Eaters," he breathed.
Rowena noticed his distress and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Godric, please come up. I don't feel well enough today to make sense of Salazar." She got to her feet and brushed off her brown dress, hands running self-consciously over her hair.
Now that it was mentioned, Percy thought that Rowena didn't look altogether well. Her paleness didn't seem to be natural, the shadows under her prominent eyes more pronounced than they should be. Of course, those could easily be the marks of many late nights—a consequence that Percy was familiar with.
"Damn it, Rowena," Godric sighed from below, and began his assent. The stairs shook as though Godric were ten men. "I don't suppose you would consent to discuss it over chess?" he called while halfway up, a beseeching note in his voice.
Rowena chuckled and crossed the room, as Percy sat on the floor, bewildered. What on earth was going on? How was Rowena planning to explain this to Godric—or was she expecting Percy to explain himself? What did chess have to do with anything? And, murmured the part of Percy who had been so proud to be a Gryffindor all his life, what if he doesn't like me?
The Head of Ravenclaw clumsily dragged a small table and two chairs out of a corner, her face pinking with the effort. Once she had arranged the two chairs on opposite sides of the table, she made a large box appear from thin air. It looked heavy and was apparently made of stone.
"Do you—" Percy began to ask if she would need any help, but Rowena waved him into silence. She opened the box and the pieces leaped into place, beautifully carved out of ivory and obsidian. The ivory pieces were set with red and yellow stones that may have been rubies and topaz, the obsidian with sapphires and emeralds. The crown on each side's king was set with a diamond the size of a Knut. It was clearly worth a fortune.
Godric appeared on the landing. He was a tall, broad shouldered, solidly built man who was probably forty or so. His blonde hair was left long and tied away from his face, which like Rowena's was weary and lined before its proper time. Somber shades of brown and gray blanketed him from head to foot, but his bright blue eyes still contained a sparkle that suggested he was once a merry man. "Rowena," he greeted the younger woman, holding out his hands.
She kissed him on the cheek and they took their seats on either side of the board: Rowena chose the black pieces, Godric white.
Percy sat nonplussed as they made their opening moves. Did Godric not see him? Percy ran his gaze over his work robes, which were vastly different than Godric's loose-fitting grey tunic and trousers. To his embarrassment and amusement, his robes were more like Rowena's dress than anything. After a few uncomfortable moments, Percy settled back to watch the two play chess as though they were simply a photograph.
It was obvious they'd done this many times before. Rowena moved her pieces with dart like movements, her face showing none of her thoughts as she concentrated on the board. Godric moved deliberately, his face creasing and eyes flicking from Rowena to the board and back again.
"Salazar isn't well," Rowena said obliquely as she moved her bishop.
"Ill he may be, but safe he isn't. Anna is making most of the decisions regarding his students, lately." Godric stroked his bristly chin, eyes shadowed, and placed a pawn. "Do you think his children are affected by this?"
She tugged at the end of her long braid, eyes scanning the board. "I wonder about the oldest, Felicity. She seems to have taken more after Salazar than Anna, to my dismay."
"How so?"
Rowena's overlarge eyes lifted to Godric's solemn face. "She is mercurial, prone to tantrums, rather obsessive. However, her talents cannot be denied, even at six." Her eyes dropped back down; she made her move. "I do not think that she will remain at Hogwarts long after Salazar leaves us."
Godric started ever so slightly, his face betraying shock. "I think you may be mistaken, woman," he said, his calm voice laced with the same anger that showed in the forceful replacement of a knight.
"In what?"
"Salazar would never leave Hogwarts."
Rowena shook her head at his disbelief. "What do you think he's doing in her tomb twice a week?" She bit her lip, scratched her head, and moved her queen. There was a long silence, stiff with unspoken words. They continued to move their pieces, but Godric appeared vastly troubled.
Finally the huge blonde Founder spoke. "He wouldn't. Not Salazar. I've known him since we were both boys—"
"I don't think that that Salazar exists anymore," Rowena interrupted him, brown eyes locked on Godric's blue. "That Salazar who lived in the fens, speaking to the snakes and taking care of his innocent younger sister. I believe—and you may correct me if you believe otherwise—that our Salazar died by the same arrow that ended Ariane's life."
He shivered. "Rowena—who do you believe fired that arrow?" His king hung in the air for a moment; their gazes locked, and then it stomped down. "You suspect him."
"I know Salazar did it. It's logical."
"Why would he want to kill her—unless—damn it!" Godric took most of the pieces off the board with one enraged sweep of his arm. "Laramy Ferrer. My student. The one who died not two days ago."
"Salazar hated him," Rowena observed calmly, waving a hand at the scattered pieces. They jumped up and scurried to their former positions.
"I know it. And for no reason other than Ariane loved him." He buried his shaggy blonde head in his hands.
"You ought to be glad Ariane never loved any of us," Rowena said wryly, reaching across the table to pat him on the arm. "Think what would have become of the school."
"That isn't funny."
"No, not especially." Rowena glanced at Percy, who jumped. He'd forgotten that she knew he was there, and had simply been watching the scene unfold as though it were a play. "Something truly funny happened to me today, though. Just before you walked in."
Percy shook his head wildly. The fewer people who knew about him, the better. Rowena smirked at him.
Godric glanced at Rowena, then over at the spot where Percy was hidden. "Funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?" he asked suspiciously.
"I'll let you decide for yourself." Her overlarge eyes blinked, and Percy knew that he was horribly visible.
Gryffindor scanned the room quickly, as though checking for oddities, then came back to Rowena. "Just tell me, woman," he growled. She rolled her eyes over in Percy's direction.
Godric looked at him and jumped a foot. "Him!" he roared, springing to his feet and sending chessboard flying. "How dare you condemn Salazar for the evils of necromancy when you practice it here?" He turned on Rowena and grabbed the front of her dress, pulling her face up to his. "How dare you, woman?"
Rowena's feet weren't touching the ground. She made an incomprehensible noise and grinned, her face turning beet red.
"You filthy hypocrite," he snarled, "You would undermine my best friend…and to what end? To gain more students? To gain more respect from Helga and I, thinking that we didn't know you had dipped deep into the Dark Arts to save a student you were half in love with?" He shook her like a terrier shaking a rat. "Tell me why, and then—only then—will I consider letting you stay at Hogwarts." Rowena made a strained noise, face purpling.
"Stop!" Percy cried. "She didn't do it! I was never dead—let her down before she chokes to death!"
Godric stared at him. "You aren't Laramy Ferrer?" he asked slowly.
"Of course not," Percy snapped, "He's dead. Let her go!"
A confused look crossed his face, then Godric's huge hands loosened their grip, and Rowena dropped to the floor, wheezing.
"Are you all right?" Percy asked her, as her face first pinked, then paled back to its normal shade.
She nodded, and to his surprise, started laughing. "You think that's the first time he's lost his temper with me? Doesn't know his own strength, our Godric." Rowena massaged her throat and looked up at her fellow Founder. "You made the same mistake I did, in thinking that he is Laramy. He isn't, but he is from a future where Ariane exists once more."
"What?" Godric gasped, taking a few steps back. "Have you told this to Helga?" He had broken into a very slight sweat, visible on his swarthy face.
"Of course not, he only just dropped in," Rowena retorted. "Without invitation, I might point out." She winked at Percy as she adjusted the quill pen in her hair.
There was a shout of, "Hallo?" from downstairs.
"That would be Helga, wondering where we've gotten to," Godric muttered. "Sending her oldest daughter to check up on us, probably." His ruddy face went ruddier.
"Come on up, Emma," Rowena called down the stairs. "Godric and I were just having a bit of a chat." She blinked at Percy, who felt himself go invisible at once.
"Do you want to be involved in this?" she asked the large man, reaching up to touch his shoulder. "I'll understand if you don't want to."
"Rowena, you know that I respect you as a witch, and as a friend, but I'll have no harebrained schemes from you. I want to keep my mind on this school and my students." He bent and kissed her forehead. "Do what you must, but keep Hogwarts out of it."
A very pretty teenage girl appeared on the landing. Emma was tall, as tall as Percy, with long amber hair that she wore braided with ivory ribbons. Her dress was green and practical, but didn't hide a pleasantly curvy figure. Wide blue eyes flicked from Founder to Founder before settling on Godric. Emma's face lit with a dimpled smile.
Percy couldn't help smiling himself. Emma clearly adored Godric, and the fond smile Gryffindor gave her showed that it was at least partially mutual.
"My mother was hoping that you two could solve a problem she's having in the kitchens. It seems that somebody's doused the hearth and nothing will light it." Godric frowned, Rowena's eyes widened.
"Godric, would you go?" Rowena requested, her hands going once more to her feather. "I should—check up on Salazar."
"He's nowhere to be found, milady," Emma replied, her eyes downcast. "Mum's been looking for him for ages."
"I'll find him."
"Yes milady." Emma and Godric started down the stairs. Percy started to get up, but Rowena gestured that he should stay where he was. She then directed her wand at the back of Godric's head and murmured "Obliviate."
"What are you doing?" Percy hissed at her.
"He didn't want to be involved," Rowena shrugged, moving away from him and loosening her hair. "I don't want anyone to know about this who doesn't have to. You did say that you've spoken to Ariane?"
"Yes."
"How did that come to pass?" With a final tug of pins, Rowena's hair fell to her knees in a chestnut sheet. "When did you meet her?" Her brown eyes bored into his, she smiled slightly.
Percy sighed. "It might take awhile," he hedged.
"Time is of the element. Begin now, and perhaps all our time together won't be in vain." She gestured to the chair Godric had vacated. "Have a seat, Percy, and tell me everything." He took the seat warily. Rowena was behaving differently—he thought. Perhaps this was how she normally was and Percy'd never had the chance to see it. She twirled the feather between her fingers. "How did you know that it was Ariane, when you first saw her?"
"I—I knew that she was someone I cared about," Percy stammered. "I don't know why—"
"And how," Rowena continued, a steely glint in her eye, "on earth would you know you loved her, if you'd only just met her?" Percy made to stand up but was halted by a firm gesture that pinned him to his seat like ropes. "Why do you love her? Why?" Her voice was growing shriller.
"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to sound soothing, but it only seemed to make her angrier.
She stomped her foot, hair flying, and shrieked, "Why do you love her? Why didn't you love me?"
Time was indefinable, a whirl of black stickiness and colors that were alternately pulpy and starch-stiff. Ariane wasn't sure if she was rolling, flying, or standing still, nor did she know who was with her. After a few seconds of the swirls of shifting lights, colors, and odors, she closed her eyes, certain she was going to be sick.
She landed with a thump about six feet away from a wall, finding herself on top of Hermione and underneath Lupin and Harry. "Ouch," she said, but her mind was already reeling from the sight and didn't notice the pain. Ariane scrambled away so that she could get a better look.
"Something went wrong with the spell," Lupin murmured as he picked himself up. "We went too far back."
"How much too far?" Harry asked, a worried crease in his forehead.
"Just a day or so. Was there unaccounted weight? Angharad, how many knives are you wearing?"
"Not enough to change anything. You'd need a weight difference of at least a hundred pounds to throw us off more than a few minutes." Angharad frowned at them all. "Well, that's only a little less than twenty pounds per person. Are you lot wearing steel underclothes or something?"
Ariane tuned her out, instead looking around at the part of Hogwarts she could see.
The walls were bigger than when she'd seen them last, with battlements on top that looked more castle-like than the mere walls they had been before. Off to her right was a smaller stone building with tall, narrow windows and a slate roof, emitting the unmistakable odor of a stable. Before it had been a wooden barn, with a thatched roof. The forest seemed father back from the walls, but that was because parts of it had been cleared for the wood.
"It's Hogwarts," Ariane breathed, "Hogwarts as I knew it. Well, not quite," she amended, "but its just so much more familiar!"
"Something reeks," Angharad observed, covering her sensitive nose with her thumbless hand. "What lives in that stable?"
"Winged horses, dogs—Godric's animals," Ariane supplied.
"I though I could smell horses," Hermione said hopefully. "Can we see them?" She glanced at Lupin, who looked doubtful. "We won't be seen."
"Well, they'll never recognize Ariane," Angharad pointed out, flicking her hair out of her eye. "And we have at least five hours until sunset."
Eagerly the three teenagers advanced on the stables, but slowed down as a ferocious deep growl came from inside. Ariane smiled, her green eyes bright in her magically darkened face. "That's Bear," she murmured. "I'd recognize him anywhere." She climbed in through one of the narrow windows, hitching up her green dress.
"Did she say there's a bear?" Harry asked, peering in the window after her.
Ariane stuck her head out. "Come in, there's nobody in here. They're probably all at lessons." Harry and Hermione followed her in.
Only Angharad noticed the four sets of dusty footprints going into the stables, but she only registered it as an explanation for their extra travel. She wasn't concerned about a possible hitchhiker, only glad that she knew she hadn't made an error. Quietly, as Lupin turned towards the stables, she took off her Time-Turner, set it on the ground, and crushed it beneath the toe of her boot, grinding the glass and sand together, and went the opposite way into the woods.
Author's Note: On that enigmatic note, I shall leave you—for the time being. Not all is how it should be at Hogwarts—and that's how writers like it.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.