Hermione used Anneken's internationals portkey to travel back to England the next day, and from there she flooed to Nott manor. Both Notts were already waiting for her in the floo room and they quickly led her outside to gardens. Theo had his broomstick on one hand and he let Hermione mount up behind him as Lord Nott mounted his own luxurious broomstick. Unlike the racing brooms that the boys flew, Lord Nott's broomstick had a cushioned seat that allowed him to recline backwards and the foot holds were near the front, as if he were riding a Harley.
They flew for a couple of minutes to reach the little patch of woodland at the bottom of the gardens. In summer, Hermione knew that the little glade was heavily overgrown and shaded by a thick canopy of leaves which made it almost inaccessible, but in winter the leaves had all fallen and they were able to descend through the twiggy canopy to the mulchy floor. There was indeed an ancient portal, nestled within the trees and covered thickly in moss and lichen. It took several carefully cast fire charms to burn the stone back to bare, revealing the extent of the damage to the runes.
Hermione unfolded her detailed notes from her bag, allowing Lord Nott to cast an impervious charm over them before pinning the diagram to the frosty leaves. The two Notts leaned over to get a good look.
'This is the most complex bit of magic I have ever seen.' Lord Nott mused, 'I've studied the ancient magic of this country for decades; I didn't even know they were capable of things like this.'
'You'd be surprised. My ancestors are much better with runes and sorcery than we are. They made sure that I was fluent in Ogham before I came to Hogwarts and they're keen to have me reach the same level in Futhark.' Hermione pulled out the little chisels that Anneken had lent her that morning and crossed the clearing to the stones, trying to decide where to begin. To her surprise, Lord Nott joined her with his own set of chisels. He shrugged when she asked, climbing that he'd studied runes in depth and could follow her diagrams whilst Theo pulled out a toothbrush and set to work cleaning up the east face of the stones, which seemed to have been saved the worst of the wear over time.
It took them hours, even working as a team. Hermione had only performed the process once before, and she had to scrape at the dredges of her memory to answer all of Lord Nott's questions. There were the protection runes, the wholeness runes, the connectives...
Connecting the whole thing to the ley line was almost a miracle in and of itself. She'd had Gorlois to guide her the first time, but this time she performed the whole procedure under the watchful eye of Lord Nott and he was certainly in no position to correct her if she went wrong.
He kept muttering too... expressions of interest and awe which were as distracting as they were flattering. But she managed eventually, and by the time the frost had melted into a pervading dampness beneath their feet, the portal glowed with silvery function.
Teaching Lord Nott how to use it was easy after that. The portals had been used by even the weakest and least gifted in 19th century Germany, so both Notts were more than capable of following the procedure to open the portal to Orkney. She left as soon as they were confident, emerging back into the bleak expanse of snowy Orkney.
Anneken was already there, directing the various Gorlois ancestors in the preparations for the Yule ritual that evening. They'd somehow heaved the massive stone table up from downstairs, enlarging it so that it could host the entirety of her fledgling court. The ghosts were hard at work; enchanting golden candles so that they floated above the table whilst the skeletons had somehow acquired matching skeletal horses and were cantering between the nearest patch of woodland with ribcages full of holly, ivy and fir - it made her queasy, so she tried not to look at them. Instead, she looked to where a fire was being built by Galanan the maintenance golem. He used his rough stone fists to batter wooden pegs together to form a wooden platform atop the small pyre whilst one of the ghosts watched critically.
Anneken was overseeing the arranging of the chairs and plates around the table but she looked up quickly when Hermione arrived; trudging through the thick snow.
'Hermione!' She smiled, then beckoned quickly. 'There's someone who wants to see you.'
Puzzled, Hermione followed her around to the other side of the Barrow.
'Well, actually, it's a couple of someones.' Anneken amended, just as they cleared the final couple of paces around the Barrow and a familiar form came into view.
His antlers had grown; the massive rack now spanned easily a meter and she could see at least eight seperate prongs on each side. His colouration had darkened slightly too - deep blue scales running down his back in sharp contrast to the icy run of gossamer hair down his back and tufting on his chin and tail. The scarring down his side was familiar though and the black slash of coated Kevlar was still grafted into his wing.
Her scent must have carried over the wind because her beast's head rose quickly and swung towards them. For a second, witch and beast just stared at each other. Then Katana's wings snapped out and he'd covered the distance in one massive bound of half-flight, half-jump. Hermione threw her arms around his neck, knotting her fingers in his mane and revelling in the familiar huff of hot air down her back as he draped his slender neck over her shoulder.
'Katana has been with me since you left; I assume Katerina knew that Longma had such large lifespans when she bought him for you.'
'I bet she did.' Hermione mumbled into his scales, her hand reaching to rub at the joint of his wing in his favourite spot. She honestly hadn't even thought about the fate of her beast over time, but now that she knew she was unspeakably glad that he'd survived.
'He hasn't been lonely, of course. I managed to find him a breeding partner in the seventies and she's laid a total of three eggs since then, all of which have hatched into healthy young. There's a filly still at my estate, but the colts remained with the mother.'
'Ooh, you're a father.' Hermione cooed, her hands reaching up to Katana's antlers. He snuffed in pleasure, which sounded almost comically like agreement. He was saddled, although it was not the Grindelwald livery that he'd always worn when Hermione was in the past. Initially, she missed the sword, bundled up in protective blankets and slung on the opposite side but once she did see it, she pulled it out quickly.
Mordred's sword was exactly as she remembered it; completely untouched by time or wear. The little amber bead winked in the winter sun and the blade gleamed dully as she drew it. A flex of her magic, and Mordred appeared in the snow.
He looked exactly the same as he had when Hermione spoke to him the day before. His dark hair tumbled around his ears and his eyes were a bright match for the Gorlois-blue cloak that he wore over his chain mail.
'High Priestess!' Mordred greeted, bowing deeply. Then he straightened and looked her over more thoroughly. 'Your magic is exactly as I remember it.'
Hermione grinned back.
'You look exactly the same as you did last night.' She informed him cheerfully. 'I'm glad that you're here. Are you able to be the host for our ritual? Most of my guests haven't ever participated, so your experience would be valuable if... this... doesn't prevent it.'
She gestured to his sword quickly and Mordred glanced at it quickly, his smile fading.
'I don't see why it would cause problems. My magic is whole. I would be glad to host for you. Who will be the Sun?'
'Berg.' Hermione had already decided. Mordred nodded in acknowledgment.
'We do not have many participants.' Hermione explained as they both turned and headed back around the Barrow. Katana trailed behind them, nudging her back every so often and snorting hot air through her hair. 'I don't think any except for Berg have participated in a ritual. I wish that we'd had a chance to do something easier like Ostara first.'
'It will be fine. The guardians will join in, as they used to when I was alive. I am sure they will make up your numbers and the newer members of your court just have to follow.' Mordred reassured and Hermione smiled at him in thanks.
They arrived back to the table to find several of the ghosts practicing a jaunty folk tune on a lyre and several bone whistles whilst the other ghosts hummed along to what must have once been a common melody. Mordred wore a melancholy smile as he joined in with the preparations, using his material body to help weave wreaths of holly and pine.
The Longbottoms arrived next, Ginny and Harry in tow. Hermione knew that they'd flooed to Nott Manor, then used the portal she had repaired to travel to Orkney. All three had dressed as she had asked, wearing red, white and gold with no trace of iron or silver. Harry looked dashing in a pair of maroon robes that looked new with his broomstick slung over his shoulder, and Lady Longbottom looked like a fiery queen in her crimson brocade dress, astride an unusually orange coloured Abraxan. Ginny was dressed in the white fur cloak that Anneken had made for her in preparation for the ritual, knowing that her parents wouldn't provide anything. In fact, Ginny's parents didn't even know that she was attending a ritual - they believed that she was having a sleep over at Neville's house.
It turned out that Lady Longbottom already knew Anneken, but Hermione introduced her peers to the older witch. Anneken embraced each of them warmly and invited them to call her by her given name. Then came the introductions that Hermione was more worried about; the old ways were one thing, but even Lady Grindelwald who was familiar with the difference between willing and unwilling sacrifice had balked at the undead that guarded her home.
'May I introduce Lord Gorlois of Tintagel, First High Priest of the House of Gorlois and Sir Mordred, Witch King of Camelot and Breton and High Priest of Gorlois.' Hermione gestured to the two of her ancestors who looked closest to being alive. She followed up quickly with the formal titles of all three of her peers and Lady Longbottom. Her two ancestors bowed and were met with a curtesy from Lady Longbottom.
'Welcome to our Barrow.' Gorlois welcomed, his voice gravelly and deep.
'Thank you. Is there perhaps somewhere I might pitch our tent?' Lady Longbottom asked and Gorlois nodded, offering his arm to the elderly witch and leading her towards the patch of flat ground that was apparently best for tents. As they left, Hermione heard her asking about the skeletons, but was surprised by how non-judgemental she sounded.
'This is wicked.' Ginny informed her as soon as the adults left, then she blushed crimson and glanced shyly at Mordred.
'It is.' Neville agreed. 'I can't wait.'
'Neither.' Harry added. Hermione beamed at them.
'I imagine even magic herself is excited. It has been centuries since the last Yule ritual was performed here.' Mordred inserted himself and the Gryffindor trio blinked.
'What's a witch king?' Ginny blurted after a moment, forgetting her manners. Hermione winced and Neville elbowed her sharply and she seemed to realise her mistake, apologising quickly. Fortunately, Mordred just smiled.
'Exactly what it sounds like. I was the King for a while, and the muggles knew that I was wixen. They called me the Witch King.'
They all looked suitably impressed.
There wasn't much time for chatting though; there was a lot of preparation and practice to do before the ritual and shortly they were all roped back into decorating. Lady Longbottom emerged from her multi-story tent after fifteen minutes, trailed by Gorlois who carried a massive pot of steaming tomato soup. It was laid out on the table along with several bowls and spoons and a loaf of crusty bread. The hungry living tucked in.
Theodore and Lord Nott arrived half way through lunch and Hermione had to begin introductions again. Theo seemed to agree with the Gryffindor sentiment as to the awesomeness of the Barrow, whilst Lord Nott was quickly engaged in a discussion on sixth century wizarding customs. Satisfied that her court were so far getting along nicely, Hermione joined Theo to help erect both Anneken and Lord Nott's tent.
By the time they returned, Berg had already arrived and Anneken must have already made the introductions because he conversed keenly with Mordred. He'd brought his hippogriff, which seemed to be far better behaved than the chestnut that Hermione remembered. The beast grazed next to Katana and Anneken's smaller Granian.
She stood back for a moment, feeling somewhat overwhelmed as she watched everyone settling around the table under some unanimous and unspoken agreement that they would be having a meeting.
This, she realised, was a big moment. It would be one of those moments that everyone remembered; a day that changed the world. This was the first time she'd gathered everyone in one place; they were powerful... awe inspiringly powerful with a blend of magics that mixed to form a perfect collage of strength and ability. In fact, the excitement seemed to tingle against her skin.
Except that wasn't excitement. The tingling was real - the very essence of the ambient magic around them was excited too, gathering and building in anticipation with all the power of the winter solstice.
She stepped up the her chair and everyone fell silent. She swallowed down her nerves and forced herself to relax. These were all her friends and family.
'Welcome, everyone, to the Barrow of Gorlois and to our first ritual.'
Theo whooped and several other people around the table clapped.
'Ritual magic is powerful and often misunderstood and it has been shunned for decades, even longer in this country. But magic is not light and dark, it is not a tool. Magic is like air, water and fire, a sixth element that can be used, abused and uncontrolled. The old ways are not about power or fear, we are here to create a harmony; a symbiotic relationship that allows magic to flow through us to its full potential without crutches and imposed limitations.'
A respectful silence had fallen across the table, heads bowed and eyes downcast as people absorbed her words. Hermione was certain that she'd picked well though and that everyone would understand what she was saying.
'Rituals are a powerful part of magic, and today we will begin to rediscover them, Today, we begin to open ourselves back up to the power of the magic that is outside us, the magic that exists in the everyday turn of the seasons and allow it to exert it's influence on every aspect of our lives... because that is what it means to be wixen.'
'To the Old Ways.' Lord Nott raised his wand in his fist and banged it twice against the table. The others quickly followed in what Hermione could only assume was a wizarding version of a toast.
'And to the High Priestess.' Lady Longbottom added, her own fist striking the table twice in unison with everyone else.
The ritual hadn't started yet but already magic buzzed between them with shared intent, so strong that even those who'd never experienced that form of magic could feel it and looked around with wonder.
'Let's do it then.' Hermione smiled around at everyone and they all jumped to their feet. The Notts hurried to their tent to grab broomsticks for everyone and those who weren't yet in their ritual costumes went to change. Unlike the previous events that Hermione had attended, this was much less formal and more about the magic. There was no ball dancing or societal expectations, so she just wore a relatively plain russet dress in the style of her family, girdled in gold and trimmed in warm brown fur to keep her warm.
When she returned, Berg wore a thick set of dragon skin gloves that reached all the way to his elbows and Mordred no longer wore chain mail. It was odd seeing him out of armour but he seemed completely at ease about it as he helped gather all of the male Gorlois ancestors and made sure everyone had a mount.
A whole herd of pearly ghost horses had appeared next to the living horses and they milled around like a solid mass of silver, seeming to not care about the space that each took up. All the skeletal horses had returned too, and they were now picketed next to Katana, who kept rolling his eyes nervously as the largest of the skeletons reached over to sniff at him.
'Ready?' Hermione asked Berg as she crossed to the table. Her brother nodded and scrambled up the mound of the barrow to where Galanan the golem had built pyre, and the carefully clear area where he would stand behind the flames.
Gorlois was the first to approach, three freshly caught fish hanging in a brace.
'A gift to keep you warm and fed through winter, freely given by the House of Gorlois.' Gorlois bowed deeply, then placed the fish down on the dais at Berg's feet. Berg nodded and Mordred came next with an offering of a large hare. Lady Longbottom was the first modern wixen to approach with a fragrant spiced apple pie, then Lord Nott gifted cinnamon cakes and Ginny gave some of her mother's toffee. Harry and Neville had created a bundle of orange pomanders each and Theo had an iced fruitcake. Anneken had outdone herself with a whole basket of chocolates and Hermione eventually came last, offering up a platter of home made lebkuchen.
The pile of offerings was small but with the carefully built pyre behind it, it should be enough to burn. Hermione had bowed to her family's decision that it wouldn't affect the result. Hermione nodded to Berg once everyone had returned to hovering around the table, but it was unnecessary; he'd already raised his arms above his head.
'The nights are long, my hearth is cold.' Berg called, his voice ringing out strongly over the small gathering. Mordred stepped forwards and spoke the words of reply. He bounded up the mound, reaching his hands out over the dais of offerings. A vague magical aura already drifted through the feast, bestowed by each person when they'd spoken the words of offering earlier. Now, Mordred gave that vagueness direction and the offerings erupted into flame, obscuring Berg entirely as it spread to the pyre. Lord Nott cursed softly under his breath, but it sounded like an expression of awe rather than fear and Hermione wondered if the elderly wizard hadn't actually expected anything to happen?
'I seek a greater fire!' Berg called over the roar and crackle of the flames.
'We shall hunt!' Mordred promised.
Hermione felt the flex of Berg's magic, combining and bending the reluctant magic of the offerings. As he gained control, the smoke stopped disappearing and began to convalesce into a the black phoenix.
'To the horses!' Berg cried, leaping over the smouldering remains of the fire and plunging across the snow with surprising agility for someone his age. Everyone followed eagerly, grabbing broomsticks and reins. Hermione grabbed Mordred's cloak as he was heading for the undead mounts and pulled him over to Katana instead.
'He's fastest. Don't lose it.' She cautioned, then rose up onto tiptoes to brush her lips against his forehead as she had once done for Gellert. Mordred nodded, then swung up onto Katana's back with the ease of an accomplished horseman. Hermione tucked his sword back into the strap designed to carry it on the saddle, then backed away to give Katana room to take off. She saw Anneken kiss Berg's brow and a blushing Ginny did the same for both Harry and Neville. Among the skeletons and ghosts, much more kissing was happening but already the host was ringing out like a swarm, both in the air and on the ground.
Hermione jumped onto the back of Ginny's broomstick to spectate, allowing the confident witch to take them high up into the air where the glittering speck of Katana sliced through the air in pursuit of the dark, shadowy phoenix.
When Katana suddenly flared his wings and dropped through the canopy, Hermione felt like she wouldn't even need a broomstick to stay afloat. The Yule log had been found, and the ritual had been a success.
'They found it.' Hermione called to the other witches. Cheers met her words, the voices of her friends overwhelmed by the celebrations of the ghosts on their silvery mounts. Slowly they drifted back to the snowy ground, landing just as the Yule log arrived, slung between everyone's broomsticks.
Harry was the first to find Hermione and hug her, his face flushed with cold and excitement and broomstick still slung over his shoulder.
'We did it, Hermione!' He panted, his grin stretching wide.
'You did, well done!' She agreed.
'Incredible.' Lord Nott exclaimed as he landed, springing off his comfortable Harley-broomstick as if he'd shed fifty years in the past five minutes. 'Excellent flying, Theodore. I thought you'd hit that tree for certain.' Theo seemed dumbstruck by the compliment, and he staggered when Gorlois clapped him around the shoulder.
'Excellent job, boy, but we'll see you on a proper mount next year, not a glorified peasant's tool.' The guardian bellowed, swinging down from his mount and handing the reins off to one of the skeletons.
Berg climbed back up the mound again, taking his spot in front of where the Yule log had been dropped. It was a medium sized tree - large for the area but much smaller than the mighty boughs that had been normal in Germany but it was healthy and had lots of branches. Silence fell, and every face turned up to look at him. Mordred climbed up beside him and with a spark of his fingers the log roared into flame.
'The hearth is lit.' Mordred announced.
'I am warm. The days grow short, the year is new.' Berg finished the ritual and Hermione led a round of applause as Lady Longbottom emerged from her tent. Galanan the golem trailed behind her, a spit of three chickens in his stone arms. He balanced it across the flames with the casual expertise of someone who'd always cooked over open fires as the ghosts that had been practicing earlier struck up a jaunty tune.
Her ancestors seemed to recognise the tune, linking skeletal and ghostly hands to form a large circle around the mount with it's flaming Yule crown. As the music hopped and jumped, they danced in a merry circle around the flames, clapping their hands and clacking their heels to create a tempo. The ghosts sang; a rather morbid tune about a man who forgot his sword and went to battle a dragon that absolutely didn't fit the tune. Hermione observed for a moment, then realised the steps were rather simple so she joined in.
It was wild fun in the same way that Hogmanay had been; her ancestors were carefree in their dancing, unlike the rigid ballroom dancing that had become the norm. They moved on from the song about the man who forgot his sword to an odd one about a snake who ate his own tail.
Her peers joined in for that one, enthusiastically hissing at the 'tail' whenever they passed. The dancing, the warm fire and the sparking magic combined with the adrenaline of the earlier ritual to lower inhibitions in an innocent, jovial celebration. Neville somehow plucked up the courage to take his Grandmother for a dance.
They paused in their dancing once the chickens were almost cooked, spearing foil wrapped potatoes on long metal sticks and shoving them deep into the flames. Then the boy were herded into Lady Longbottom's tent to help carry bowls of boiled and steamed vegetables, stewed cabbage and a tureen of gravy. Galanan pulled the spit from the fire and Gorlois carved up the meat whilst Mordred retrieved the potatoes.
They took seats around the table, Mordred joining them whilst Gorlois was dragged off by the ghostly form of his wife for another dance. The food was delicious; hot and hearty after a day of exertion in the cold.
'You're not like the others, Mordred.' Lord Nott inquired politely, delicately unwrapping a potato.
'No.' Mordred agreed with a smile, flexing his solid fingers against the table. 'I have more substance; more of me left on this plane.'
'Would you mind me asking how?' The Patriarch queried, his tone making it obvious that the knight was free to refuse.
'The method is perhaps best left a secret, but I am more of a memory rather than a physical remains. Hermione's magic can construct me a temporary form.'
'Fascinating.' Lord Nott murmured.
'Oh! You're the other memory Hermione knows.' Ginny exclaimed suddenly, looking up from her meal. Mordred's head whipped around to look at Hermione and she bit her lip, shrugging one shoulder. She'd meant to ask Mordred about Tom Riddle earlier, but it had slipped her mind after finding Avalon and making plans for this ritual.
'What other memory?' Mordred asked after a moment, his eyes settling back on Ginny.
'Oh, there's a memory in my diary. He's called Tom Riddle.' Ginny explained happily, cutting into her carrots and completely missing the way the Thoros Nott seemed to jump half a foot in the air at the mention of the name. He knew the name, and guessing from his reaction Hermione had been right to be wary of him.
'Lord Nott, Katana looks unsettled. Could you perhaps assist me in casting some more warming charms over the beasts?' She asked loudly, interrupting whatever Mordred had been about to say. She cast a meaningful glance at the knight and Mordred nodded quickly, smoothly changing the subject to Hogwarts and asking questions about the classes they learned there. Hermione stood, brushing her skirt smooth and led Lord Nott towards the beasts. She could hear the agitation in the sharp, brisk way he placed his feet against the snow. Once they were safely away from the table, Hermione turned to face him.
'Who is Tom Riddle?' She demanded. For a moment Lord Nott dithered, then unexpectedly he dropped to his knees in the snow, bending forwards until his forehead almost touched her feet and his beard snaked against the ground like a silver river. Startled, Hermione took a step back.
'Forgive me High Priestess, for I have sinned.' He spoke into the ground and Hermione frowned, bending down so that she felt a little less like he was grovelling, even though he was.
'The past is the past, Lord Nott.' She assured. 'Tell me what I need to know and we can work to right your wrongs.'
'You are kind and generous My Lady, but I am undeserving. I have committed crimes of the worst degree in the service of a madman.' Without lifting his face from the ground, Lord Nott extended his arms and pulled back the sleeve of his left arm, presenting his bare forearm to her. Looking closely Hermione could just make out a vague, pale scar. It looked like a faded burn, about the size of her fist.
'It is the mark of Lord Voldemort, My Lady... the mark of his inner circle.' Lord Nott explained into the dirt and she bit her lip. She'd known that he was involved with Voldemort's campaign, but had had no idea he had been close enough to be considered "inner circle". How had he escaped Azkaban?
She reached forwards, running her fingers over the scarring and feeling the echoes of the magic within it. It was an awful, corrupt thing that bound him to Voldemort's wraith - wherever it may be. It leeched off his magic and knotted with it in such a way that she suspected and incantation would be all it would take for Voldemort to torture or kill him if he desired it.
'This is not a mark of loyalty; it is a mark of enslavement.' Hermione informed him.
'I know that now.' Lord Nott informed her shoes bitterly. 'There was a boy in my year at Hogwarts; charismatic, powerful and determined to restore purebloods to our rightful place. He wove such a glorious picture, taught us such powerful magic and like fools we believed him. It wasn't until he left school and assumed the name Lord Voldemort that I began to realise how thoroughly we had been played. He did not want to put purebloods in their rightful place, he wanted a throne and he wanted us to serve him.'
'And his name was Tom Riddle.' Hermione guessed. Lord Nott didn't need to confirm.
'Stand up.' She ordered and the elderly patriarch scrambled to his feet. Hermione looked him straight in the eye, keeping her gaze cool. 'Tell me, why am I different?'
Lord Nott blinked in shock, his mouth opening and closing several times.
'You have respect.' He said eventually. 'You respect magic, you respect your peers, you respect our culture. Moderation, freedom of belief; you do not demand loyalty and commitment, but you accept everything we wish to offer.'
Hermione pondered that for a moment, then nodded her head.
'I have said many times that the mistakes of the past are in the past. It is an offer that I will extend to anyone who sees the error of their ways and commits to change.'
'You are most kind, Priestess.' Lord Nott bowed his head reverently and Hermione turned to head back to the table and her rapidly cooling chicken. She was stopped abruptly by a hand on her arm. She turned back to look at Lord Nott, who'd gone perhaps even paler.
'Lady Hermione... I've realised... the Chamber of Secrets opened in my sixth year and Lord Voldemort often claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin... if his "memory" is back in Hogwarts this year, then that must be related to the chamber opening again.'
For a moment, Hermione just looked at him with wide eyes.
'We need to get that book away from Miss Weasley.' He pressed. Hermione turned to look at the girl as she threw back her head and laughed at something Neville had said. That was a conversation that she did not want to have.