Chapter 58: No Way Out
Friday, April 19th, 1996
11:00 pm
Hermione sat in the meeting room, remaining awake with the help of "Pepper Up Potion" spell and the sheer force of will.
"The attacks on London have stopped for now," said Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, settling into a chair. "We've secured the area with the strongest warding charms available. We hope that will hold us for a day or two, while we get our bearings."
The room's response was silence. Hermione stared down at the table, finding she had nothing to say either. The empty seats around the table spoke for them.
The attack on London was like nothing the Wizarding world had seen before. The enemy had destroyed the downtown area, murdering Muggles and wizards alike. The Muggle police were calling it the worst terror attack of the century. When everything was over, they'd spent more time cleaning up the horrible damage than they'd spent fighting.
Hermione's nails were dirty with soot as she squeezed them in her lap. Though she tried to block it out, the memory resurfaced of all the people she'd pulled out of the wreckage, the ones they hadn't been able to save.
She'd been in the middle of clearing a department store when they received word of a second attack on Godric's Hollow. This was somehow worse than the attack on London, and felt like a kick to the gut when they were already down. The Aurors had arrived entirely too late to help anyone.
Hermione observed the silent council room. While some looked like they were still in shock, others wiped away tear stained cheeks. Few in the room hadn't lost a loved one. Many important council members-including Minister Fudge-had died too. While it was no secret that some of the fallen had been prejudiced, old money purebloods, no one would dare to say it was good they were gone.
Their deaths had a cost, and it was too high for the Ministry to pay.
"Even if we survive this, we're crippled," said Kingsley. "We've lost our experts in magical warding, and our defence of anything outside this compound is negligible. We do not have the military forces to fight the enemy head on, and our foreign allies still have not sent aid. Anyone else who might be able to help is fleeing the country."
"Aye, because that strategy worked so well with Voldemort, didn't it?" grunted Mad Eye. "He hunted the ones who ran."
"They don't think we can protect them. I can't say I blame them."
"They're all cowards, the whole lot of them," said a red faced Auror, the one who'd spoken at her first meeting. "Our allies are useless, our own people are abandoning their countrymen, like weak Muggleborns. This never would have happened in the old days."
"Runcorn, it's not that simple—"
Hermione's shoulders tensed as she watched the group shooting barbs back and forth, the tension in the room close to boiling over. Emotionally, she knew she wasn't doing much better. She'd covered her scars as best she could, but they still ached under her skin. She didn't know how, but the enemy must have had some way of tracking her in the battle. If Cedric hadn't stuck by her in the field, she probably would have died.
Still, the thought of how many times she'd come close to death paled in comparison to how useless she felt now. Like a child that had stepped into an adult's shoes and found she couldn't fill them.
Finally, Rufus Scrimgeour cut into the argument, voice hard as steel, "Everyone, calm yourselves. There is no denying these are dark times, and our world has, perhaps, faced no greater threat than it has today. But I assure you, we are not defenceless. As long as we have our life and magic we will protect our people, but we need your help. We cannot fight our enemy if we are divided, lost in fear and terror. Don't you see, that's what the enemy wants! We must face this fear with courage, and a fierce will to survive. We will not leave this room until we have a plan to save our people."
This statement seemed to quiet the room, and they turned to look at Scrimgeour.
"We are going on the defensive," the new Minister said. "There are two strongholds left, the Ministry and Hogwarts. Action is being taken right now to secure them as tightly as possible, and we'll use them to protect as many people as we can. The estimated time until our defences fall is about six months. We need to figure out what steps we can take to defeat our enemy before then."
A few ideas were thrown out, some good and some bad, but Hermione stayed silent. What could she possibly say? If Harry were here, she knew that by now he would have come up with at least five solid ideas. But he wasn't, it was just her—and she wasn't good at this.
"What about the Muggles in London?" asked a young, blonde Auror.
"We've dealt with that," said Scrimgeour. "They're convinced it's a terrorist attack."
"No, I mean, what if we collaborate with them? They've suffered as much as we have from the Factionists. If we talk to them, convince them to work with us, we'll stand a much better chance of defeating our common enemy."
There was silence in the room for a moment, before Madam Bones cut in, "You're actually suggesting we resort to using Muggle weapons, to breaking the Statute of Secrecy."
Anyone would have withered under Madam Bones' piercing gaze, but the Auror stared back with seeming immunity. "Yes, I am. What other choice do we have? If our magical allies won't help us, we don't have the resources to defend ourselves. I say it's worth the risk."
Scrimgeour made no comment, but Runcorn and a few of the others were glaring murderously at the Auror.
Madam Bones shook her head. "Even if we could justify breaking the treaty, we must assume at this point that the enemy has access to nuclear weapons. The only reason they have not used them is that we've given them no reason to. If we involve the Muggles, we're dooming ourselves to mutually assured destruction."
"Perhaps not," said Mad Eye, rubbing his chin. "I mean, if we did it now, it'd probably end badly. But if we could find some way to track the enemy's movements while hiding our own, then we could safely target their location with missiles. Unless they're expecting the attack and using Muggle security measures, we have the upper hand."
"Alastor, we discussed this years ago, in the war against You-Know-Who. We know next to nothing about how Muggle weapons work—"
"Well, neither do they," interjected Mad Eye. "We just have to be better prepared than our enemies. And isn't that what this bloody defence strategy is for? To buy us time?"
"Alright. I'm tabling this discussion for now," said Scrimgeour. "Our main concern is finding a way to track the Factionists so we can mount an offense. Any leads on that?"
"We have one," said Madam Bones. "But it's still in the beginning stages of development."
"Beginning stages? I need more details, Madam Director."
Madam Bones turned to Harold, nodding in command, and he responded. "I umm…I might be able to enchant the Customs system so we can track magical signatures. We'll be able to track the Factionists' artefacts, like the Ring of Power. It's a unique item, so if we find it, we'll find the Factionists."
Mad Eye grunted, muttered something that Hermione didn't hear, but she could sense the flaw in that logic. Finding the item was not the same as finding the Factionists, especially if they caught wind of their plan. Still…it could work if the Ministry jealously guarded the information.
Harold went on. "There's an outside possibility I'll be able to track enchantments and spellcasting as well, so if they use any magic at all, we can find them. However, it will take at least a year for me to complete the enchantments on our Customs system."
"One year," grumbled Rufus Scrimgeour. "We'll need to see if we can speed up that timeframe. If you have the full support of the Ministry, how confident are you that this enchantment will work?"
Harold was silent for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two heads of the Ministry. "Honestly? About 65%."
Rufus grimaced, while Auror Runcorn at the back of the room scoffed, "Are we seriously entertaining this plan? Scrimgeour said we had six months, and if we can't make this work in half the time it would normally take, then we're finished. There's got to be something better. The Unspeakables, for example—what do they have to offer?"
The room was silent, and the man turned redder. "Well, don't tell me they're just down there wasting time!"
"They're not," said Madam Bones. "But their plans are not something we can speak of at this table. Their current task is to keep us alive. That is all I can tell you."
The man rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "You'll get us all killed."
"Enough, Runcorn," said Scrimgeour.
"So, let's assume we don't have a year," said Moody, eyeing Harold carefully. "What can you achieve in a few months?"
"Umm…not much. A very wide, general location of where an object is. Not sure how accurate the range will be."
"And we'd only be able to track in England?"
"I guess, unless our neighbours decide to enchant their customs systems too?"
Someone in the room snorted, but Rufus silenced the noise. "It's the best idea we have. For now, let's go with it. Kingsley, you're our liaison with the International Office, so tell our allies we need a meeting at eight o'clock sharp. Madam Bones, I'm assigning to Harold's department as much support as he needs. Make sure it's properly distributed. Harold, I'm meeting with you personally to see exactly what this security system enchantment would entail. Alastor, you're in charge of information security, so make this plan top priority."
"About that," said Alastor Moody. "I'm going to need to speak to all of you after this. You've got valuable information, and to be honest many of you shouldn't have heard it. You'll need to be prepared in how to guard it."
Scrimgeour nodded. "Everyone, expect another meeting tomorrow morning at 9:00 am. As soon as Alastor dismisses you, get some rest."
12:15 am
When the meeting adjourned, everyone stumbled off to bed. Hermione trudged to the 2nd floor, entering the room she shared with twelve other people. She was the only Auror, while the rest were Ministry employees, trapped here by mandate. She slipped into the room, crossing the floor and getting into bed. The sounds of deep breathing emanated from her bunk mate above her, almost a snore.
She found herself listening to that breathing for a long time. There was tension in her chest, a feeling of restlessness that kept her tossing and turning. Aches and pains all over her body kept her awake, which even her visit to the healer hadn't fully healed.
Hermione felt like her brain had been jolted by a live wire. She wanted to put on her invisibility cloak, spin her time turner, and hide away for a while. Fire a few blasting spells in the duelling room. But she knew she couldn't run away from this feeling.
Extending a hand from her covers, she tried to levitate her blanket wandlessly. Its weak response didn't discourage her from trying again.
She remembered reading that firing squads often left one shooter a blank round. Because then all of the shooters could tell themselves that maybe they hadn't done it. People in the army often had a low hit rate, not because they were bad shots, but because they subconsciously wanted to miss.
Hermione kept thinking of the hexes and curses whizzing through the air, so many that there was no way to tell who cast which. It made it easier, not knowing. Not that Hermione had cast many. She'd spent most of her time rescuing the wounded, and trying to defend them rather than attack.
Someone in the room cried softly, and Hermione felt her head spinning, the bile rising in her throat.
You're weak, her critical side thought. Hundreds of innocent people died, and you're worried about hurting the enemy. And you call yourself an Auror.
The blanket rose, and then wobbled slightly as she refocused her energy.
No, it wasn't that simple. Killing another person was unnatural and terrible, and it shouldn't be easy. She shouldn't feel bad about feeling disgusted or sad over taking a human life. However, if that fear was keeping her from protecting the innocent and doing her duty, well, that was another matter entirely.
If Harry were in my place, she thought. He wouldn't hesitate in killing an enemy. Neither would McGonagall, or Mad Eye or Madam Bones. Next time, when I have to shoot, I won't miss.
Hermione found herself wishing for the gentle weight of Crookshanks in her bed. She could always sense when Hermione was upset, and would curl up beside her, purring loudly. She played with her new cat charm bracelet, which had been enchanted to give her safety in battle. Both her cat and parents were safe in Hogwarts, as were Harry's parents. Tonks, all her friends, everyone she loved was there.
Tears fell, unbidden, and Hermione cast a quieting charm so no one would hear. It felt wrong to cry over feeling lonely, but she couldn't help it. She let her tears and sadness fall into a musty old pillow.
A soft, gentle glow stirred her from fitful dreaming. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes, and saw the dim light of Harry's Patronus, sitting on her bed.
"Harry has a message for you," said the Patronus, in a near whisper. "He says your parents are doing well. He wants to know if you're feeling okay too."
Hermione smiled, eyes watering. "I'm very glad to hear that. And umm…I'm feeling sad. But I'm okay."
The Patronus patted her head, and it was like being tapped by a puff of air.
"Harry says don't forget to wear your blessing charm, to make sure you're using the healing spells. He says if you want to talk you can contact him using floo magic, he's got a fireplace in the common room. He says it's okay to be sad and he's here to listen if you want."
Hermione felt a lump in her throat. "Tell him I'll try, but not tonight. I umm…have to ask permission."
The Patronus disappeared for a moment, then reappeared. "Harry also says he'll send his Patronus tomorrow to check on you. He says he hopes it doesn't bother you, and if it breaks protocol, to let him know so he can try to find a work around."
"I'll ask. Tell him I said thank you."
"You're welcome. Also, you have a booger on your nose."
"Oh uhh…thanks." She rubbed it off before remembering that Patronus couldn't see…wait, could they?
The Patronus winked, and disappeared.
Hermione sat for a few seconds in silence.
"Err…what?"
1:00 am
Madam Bones took the lift to the 9th floor, to the rooms of the Unspeakables. In most parts of the Ministry, a skeleton crew worked the night shift. But here, they were fully staffed night and day. Whether they used time turners or energy potions, she did not know. But whatever it cost them was worth it—there was no time to waste.
Among the black robes, an Unspeakable wearing grey separated from the rest and approached her. He inclined his head. "Good morning, Madam Bones. I heard of the attacks last night. My condolences."
With a curt nod of her head, she spoke, "This conversation must be memory locked."
The Unspeakable folded his hands and gave her a patient look. Madam Bones gritted her teeth. "Please."
He waved a hand, and she felt a tingle run through her head and down her spine.
"So you have heard of the attack on London," Madam Bones said. "How does this fit into what we know from prophecy?"
"Our prophecy is incomplete, but from what we understand, it is as if the attackers read the prophecy line by line and followed it."
She felt chilled to the bone. "What happens next?"
He frowned and did not speak for a moment. "It is unclear. But it gets worse."
"Tell me the exact wording…please."
He cast a spell on them, muffling the sounds around them, then repeated the prophecy.
"I see," she said. "They intend to destroy us, and soon."
"It would appear so."
"Right," she sighed. "I feared as much. We must improve our chances, then. Are there any weapons we can use against them?"
"Not without hurting ourselves more."
"Then we need to hide. You spoke to me once about this possibility. That we could conceal the entire Ministry from our enemies."
"It is possible, but I do not know if it is safe. I must confer with the Head Unspeakable, but he is sequestered, and will not take kindly to any intrusion from the Aurors."
She nodded, suppressing a surge of frustration. The Unspeakables were very strict about the protection of their knowledge. Most of it remained with the High Unspeakable, and in these desperate times, he was hidden somewhere safe. She knew from experience it might take some time to reach him.
She also knew that the Head Unspeakable did not particularly like the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Traditionally, the Unspeakables worked as an autonomous unit, so they refused to follow orders from her or anyone else. It was maddening, to have a group with so much knowledge that could save lives with no accountability whatsoever. One time, she'd gotten fed up and yelled at the Head Unspeakable, and he'd promptly refused to speak to her ever again.
Madam Bones knew their support was important, so she tried to be diplomatic. "Please speak with him for me. Ask if there is a way to hide the Ministry that will not contradict the prophecy. I will be back in twelve hours to discuss what you find."
"I shall do so," he said. "It is in our mutual best interest."
Another snub. Not because you asked.
"Thank you," she said through gritted teeth, turning to leave. But before she could go, the Unspeakable stopped her.
"A warning," he said. "We have listened over and over to the prophecies, both old and new, and recently something has shifted."
"Shifted?" She turned back. "What does that mean?
"Some of the recent prophecies contradict those of the past. We are not sure why, because we don't have enough information. We suspect that the one who discovers the complete, new prophecies first will have the upper hand in the events to come."
"But…how do we find them? The Hall of Prophecy is destroyed."
"We could mount a search for the seers and their prophecies, but we are locked in here now. Our chance to find them has passed."
There was silence for a long moment, the only sound a mild ticking noise behind them.
"Then with the information we have, do what you can," she said, her voice tense. "And so will I. Leave me this last memory of the prophecy shift, but take all the rest now. If you would be so kind."
The electric feeling ran over her, and she was left with a blank spot of time and worry in her heart.
"Twelve hours," the Unspeakable said. "I'll see you again then."
Madam Bones nodded, turned on her heel and left the room.
As Harold left his meeting with the Minister of Magic, weary and worn, Madam Bones called him into her office.
"Harold," she said. "I wanted to say thank you for all you've done. I have not said that enough. We would be lost without you."
He sank into the chair, unsure what to say. Praise from her was as rare as the sun shining at midnight.
She folded her hands, considering her words carefully before she spoke. "I know you have a lot on your plate now. It is not fair, but I ask you one more favour. When you are in the Hall of Memory, searching for information about the customs system, look carefully at the prophecies you find. We may need them now more than ever."
Harold gazed at her pallid complexion, the worry and exhaustion etched into her features, and nodded. "I'll do my best."
She dismissed him, and he left, standing outside the door for a moment.
They're all counting on you.
He walked a few steps, the world spinning before him.
Don't mess this up.
April 20th
2:00 am
Harry tossed and turned in bed, bitterness seething through him.
His mind ran over the events of the evening. He'd seen that his parents safely into Hogwarts, made sure the castle was secure, and been just about to speak to McGonagall when he was abruptly ordered to bed. She warded the students into their rooms, and said that under no circumstances was anyone to leave until the morning.
He'd stared at her in outright shock, and then in rage when she ignored his attempts to converse and left the common room to begin the warding process. The only thing stopping him from storming out right then was Hermione's voice in his head. Don't throw away the good will you've already earned. If you react in anger, you know she won't listen to you ever again.
Ignoring the impulse to fight was like ignoring hot coals burning on his chest, but he managed somehow. Oh, but he would have words with McGonagall later, he was sure of it.
Even if it was flawed reasoning, it was clear why she'd done it. The adults were having their planning meeting, and as a "vulnerable adolescent," he needed to go to be safe and secure while they worked. She was treating him like any other student, dismissing him and his concerns because he was fifteen and thus didn't matter. He'd gotten so used to this treatment he'd assumed he couldn't be surprised by it anymore.
But that was before the world turned upside down.
They were staring in the face of what could quite possibly be the end of the Wizarding World. London had been decimated, Wizarding bloodlines had been destroyed, and Harry was supposed to be coordinating the defence of Hogwarts.
Every second counted. The enemy had an ancient orb of scrying, and that made all his previous plans obsolete! There were meetings right now he should be a part of, because as the expert and architect of Hogwarts' warding system, he needed to be making the plans! He'd assumed he'd earned enough respect at this point that they wouldn't lock him in with the bloody first years, but apparently he was wrong.
He turned on his side and saw the stars etched like pin pricks into the dark sky. Harry thought of Hermione in the Ministry, away from everyone she knew, overwhelmed with exhaustion and panic while he lay here doing absolutely nothing.
Screw this!
"Winky," he said, through gritted teeth. "Come here."
The house elf took a few moments to pop into his bedroom, trembling as she did so.
"Mister Potter?"
"How are preparations going for the pathways?"
Her eyes widened. "The Headmistress said we w-weren't to talk to you about that without her presence."
Ah ha. He thought. So I did prepare that. House elf magic wouldn't have been something I would overlook.
"Yes, we weren't to speak of the details, I know that," said Harry Potter. "I'm merely speculating, which isn't against the rules. So—just as a speculation—I gather all the preparations are going well. Obviously if something were amiss, even the slightest task off schedule—you would bring it to McGonagall immediately, and she would consult with me. Obviously you wouldn't hide anything with so much at stake."
"Of course n—" Winky gulped, shuffled her feet. "I've nothing to report at this time, not without McGonagall."
Harry did a couple of quick mental calculations, and then said, "I assume you already have multiple emergency exit pathways completed, but recent events might make it necessary to shift those plans. It all depends on priorities. For you see, if you were creating pathways for an all-seeing enemy, evasive movement would be key. Vary the length of the pathways, avoid clusters of people, and make sure exit points are defended. I could provide more instruction on how to do that, which is written in detail on this map right here. Although of course, this is all just speculation."
The elf turned pink, but didn't answer.
Harry considered his next move. Even if he didn't know his full defence plan, he knew enough about house elf magic and his own mental processes to fill in the gaps. In case of an attack, it was absolutely necessary that Hogwarts had some method of transporting people to safe locations.
Then again…there were fewer safe locations now than there once were.
"Also, just thinking, now that our enemy has scrying powers, it sounds like a marvellous idea to create two long pathways that lead far from Hogwarts. It might be a bit risky, but I think it's worth it. I wager the exits should be close to a level 10 blood locked location. Again, all speculation, but do you think McGonagall would approve?"
Winky looked like she was about to pass out. "Please don't tell me anymore, Sir! I can't talk to you without McGonagall present!"
"Aww, Winky," he said. "But we were having so much fun. Fine, go, and please do tell McGonagall all about our conversation, in as much detail as you like."
Winky vanished before he'd even finished speaking.
Harry sighed and stood up. He got dressed, cast an invisibility spell on himself, and tried to think.
No one was supposed to leave this room, and both the wards and an Auror guard would make sure of that. He couldn't remember all of his warding modifications, but it didn't matter, he knew it would be thorough. If there were dragons available, he would have had a couple patrolling the exits.
On the other hand, Harry could leave without anyone knowing. In previous tests, he'd been able to hide his personal signature from the castle wards. He could walk around and cast powerful magic without anyone sensing him. Even now, he could feel the castle respond as he examined the warding around the room. The spellwork was complicated, but within a minute or two he could bend it and pass through.
He stopped to think for a moment. Actually…it was a bit unnerving, how much power he had over this ancient castle. Even masters in warding would have more trouble breaking this ward than Harry did, which had to mean something and he wished he knew what. It was almost too easy for him, and McGonagall had to know that, so why...
Of course. A failsafe had been put into the warding to prevent himself from disturbing it. Either McGonagall or Harry could plausibly have come up with that plan, inserting any number of invisible trip wires that would alert the Aurors, unless McGonagall was with Harry to defuse them. After all, if someone used the Imperius curse on Harry, they could use his warding abilities to break into Hogwarts. The castle would need some form of protection from the possibility.
Harry knew all of this, but was almost to the point of not caring. Let them catch Harry and question him, he'd tell them exactly why he'd left the babysitting room. Because the Ministry had few resources left to fight the Factionists and they were squandering the one resource they had. He wasn't going to let the castle fall and people die because of their arrogant prejudice. No, he was going to do his duty, and they were going to stay the hell out of his way.
He could feel himself going cold, his restraint rapidly fading as the warding practically begged to be broken. The clock was ticking. The only thing holding him back was Hermione's voice in his head. Trust is hard to gain and easily broken. Please, I know you want to save everyone, but don't do something you'll regret later. McGonagall is a good person; she will seek your advice in the morning. I know it's hard, but just wait until then.
Harry gritted his teeth and beat his fists into his pillow. He tried to reason his way around it, but he knew, he knew Hermione would try to talk him out of this plan. And the worst part was, the small inner part of him agreed with her, the part of him that knew he needed allies in positions of power, and there simply wasn't enough evidence to destroy that trust.
He lay down on his pillow, muttering to himself. I'll give you until dawn, McGonagall, and then I'm breaking out of here, come what may.
April 20th in the south of France
8:00 am
Perenelle sat on a grassy knoll, near a deserted field under a blue sky. In the distance, she caught the faintest glimmer of the sea. She was the only inhabitant for miles, her only company the dilapidated cottage behind her. As the wind stirred in the trees, she remembered a time she was happy here, so brief she scarcely remembered it.
But her chance at happiness was over now.
She'd found a way to break her vow too late. What would be the point? As soon as Draco had uttered that prophecy, she'd been forced to give up all her power and knowledge, so that she could no longer be a threat to the world's destruction. Now that she finally had the freedom to use her power as she wanted, she no longer had access to it, and never would.
Her fingers gnarled into the dirt. That damn, worthless vow! How hard she'd worked to break it, to find her way home! How many nights she'd stayed up late, how many miles she'd travelled, all for nothing! She might as well have killed herself years ago, when she'd lost her one chance at meager happiness. The world had a few weeks left now, months at most, and then she'd die with the rest of them.
A hard sense of injustice burned inside her. It was a useless gesture to bend to vow now, but so what? Better to die free of these shackles than in them. She closed her eyes in concentration, placed her hand over her heart. In her mind, she recalled her vow.
I promise that by my work, I will make no attempts that will destroy the world. I will be bound by no positive action by this vow, and I will defer to the instruction of my superiors as necessary. I will safeguard the secrets of our research until the end of my life, or my bond is lifted. This, by my life and my magic, I swear so to do.
Those words that had marked her life for centuries, for better or worse. If Draco took her vow—as he would need to if he wished for full access to the lore—then he would be bound by it too. A sad fate, but she no longer concerned herself with that. She'd prepared him as best she could, or as best as she cared to.
She thought how to change this vow, to make it less insufferable to bear. She could only change the last part, the condition, and anything too radical would not take hold. After a few moments, she made her decision.
I promise that I will not use my knowledge in ways that may destroy the world. To this end, I will safeguard the secrets of our research until the end of my life, or until my bond is lifted. If I am uncertain, I will defer to the instruction of my superiors. All of this holds unless I must use my magic to save the people of Atlantis. This, by my life and my magic, I swear so to do.
Perenelle felt the change take, the first seconds of freedom filling her heart. Even if it was too late to matter, this was her choice, and she was finally free to make it.
She felt herself drawn to the abandoned house, to see it one last time. Ducking her head through the broken doorway, she entered, stepping carefully around the debris and scattered memories. A stray bowl. A withered chair. A broken toy horse.
Strange. It was less painful than she'd thought, to see it all again. Perhaps she'd been dreading it so long that nothing compared to the anticipation. Or maybe time truly did heal all wounds, even some that it shouldn't.
It was in the tiny room full of memories that she found trace of magic. Ripping up the floorboards, she uncovered a wooden box.
Perenelle frowned. She didn't remember putting it there, and she was the only one with access to this house. Opening the box, Perenelle read the letter inside.
I've suspected there is a way to find Atlantis for a long time now. Because of the vow, I could do nothing to pursue it. I've hidden these treasures here based on the glimmer of hope that a future version of myself will be able to accomplish what I could not.
Save the world, or don't. But please, find a way home. Find our people, or die trying.
