The next day Dennis did nothing and said even less until the goblin left his vault. The room sometimes felt like a cocoon to Dennis. Although not the highest security vault available, the semi-circular room carved into the rock and fortified with who knew how many protective spells and wards seemed incredibly secure. He let his eyes sweep the area before he began a studious survey of the contents. Dennis first noted the stack of galleons piled against one wall. It revealed the sum total of the profit he earned from the sale of a few pieces he received from Lord North and his weekly wages from Rapid Removal. Dennis never saw so many galleons in one place, and it stunned him to think it represented his combined liquid wealth. However, the sight of the money paled in comparison to the items arranged on the shelves and in the curio cabinet the goblins allowed him to install.
A small stack of books resided on one shelf. The controlled climate in the vault, a service the Gringotts goblins provided for free (although Dennis believed it kept the diverse magical items from decaying and exploding), made the air feel crisp and tight. Yet the books seemed none the worse for their new home. The pile of scrolls, half of which Dennis could not read due to the complicated use of Latin, called out to him to be touched and examined. The stone book lectern holding the enormous spellbook also beckoned. Every so often Dennis would spend an hour in the vault flipping through the pages, and Thomas' warning to read with caution never went out of mind. He hoped one day to seriously study the tome and delve into the secrets it contained. Those treasures, while not exceedingly valuable in terms of money, seemed the best parts of the inheritance the late Earl of Nottingham left to him. Dennis learned the value of knowledge.
On other shelves carved from the rock could be found personal items from Thomas' past. His stave stood propped against the rounded surface of one wall. Although it could probably still perform magic, Dennis resisted. That would seem a violation of Lord North's privacy. Next to it a small mound of letters from various magical relatives waited to be read. Again, Dennis did not since that felt like even more of breach of privacy. One item he did read filled out that small shelf: the earl's journals. Thomas meticulously documented his study of magic. Unlike Dennis who received a high privilege in attending a school, Thomas did not receive such instruction. He learned by doing and peppering his mother with questions. Although she passed two years before he became the Earl of Nottingham, she lent her son considerable guidance in the practice and study of magic. Moreover, the entries on the journal showed a very facile mind in the skull of the young earl.
A number of items sitting on the shelves or in the curio cabinet simply baffled Dennis. He could not glean their function or use through simple examination, and none offered any directions for use unlike the magicked astrolabe. Two pieces got mentioned in Thomas' study journal, but did not offer any real insight into their use. While some objects did not interest Dennis to any great degree other than they represented magic from the past, four items lingered in his mind.
First, a polished-smooth obsidian orb the size of a muggle baseball rested on a small wooden stand. The sumptuous black-purple coloration existed below the surface. It never appeared dirty or seemed to collect dust. Fingerprints simply ceased to exist after setting the black globe down. The feel of it in the living wizard's hands approached erotic. The surface reached a near frictionless state. Moreover, it always felt warm to the touch as though a secret fire existed within the heart of the stone. Dennis' eyes tarried while looking at it.
"I really want to know what you do," he said to black, volcanic-glass ball that gleamed in the candlelight of the vault. "Thomas says I'll figure you out on my own one day, and I will!"
The orb did not respond.
Sitting on a shelf in the curio stand and leaning against one side a rather flattish circular object attracted the eye. Made entirely of bronze with a beautiful but non-intrusive green patina, it looked carved from jade. Within the confines of the four-centimeter thick disc lay a series of interconnected cogs and wheels, some with handles and pointers. Most of the cogs got marked with arcane symbols that, while he understood some of them, remained elusively out of Dennis' grasp. He read up on something called an Antikythera mechanism, an ancient Greek calculating device, but Thomas said the similarity ended only in a shared design. However, Lord North did not seem inclined to discuss the object in detail. Dennis hoped his fanatical persistence in asking questions about the object would wear the ghost down over time.
Beneath that a wooden box, made of teak, and bound in brass wire across all surfaces screamed to opened. However, Dennis could not find a hinge or a seam. While it felt like a solid rectangle of wood the size of a rugby ball, it did not weigh enough to be solid. When he touched it, tiny jolts of electrified magic shot through his fingers. It did not take long for Dennis to deduce a puzzle box rested in his vault, but one of a magical variety. He tried to use a few common spells to open it, but then got a small light show as the brass wires attracted and dissipated the magic with little flashes of light. Curiosity nearly killed Dennis each time he saw and touched the box. Thomas told him, and the man claimed his mother said the same, that he would be entitled to the contents of the box when he figured out how to open it. Lucia giggled when her father said it, and Dennis got left literally holding the box.
Finally, an item occupied its own shelf in the cabinet and lay under a cloth to disguise its appearance. An entry in Lord North's private journal, written in the man's flawless penmanship, from when Thomas turned twenty-five mentioned the object once:
"It arrived today, and at Grandfather's behest I am to carefully guard it and maintain strict secrecy about its location. It is a seven-sided wonder, and the faith and trust placed upon me as its new keeper makes my future title appear paltry."
Dennis felt those two lines seemed a risky venture on Thomas' part given he would not discuss the subject. When Dennis raised questions about it, the ghost of the late lord simply turned and stared out over the loch. Lucia knew nothing about it. However, the single time Dennis suggested selling it, Thomas became quite stern.
"You are to leave it in your vault! Mention it to no one. I will not even give you the name of it, Dennis, and not because my trust in you lags. Hardly. I am relieved it left Wollacott Hall and found a new and perhaps more secure resting place. Leave it be, my friend, and spare yourself the trouble and woe it can bring," Thomas entreated him in several subtle ways.
The warning stilled Dennis' lips from making further inquiries about it, but each time he went to his vault the sight of it plagued his mind. Thomas sounded almost afraid of the object. It looked to be nothing more than a seven-sided box, each side seven centimeters long (about two and three-quarters inches by the standard of the Lord North's day), and seven centimeters thick. It became immediately obvious the number played an important part, but nothing about the silver box seemed extraordinary. It led Dennis to believe whatever lay within caused the real concern. However, his loyalty to Thomas dictated he follow the man's wishes regarding his last earthly goods he charitably bequeathed to the young wizard. The mystery of it burned recklessly in Dennis' brain every other day.
"I think you're what that man is after," he spoke quietly to the covered object. "Thomas is… wary of you, whatever you are."
Dennis did not uncover silver box, pick it up, or even open the curio cabinet. He routinely left the key for the simple-looking lock, although he imbued with several charms, at home so as to avoid temptation. He only brought the key when he intended to tinker with the puzzle box or salaciously handle the obsidian orb. Sometimes he tried to discern the nature of the circular machine. Dennis sensed in those four items Thomas Lester Jonathan, Lord North, Nineth Earl of Nottingham, a wizard, left his greatest treasures. Each one beguiling. Each one a mystery unto itself. Each one begging to be understood.
"Why did you bring this to me?" Gam Mergin intoned in a weary voice. "I've got enough on my back without having to shoulder this one."
Dennis sat at her cluttered dining table, holding a cup of vicious Irish tea that bested Hagrid's efforts, and presented the woman a sad expression. She shook her head and looked away from him. Dennis, despite his nerves feeling tighter than a bowstring, remained motionless and did not giggle as he sensed he might. He waited.
"This is what you get for carrying on with ghosts and their ilk? Know that, boy?" She railed at him.
"Yes, ma'am, I do, but I won't stop. They need… deserve the help of someone," Dennis quietly rejoined.
"And ye got yourself tied up with royalty. They're the worst!"
"I think you'd find Thomas and his daughter kind of nice."
"Eh!" The woman half-spat.
"Gam Mergin, they're not the problem. It's that guy who keeps finding me…" Dennis began to say.
"Which wouldn't be happening if ye hadn't gone mucking about with that dead earl," Gam interjected. "And now you've led 'em straight to me door. What kind of fool nonsense is that?"
"I apparated from London to here through several stations, and I doubt anyone could follow me. Besides, he didn't know I came to Maigh Cuilinn or he'd've said so to try and scare me more."
"But the other stuff he knew?" She asked before taking a drink of her tea.
"He knew 'cause my life is pretty predictable," Dennis answered with the only explanation that cropped up in his mind. "I haul trash. I go to libraries to get books, and then to coffee shops to read those books. I tend to visit the same places a lot. It'd only take him a couple of weeks to figure out my routines. The only thing he wouldn't be able to predict is what I do when I'm trying to help a ghost."
He took a sip of the tea, and it almost knocked him to the floor. Gam Mergin snickered at his reaction, and then took a big gulp from her cup. Dennis involuntarily shuddered. He thought he could feel hair growing on the bottom of his feet from the concoction the elder witch brewed.
"That may be, but what makes you think I'm any better than that fellow?" She grumbled the question at him.
"Because you corrected me on the Parkowen Wailing Spirit instead of just sending me off… and you warned me about it. Plus, you were kind of interested in what I did for a living."
"Well, you're a trusting sort then, aren't you?"
"Not really," Dennis said and shrugged, "but I'm trying to learn how to be."
"There's a story waiting to be told if I ever heard one," she prodded him.
"Not today. I've got to figure out what to do about this guy who's following me around."
Gam Mergin frowned at him for a few seconds before she said: "But you think it's about that whatnot you got sitting in your vault. What is it?"
"Just a silver box. No markings on it, barely can see the seams between the plates, and Thomas only said I needed to keep it safe and keep it a secret. It was handed down to him to look after, and that's all he said in his journal," Dennis told her and added a few more details.
She folded her arms across her chest and frowned again. Dennis could tell when someone did not know what to believe or think. More often than not he saw himself make the same face in the mirror when in the bathroom and he spied his face in the mirror. For reasons he could never explain, both he and Colin removed the mirrors from their rooms shortly after they began studying at Hogwarts. Mirrors factored too frequently in their textbooks and various dodgy spells to trust too much. However, Dennis did use the one in the bathroom at home, and he recognized the signs of deep cogitation.
"Now, here's something I keep getting stuck on, Dennis: why'd you trust this Thomas fella?" Gam queried after the pause.
"Well, mainly because Peeves told me I should go help him. Then I got to know Thomas, and his daughter, and I really like him a lot. Both of them," he responded.
"You trusted a boogey ghost…"
"Poltergeist."
"Same thing, young man!"
"Peeves is one of my best friends!" Dennis returned with considerable force.
"Well, don't that beat an old rug to tatters. Here you just up and admit it. Most magical folk would think you've gone soft in your melon calling a boogey… poltergeist a friend. They normally ain't the sort what go 'round being helpful," Gam stated in a seeming amused fashion.
"And most people?" He countered.
"I'll give you a point there," she intoned, and her lips twitched a little. "And I still can't for the life of me figure out why you brought this to me!"
"Well, my parents are muggles…"
"Really now?"
A quiet hovered in the air as Dennis collected his thoughts. Gam Mergin did deserve some explanation as to why he went to her, but he did not want to make it a discussion of his life or recent events except those concerning the man in the yellow bowler. Dennis glanced around at her over-stuffed kitchen, the giant coal or wood-fire stove, the pans and pots hanging from hooks nailed into the plaster or mortar joints, and brick-a-brac the use of which he could not begin to imagine. Finally, Dennis decided a very clipped version of his reasoning would be in order.
"Yeah, and I go to Professor Flitwick a lot for advice, and he just doesn't have time for it with school being in session. Peeves will twist it all around until even I can't figure out what it means. Thomas won't talk about it. I can't go see my boyfriend 'cause of the case with the Ministry…"
"And there it is," the old woman said in low voice. "You're a young man out of step with everyone around you. I'm thinking the other blokes at school got on you some, and that's why you ended up consorting with ghosts."
Dennis goggled at her.
"Close your mouth 'fore a fly flaps into it."
Dennis snapped his mouth closed.
"Been trying to figure out what's at the heart of all this to-do you got going on, and I think ye just told me a good bit of the reason," Gam Mergin said in a knowing fashion. "You've spent too much time alone in your head, Dennis. Ye ran away from the world instead of confronting it back in the day, and now you're trying to find your place it. Seems you've made a good leap forward, but now this fellow comes along and starts poking 'round your business. Gave you a fright, but not because you're really afraid of him. Not only ghosts what can haunt a person."
"Did I tell you my brother got killed at the Battle of Hogwarts?" He told her and decided to just throw it all into the open.
"And I'm willing to bet you and him were thicker than thieves?"
Dennis nodded.
"Well, now that I know something about what's driving you, maybe I can give you a few tips. Can't say as I know much 'bout what's outside Maigh Cuilinn seeing as I've only been to Galway twice and Oughterard maybe half a dozen times in my life, but people are people… even the dead ones by your reckoning."
The young man smirked. He knew the dead could be just as persnickety and petulant as the living. Peeves specialized in that area.
"You need to hear what these things are this dead lord gave to you, Dennis. There's no way around it. Ye need the truth, too, and not just some half-arsed gobbledy-gook…"
"I don't think he speaks goblin," Dennis interjected.
"Sure about that?"
The two then stared at one another for a tense moment.
"No. No, I don't," the young wizard said, and he came to the realization he did not know that much about Thomas aside from what little he and his daughter stated. Even the books did not help fill in the background.
"I'm not telling you he's a bad bloke, but you need information for this one, boy. What you don't know might end up getting you killed," Gam Mergin responded in a more sympathetic voice. "It comes as a hard blow, I know too well, when ye find out what people are and not what you hoped they'd be. It's about the only thing age gives you: perspective. You're sorely needing that, Dennis."
"I don't think Thomas lied to me."
"Maybe he didn't, but did he tell you the whole truth that'd you be getting something other people might be wanting, too?"
Dennis shook his head.
"This Lord Thomas must've had a good reason for not wanting to tell ye at first, but it's different now," Gam said with greater insistence. "Someone somewhere seems to know a touch more about him than you do, and now it looks to be putting you in danger. The time for secrets is over… except for with the yellow topped man. The less he knows, the better."
"Yeah," Dennis agreed.
"Ye must be in a pretty serious way if you came to me for advice…"
"I knew that guy couldn't follow me here," he tried to assure her, "but I think… I needed to hear from someone else, someone not connected to it, what I know I should do. I'm just scared of upsetting Thomas. This is the first time in centuries he's had any real happiness in his life, being with his daughter and getting the silencing curse lifted. Sure, he's still stuck at Hogwarts, but at least now he can talk about what happened to him."
Gam Mergin took another drink of her tea, and it made Dennis wonder how her teeth did not get stained a deep mahogany color. He saw her eyes regarding him over the rim of her cup. Dennis met her gaze and held it. People in the muggle world constantly misinterpreted what a gaze meant. They equated it with being able to trust a person. It seemed reasonable to conclude they got that impression from meeting witches and wizards who would put a charm or a hex on them by using eye contact. Dennis learned over time to be careful with whom he locked glances. The periphery of his magical sense, the part of him that touched the force of magic, would give him a fraction of a second of a warning if someone tried to curse him. In the magical world, a quarter of a second could mean the difference between life and death. At the moment, Dennis did not fear Gam Mergin.
"It's a sad day when the world drives out a bit of innocence and… maybe purity from a person," the older woman stated in a soft manner. "You're a good lad, Dennis. Can't see you meaning any harm to anyone, but… and ye seem to have some inkling folks can be downright nasty."
"Yeah, I do," Dennis agreed.
"Then trust those instincts. You built 'em, so listen to 'em. Sometimes someone is going to get hurt a little when comes down to it. The truth don't take a fancy to no one 'cept to them who holds to it. It's high time you and this Nottingham lord had a talk about what he's asking you to keep safe for him."
Dennis bought himself a few seconds by taking hold of his teacup and taking a swig. The overpowering, overwhelming flavor of almost pure Irish black tea essence felt like an invigoration spell backfired into his body. He thought once again about asking for a sample so he could take it to Hagrid to get the half-giant's opinion. He shook his head to help restore his vision.
"Okay, be honest: what spell are you using to make this tea?" Dennis bluntly inquired.
"No spell, but the kettle I use is the secret. Been handed down in my family for at least three hundred years. Started out as copper, but can't quite say what it is now. Probably mostly thickened tea," she answered and laughed.
Dennis spied the bulbous, squat greenish-black kettle sitting on a back plate of the gargantuan cast-iron stove. It seemed like the stove could heat half the county on the worst winter night. However, the kettle seemed to stare back at him as if daring the wizard to tempt it.
"Fights back, doesn't it?" He asked.
"I think it started out as a cauldron, but someone got it into their head to hammer it down into a kettle. So, you go ahead try taking it near suds and water and see what happens."
"Think I'll give that a miss."
"Smart lad," Gam Mergin said with dark humor rattling through her words.
"Gam," Dennis said what he assumed to be a title and not her actual first name, "do you think I'm in any serious danger?"
One of her salt-and-pepper eyebrows shot up to the mid-point of her forehead. The sounds in the dining area and kitchen seemed to diminish and wait. He waited as well.
"Dennis, you got a man in a canary-dyed hat coming 'round and asking you strange questions and telling you it'll go hard for ye if you don't do as they ask, so I don't think it's much of a stretch to say he doesn't mean you any good," she rejoined without the least bit of humor. "But at least he gave you warning."
"'Cause he needs to know if I have it or not."
"And whether he can scare you into giving it up."
"And if I do sell it to him?" Dennis ventured one step further.
"Dennis, you won't ever get a chance to spend a knut of what he gives you if you do. You're only protection right now keeping it locked up tight in that goblin bank and never telling him if you do have whatever it is he's after. No matter what they ask for, don't give 'em anything!"
"I kind of already figured that out."
"Them instincts what I was telling you about? Follow them!"
Gam Mergin not only gave him some sound advice, but she confirmed what he already suspected. Dennis chatted with her for a short while afterward about the Parkowen Wailing Spirit, but the woman still could not provide further information. Before he left, Dennis thanked her profusely for spending time with him. In the course of that exchange, he learned Gam Mergin did not see her child very often who, for reason left unsaid, lived in North Ireland. Dennis' instincts told him pursuing that particular topic might erode whatever good will he earned with the older woman. He took his leave shortly before the noon hour.
The trip to Hogwarts took less than if he returned to London. Mr. Odpadki gave him the day off under the assumption Dennis intended to continue investigating the circumstances of Mother of the Fen. It provided part of the impetus to raise the issue with Gam Mergin so he would not be lying to his employer should the question arise. However, Mother of the Fen could wait. Dennis, goaded by the older woman, decided to act while his nerve remained piqued. A strange giddiness overcame him as he walked toward the promontory where Thomas and Lucia spent their days looking out over the loch and chatting about the past. The living wizard giggled a bit as he approached since the nervous energy filled him.
"Ah, Dennis!" Lord North said and turned when the sounded escaped Dennis. "So good to see you in fine humor on what I assume is a cold day."
"Yeah, it's nippy out here, Thomas," Dennis replied while aiming his back toward the wind blowing from the northeast. The knit cap on his head helped retain some body heat.
"I do so miss the wind," Lucia said and glanced at her hands.
"Probably not this one. That breeze coming off the loch cuts right through me," he told her. Then he turned to the late earl. "Thomas, I need to ask you an important question before some of my bits freeze off of me."
Thomas, or what could be seen of his face, broke into a grin as he replied: "Please, ask. You have more than earned answers from me."
"Thank you. Thomas, what I am holding in my vault for you? And I mean that small seven-sided silver box."
The lord's demeanor shifted in an instant.
"I know you asked me not to ask, but I pretty sure there are some blokes meaning to do me no good about it," Dennis added for good measure.
"Father?" Lucia spoke in a plaintive manner.
"Knowing will only put you in more peril, my friend," Thomas gravely intoned.
"It's too late for that, I think. Someone knows about it and that I have it. I've told you about that man in the yellow hat."
"Indeed, and I hoped it would become clear to you your ignorance of the matter would shield you."
Dennis and the former Earl of Nottingham faced one another on the windswept outcropping of rock. The grass crunched under Dennis' feet as he moved them around in an effort to stay warm. He did not want to argue with Thomas over the issue.
"Thomas, you're my friend. You have to know that by now, and you need to realize I'm in a situation where what I don't know might kill me. This man is not playing around. I think whoever he's working for really means to get his hands on… whatever that box is, and my life won't stand in the way," the younger of the two wizards entreated the older one.
Thomas appeared to frown while he thought.
"Please!" Dennis begged.
"Let me tell you at least this much before we come to the heart of the matter. These aspects may give you further insight into my reluctance. Can we agree on that?" The spirit bargained.
"Sure. Okay."
Dennis jammed his hands deeper into his pockets.
"The object of which we speak is far older than anything else that once resided in my private study. It came to my family through a long series of events dating back to the days when the Romans once trod these lands."
"The Romans?"
"It is through their design and artifice that the… box came into being. Part of the reason the Romans invaded our islands lay in what they hoped to gain from the Picts, or rather the Pictish druids who wore their sigils and wards openly on their bodies. You know of the druids?" Thomas spoke and asked in a measure tone as if teaching at the school.
"We've all heard of the moots and how the Druid Council makes their decisions. I planned on taking a holiday to go see it myself," Dennis replied.
"And what do you know of Pictish elemental magic?"
"You mean their earth magic?"
"Indeed, but I am certain you do not fully understand the extent to which the term refers. Their magic dealt in all things that came from the earth: wood, water, earth, gems, stone… and metal. Only the ancient Egyptian and Chinese magicians and the once great shamans of Central and South America rivaled the Picts in earth magic," Lord North further explained. "Now, it is important to understand that the blood once flowing through my veins came to me through my mother, and she came from a long line of Druids."
Dennis gaped at the man.
"That is one element we share in common as you, yourself, Mister Creevey are descended from the Scottish people and, in great likelihood, from the Picts as well. Your skill with charms and transmutations does not come by accident. Why the power in your family lay dormant for so long cannot be explained, but I would wager all I hold dear your magical lineage is as impressive as mine!"
"Come off it, Thomas! There wasn't a witch or wizard in my family – both sides! – for almost four hundred years. You could use photos of my parents as a definition of muggle," the young living man rounded on his friend.
"Be that as it may, yet I thought long and hard on this point, Dennis, and in especial after hearing of your exploits in the removal of refuse," Thomas told him in a manner that did not announce fawning praise. "You possess an skill, an absolute affinity with magic. The spell you crafted to contain the ill-advised attempt to birth a phoenix was no mean feat by any standard. Even from the first days you discovered yourself to be a wizard you showed a supple, subtle dexterity with charms by your own accounts. Even Professor Flitwick confirms this."
"Oh, talked to him, have you?"
"We've spoken about you several times, and we are agreed in our assessment of your skills. It appears your days outcast from your fellow wizards and witches proved fortuitous. The counsel and tutelage you sought from the other spirits and portraits contained with the school honed the already superb if nascent abilities within you. As I learned of your doings and saw how you went about freeing me from that loathsome curse, I knew I found within you a worthy heir to not only my last earthly possessions, but also of my singular burden," Lord North stated without even an iota of superciliousness.
"It is true, Dennis," Lucia added her voice to the conversation. "Your Professor Flitwick holds you in high regard, as if filial, and at times worries over the course of your days. He shared with us stories of your earlier times here and how you bore up to such contemptable treatment. Do not think for a moment my father makes light of this."
"I… don't," Dennis stammered as little said he the words. The wind whipped around him, yet the course of their talk made him momentarily immune from the external conditions.
"And as for the item I entrusted to you, a long and terrible history follows it, at least until it fell to my family. My grandfather vowed it would never again be used for the reasons it got wrought. Those who seek its magic find only horrendous woe as it unleashes calamity on those around them," Thomas relayed in an austere, dark fashion. "Moreover, the object cannot be unmade except through a convocation of Druids who will need to bend all their power and might to its destruction. Even the fires of Vesuvius or Etna cannot render that box inert. It would lie dormant in the magma until expelled by an eruption, and then it would resume its dire history."
Dennis stared at the faint outline of the man. Thomas never once displayed a tendency toward dramatics or histrionics. The ghost of the man always gave the impression of forthrightness. Hence, the young living wizard dismissed the notion Thomas exaggerated. Moreover, the man appeared a bit afraid. For something to cause fear in a ghost needed due consideration.
"Then why give it to me? I'm barely an adult!" Dennis rejoined and expressed his deep concern.
"Dennis, I spent these past centuries worrying my private room at Wollacott would be discovered and, with it, that box. As you learned, legend and rumor surround it, and sends some to seek it. Please, Mister Creevey, believe me when I say it cannot fall into hands that wish to use its abilities. This… thing is, by its very nature, a corruption of the magic we hold so dear. Even the Romans grew to despise and regret its creation."
"Really that bad?"
"You told me once just knowing the name of the curse that ended my life felt as though you got stained with something dark and menacing," Thomas replied, and Dennis felt his head nodding in agreement. "Then take heed when I say this box is far, far worse. Please, do not misapprehend the faith and trust, belief in your absolute character, I place in you as caretaker of this burden. Yes, it is a benighted honor I bestowed upon you, Dennis, but I can think of no better person with whom I can entrust it."
Dennis regarded the earl and his daughter while he thought over the information presented. Thomas seemed exceptionally worried about the box. However, the man carefully avoided revealing anything specific about the object other than a vague notion of how it got created, by who, and what it might take to destroy the box. In the midst of his cogitation, another factor came to light. It prompted Dennis to address.
"Thomas, I'm not really sharing your burden 'cause you never asked me if I wanted it. You let it pass to me without telling me what I took on," he said and saw his words made the spirit wince. "You didn't lie to me, but you didn't exactly tell me the truth, either. You put me in danger without letting me know what I might face."
"Dennis, I did not mean to deceive you. It was never my intention," Lord North stated while the pulled at his words.
The young wizard nodded his head as he said: "And I know what you mean about how knowing something can be more dangerous than not knowing. But sometimes not knowing means you don't know what not to do… if that makes any sense. Mister Odpadki is always telling me to look at what we've got to do, understand it, and don't underestimate what could happened. I can't do that with you, for you, without knowing something."
"Father," Lucia spoke up. "It untenable to ask Dennis to risk his life for reasons shielded from him. He proved his mettle, his value, and worth to you. If this is an onus you wish him to shoulder, and you expect of him to choose the right course of action, then Dennis cannot be left blind to the dangers he will face. Please, Father, he has never asked anything of you in the past."
The ghost of the man appeared conflicted by the counsel of his daughter. However, Dennis heard the wisdom of a person who lived longer in the world than her sire. Lucia Hughes could not be considered a child in any sense. Although she frequently deferred to her father, the woman did not come without her own mind and opinions. Her advocacy of his cause surprised Dennis, but he felt gratitude for her efforts.
"Know that this is, in itself, its own danger," Thomas iterated.
"I'm not asking you to tell me how to use it, Thomas: I just need to know what it is so I can… act accordingly as you'd put it," Dennis rejoined.
"He speaks rightly," Lucia again sided with the living wizard.
"Dennis…" the late earl began and halted for a moment. He exchanged a worried glance with Dennis. "This… object… it is called the Heptagon because of its design and shape. The Romans often referred to it as an impetu locari, quite literally the 'placed force'. They used Druidic means, distilled into the box, to merge spells together."
"So what? I used combined spells all the time," Dennis sputtered.
"Oh, no, my good lad, not like this," Thomas said in a low voice. "The result of your combinations is a new spell that mimics some of the attributes of both. I, myself, enjoy such a practice once long ago. The impetu locari is a device that merges spells so each continues with its own potency, its own effect, whilst simultaneously enhancing the succeeding spells as they are added. In sum total it can combine six spells to create a single spell that invokes all the powers and properties of its components."
The young man's eyebrows drew slight together as he said: "Let me see if I got this right. This box can create one spell out of six so that it's like casting those six spells at once?"
"This a very simplified version. It also amplifies the like elements of each spell, and those components become more powerful in the final form, and therein lies the true danger."
Dennis's mouth formed a small oh. He felt the cold on his skin, but felt a chill deeper within his body. Thomas hinted at a dark, potent power any witch or wizard could wield.
"Perhaps you comprehend the danger, but let me be explicit since we have come this far," Thomas stated in as blunt a manner Dennis ever heard him us. "Unfortunately, it takes much preparation to ensure the final spell did not become maligned during the process. There are cause-and-effect relations one needs to consider when amalgamating spells, lest they become something wholly unintended. This was often the case, and the final product became an abomination of what the creators intended. Many a witch and wizard died while trying to cast a spell whose properties they did not fully comprehend or understand to the fullest. Would you care for an example, Dennis?"
Dennis vigorously nodded his head. While only the vaguest of outlines could be seen of the former Earl of Nottingham, his demeanor could not be made immaterial. The serious set of his facial features added gravitas to his words.
"Of late you recently encountered one such combined spell. I believe it is now commonly called FiendFyre. In my days when I trod the ground, every practitioner of magic got warned away from its use since the fire vied to control and expand itself. The makers of the spell were rumored to have died in its casting, and they could not exert influence over it. None know the component spells used in its forging, but you, yourself, have witnessed the precarious power of this spell."
"Yeah. It got cast during the battle here," the younger, living wizard stated in remembered awe of the events Harry Potter reported took place in the Room of Requirement.
"Indeed," Thomas agreed. "Several spirits once called that facet of the Room their home, and it still burns to this day, uninhabitable by either the living or the deceased. At some point in the future, and not one long off, the keepers of this castle will have needs to extinguish the fire before it threatens to topple structure from within. The fire weakens the stones of Hogwarts."
"No way," Dennis whispered as a sense of dread began to form.
"I regret all I tell you is true. Do you understand now my misgivings in describing this… thing to you? The Heptagon is not a toy, Dennis: it is to be rightly feared for what it is and what it can do," the late lord partially admonished him.
"I get it, but I think you should have told me about it. You know it sat in my house, a muggle home, for nearly a month?"
"And did I not repeatedly enjoin you to procure a vault for yourself to hold those items?"
The young man bobbed his head again.
"It is a relief to hear the goblins redoubled their efforts to secure their banks and holdings," Thomas exhaled the words as if to give life to his sentiment.
"They got gangs of dragons who are allowed to fly through tunnels and eat any thieves they capture. Frightens me a little every time I go to my vault and hear 'em screeching close by," Dennis admitted his reaction to the measure.
"Then let it also give you heart the device that lays dormant in your vault is safe from invasion and theft. It will give those who seek to wrest it from you pause before acting. Tell me, if I may be so bold as to ask, Dennis, to whom did you bequeath the contents of your in the event of your demise?" Lord North inquired in a business-like demeanor.
"I, ah… um, well, the goblins made me sign a paper saying what they should do with the stuff if I, um, snuff it," Dennis awkwardly answered. "My mum and dad get the galleons, and Professor Flitwick gets all the rest. My folks wouldn't know what to do with all the magical stuff."
"May I suggest you find yourself a good counselor or solicitor and formalize a will to make certain no one, especially the goblins, can contest the distribution of your personal estate?"
"Estate? I don't own any land."
"It also means everything in your possession, Dennis," Lucia corrected him through a slightly visible small smile.
"Oh, yeah. Right. I suppose I should make a will now," Dennis decided aloud.
"And make certain to use our kind of solicitor: magical. I am not certain the goblins would respect a non-magical agent, or the documents created by one. They can be quite… finicky when it comes to legal matters," Thomas made the correct suggestion.
"Tell me about it. It was a nightmare of paperwork when I converted my holding account to a vault. You'd think I was declaring war on them or something!"
Lucia's head swung back and forth as Dennis and Thomas commented at one another. It took the living person among them a moment to realize Lucia never knew about or interacted with any form of magical creature until reaching Hogwarts. Hence, her puzzled expression seemed appropriate for the moment.
"Do they teach that goblins gave up physical warfare in favor of legal and procedural combat?" The late earl inquired, but did not pause to wait for an answer. "I would say, in essence, you did engage in a minor skirmish with them when you altered your account. The goblins took great umbrage with my maternal great-grandfather when he refused to use their services for fear they, the goblins, would abscond with the family fortunes. My grandfather maintained that stance. There was a permanent sense of ill-will between us."
"Really? I know they're a right pain the arse at times with all their rules and regulations, but I never thought of them as thieves. Not once. Plus, they did stand with us against Voldemort, so they've got that going for them," Dennis rejoined while he stomped his feet again and tried to huddle deeper into his clothing.
"My word, Dennis, you look to be freezing," Lucia commented.
"Just a little, but this is important" he replied.
"Indeed, but suffering your death from the cold would do no one any service. Unless you need to discuss this further, then take yourself to warmth of indoors," Thomas all but ordered him.
"I think I know enough now to know what to do. Thanks, Thomas, for… ah, giving in and telling me what it is I've got in the vault."
"The decision, while not pleasurable, did not come as a struggle. You are far too clever a wizard, Dennis, to let yourself remain unenlightened for too long. Your skills at research are becoming rather formidable, and I might add you know an interesting array of individuals who likely have very long memories. It seemed reasonable to assume you would divine the truth of matter for yourself sooner rather than later."
"Yeah. I'd probably ask Peeves, and he'd tell me if he thought it might cause trouble. 'Sides, he's partial to telling gruesome stories," Dennis confessed what he considered to be an open secret.
Thomas smirked and said: "I did place him high on your list of information sources, although he sounds bit… dubious from your past recollections of your interactions within."
"Ever deal with him?"
"Very little. Peeves is not given to leaving the castle proper. I heard tell many of the other spirits find his tyrannical rule over Hogwarts to be quite bothersome. You, Dennis, complained at times so of his ill-treatment of you. I recall seeing knots on your head on several occasions."
"Um, his… teaching style is, I guess, sort of hands-on. But he says my reaction times are spot on now. Plus, if you get him in the right mood, Peeves gives good advice. He's been around a while. Makes you look like a baby ghost," Dennis responded and grinned.
"Yet after a thousand years he does not tire of his condition," the spirit of Lord North said, and his words almost got lost in the breeze. "Upon you rests my hopes that one day I may depart this mortal coil with my daughter at my side and thereby find a new peace."
The final statement jolted Dennis. He goggled at Thomas who seemed to look right through the younger wizard. A moment later, the spirit's gaze refocused.
"This is not the afterlife I imagined for myself, Dennis. I did not come to this by choice, so much as you did not enter this world of your own volition. So, do not look askance at my desire to be done with this form of existence," said Thomas in a reflective fashion. "I hold true to my belief that I may receive absolution for whatever sins I committed in my earthly days and go to a rest I feel I richly earned through my centuries of suffering. Were it not for your efforts, my dear friend, I could not begin to imagine surcease might be attained."
"Hadn't, um, thought of it like that," Dennis muttered as he hoped he correctly interpreted the statements.
"That is your youth, Dennis, making your mind for you. Come back to me when you are long of tooth, sparse of hair, and with eyes that look further behind than ahead. But for now, take yourself inside and share a warm cup with Professor Flitwick if his schedule permits. I give you leave to share as much with him as you dare if you are in need of further counsel."
"Thanks. Not sure I want him to know right now. Might complicate things… especially with the Ministry and that hearing. They're already on me to tell them what you gave me."
"I suspect my secret is not as secure as I once imagined. If there others hounding you for the same reason, it stands the location of this Heptagon somehow became know," the late lord intoned.
"Hang on!" Dennis blurted as one small piece of information blasted into his brain. "You mean there's more than one of these things?"
"I believe at one time six existed, but that is a story for another day. Your lips seem to be turning an off-color, Dennis, so take yourself away!"
Dennis stared at his friend for half a minute while the cold sank a little deeper into his flesh. The notion others might already possess sisters of the device in his vault disturbed his piece of mind. He finally shook his head and said: "Yeah, alright. I am cold, but this is not the end of this conversation, Thomas!"
"Indeed, and a pleasant day to you, Dennis," the ethereal man said.
"You, too. And to you as well, Lucia."
"My thanks, Dennis. Go with care and seek some warmth," she politely returned.
With that, Dennis folded in on himself to find a warmer location.