Well, its that time again! Good news everybody, there is more reading to do! *IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE* there is a poll now up on my profile page, and it will remain up until I have completed writing the rough draft of ANP - 7, that will dictate what story I will pursue upon completion of the ANP story arc, so check it out and vote for your favorite! *IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE END* anyway, R&R and vote on the poll please!
Chapter Eight
The Riddle Years
Severus stalked from Horace Slughorn's Christmas party early. The old man quite disgusted him, and to see him fawning over another year's worth of students was enough to tarnish any respectful memories he held for the old Potion's Master.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that Severus tore sharply around a corner and nearly fell over Argus Filch, leading Theodore Nott along roughly by the arm. "Ah, Professor," grunted the old caretaker, "I found this boy lurking in the upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to Professor Slughorn's party…"
Nott wrenched himself free from the caretaker's grasp, "Get off me you filthy squib," he said angrily as he straightened his robes. "I'll take him from here Filch," Severus said smoothly, causing the cankerous man's face to darken. "I am his Head of House after all. Come Theodore, I want a word…"
Nott glared resentfully at him, but obliged, probably to at least be free of Filch's presence. Severus led the boy down a flight of stairs and off to a secluded classroom, baring the door against potential eavesdroppers and turning at last to face Nott. "Just what do you think you were doing?" he asked directly, leveling his coldest glare upon the boy.
Nott didn't even flinch, "What would you care, it's none of your business anyway, Professor…" he sneered as he said the title like it was a dirty word.
"Giving cursed necklaces to students is most assuredly my business, Theodore, and you know it. On more than one level in fact," Severus replied, leaning down and taking hold of the boy's robes for emphasis, "You cannot afford to be so careless on your scheme, if you are expelled…"
"So what?" Nott said, prying Severus' hands away, "Who cares about school anymore, He's back, and he trusts me, far more than you apparently for such a job I've been given. Whether I succeed or not he will win, you know that. The Dark Lord will always win in the end…"
Severus stared hard at Nott, trying to worm his way into the boy's mind. If anyone in the school was threatened, then he was more than within his rights to use it. "Don't you dare look at me like that!" Nott yelled, turning away and blocking out Severus with clear Occulmency techniques, "I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't help you."
Who the boy had learned from clicked in Severus mind almost instantly, "Bellatrix has been teaching you Occulmency, hasn't she? What thoughts are you trying to keep hidden away from your Master?"
Nott flinched, returning to glare angrily at Severus, "I could ask you very much the same question. Everyone knows you've spent the most time around Dumbledore out of all of us. What secrets might've you just let slip about our Lord?"
"Theodore," Severus said, softer now, "I'm trying to help you…"
"I don't need your help!" Nott raged back, "I can do this on my own. He trusts me! He sought me out when I was alone! He's the only one who cared!"
At last, Severus understood. The Dark Lord had come to Nott during his stint grieving his father, a man who had loyally followed his master to the death. Severus could almost picture the words falling from the Dark Lord's lips like soothing water, lulling the impressionable boy into his confidence and promising him power and revenge. It was much like when Severus himself joined the Death Eaters.
"Why would you not allow me to help you? The Dark Lord has already entrusted with me your mission, and he trusts me explicitly." Severus attempted.
"The Dark Lord may trust you," Nott replied, edging toward the door, "but I will never trust you. You're Potter's ally, nothing more or less, and you'll be found out eventually. And you will beg for death before the end!"
Suddenly whirling, Nott slashed his wand at the door, breaking the charms keeping it closed and locked, and bolted through it.
Severus shook his head as the boy whipped around the corner and out of sight. He was worried about what darkness that boy was surrounding himself with, almost like seeing a window into his past life at Nott's age, after Faykan had departed Hogwarts with Lucius and soon vanished completely. He had never once thought to ask the Istari what had occurred to make him stop keeping in communication with Severus from that point on, as there had been little to no reasoning behind it.
He thought briefly about returning to the party and informing Faykan and Harry about Nott immediately, but he delayed, and returned to his office instead. Better to let the pair enjoy what holiday they could manage in these stressful times than have that hanging over them along with all the other weights that the pair of powerful wizards had to bear.
Besides, Albus had mentioned that he wanted to continue Harry's lessons through the memories of those who knew the Dark Lord as a child even over the vacation, so they were likely to visit Faykan's Tower in the near future regardless, and he could present his findings, and perhaps ask his questions, then.
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Hermione smiled up at the grand structure of the Tower of Orthanc, admiring its architecture for what felt like the hundredth time since she had first seen it. She couldn't help it, the edifice was so rich in history that was etched into its very construction, and it fascinated her.
Currently however, she didn't have the time she normally would have liked to stand and study the exquisite stonework, as she was far too busy assisting in making room on the large grounds for another block of tents for the continuous flood of refugees from magical Europe. Apparently there were hundreds of tiny communities all around the eastern borders of the countryside, all who still held to old traditions and remembered the ways the world ran millennia previously.
Most now had been forced out of their lands and homes, and had fled to the refuge afforded by Faykan at Isengard, where the ever present forest around acted as a natural barrier against even the foulest of creatures. Hermione had gotten to see the defenses first hand mere days ago, when Fay had led them out to investigate a disturbance at the forest edge. Orcs had attempted to chase down a fleeing family and had ended up crushed beneath the roots of the enraged tree the family had climbed for safety.
Just as she finished erecting the magical tent for the same family, Hermione looked around her, beaming with sentiment. This was how the world ought to be, magical and nonmagical people living in harmony, working together to build their world. Not like the Ministry in Britain with its secrecy and overprotective traditionalism to keep them segregated from all things modern. Granted things weren't very modern here either, but the principle was the same.
She, Harry, Draco and Ron had all come with Faykan back here for the holidays. Getting permission from her parents was difficult, but Hermione didn't have to go through the ordeal that Ron had with Molly Weasley, who had finally complied on the condition that they had to, at minimum, come visit the Burrow on Christmas day. Hermione felt that it was that Mrs. Weasley was still very much frightened that her entire family was now actively participating in the war against Voldemort, and therefore was seized with an overprotective urge that wouldn't quit.
While Hermione knew that her parents had only agreed because she had insisted on how important it was that she be with Harry and Fay as they had no one to be with them, she knew that they had wanted to have her to themselves for Christmas. She missed them as well, but she had to remember her duty to helping protect the wizarding world. She, Harry, Ron and Draco had all agreed that since it seemed that none of the wizarding governments would stand against Voldemort, that they along with Faykan and those who would rally behind them had to step up as the line of resistance; the light in the darkness.
Much to Harry's protest, but overruled by the rest, they had adopted the banner of Dumbledore's Army as their own personal flag for a unified front against the forces of Darkness. Hermione had gone so far as to set aside her S.P.E.W. work and herself championed the cause of making sure that were organized. Her first objective was to create as many of the D.A. styled coins and jewelry as possible to create a wide ranged network of people to be able to band together and signal for help when Voldemort struck. Faykan had smiled when he learned of their plan, and lent them whatever they needed.
I gong-like note sounded from the tower, which was a signal for those in authority, including Hermione and her friends, to return to the tower to learn of recent events that had occurred.
Quickly she stowed her wand and crossed the grounds, ducking around and darting through what openings in the crowd she could. There were many people here now, well over seventy thousand in total, and each was eager to hear what was going on it outside their sanctuary. The crowds pressed thicker the closer to Orthanc she got, and inevitable she had to announce her need to pass and create an isle way to proceed.
Gratefully the people parted immediately, recognizing her as one of the leaders of the refuge, and therefore giving her a great deal of respect. Hermione tried to deflect as much of the attention as she could, but there was no avoiding it at times like these. She was merely glad that it wasn't going to her head.
Entering the tower rapidly, she skidded to a halt in the large front gathering place, finding Harry and the others waiting in a small group as the other world leaders milled about. All seemed to be waiting for Faykan to appear with the news. Soon enough the black haired boy bounded down the stairs, followed quickly by the red robed Broderick Bode, who was quite agile for his apparent age.
Taking his seat in the large throne, Faykan rapped his staff on the stonework to settle the many different conversations and call the assembly to order. As they quieted and several of the elderly took the seats that had been provided by house elves, Faykan nodded to Bode, who took the floor and spoke to the gathering, "Witches and Wizards, great men and women of the western realms, Lords and Ladies of the kingdoms of men, welcome. News has come out of the Ministry of Britain that the man named Lord Voldemort, and his minions, have quieted down much over these few months."
He took a quick breath as muttering started around the room, silenced by another rap from the Istari's staff, "While the Ministry has no doubts that this means that the Dark Lord is forming his forces for a new offensive, there are many who see this as a small reprisal, a time to build up their own forces and repair their image from the year previous. Owls and other messages alike will more than assuredly make their way to you all in due time, pleading for resources and reinforcements alike."
This announcement was met with much angrier muttering, but Faykan refused to silence them a third time, and Bode waited for them to quite on their own.
"We of the department of Mysteries are quite aware that you are all already under heavy duress, and are contributing all you can to the cause, but consider the Ministry of Britain's plight. Offer what you can spare openly, so that they remember who their allies are, and they will take heart in this fight, making it more likely for our eventual success." He finished, bowing slight and stepping aside as Faykan stood. In moments the young boy was gone, replaced by the ancient wizard trapped in a boy's body, radiating confidence and authority that the assembled men of prestige and power gravitated to by instinct. There was no muttering when the Azure Lord spoke, each listened with rapt attention.
"My friends and brethren, those who have fought hard these past months against the forces of darkness, hearken to my words. The British Ministry stands upon the brink of failure, with enemies without and within. They are the front lines of this war, which is threatening to spill over all the lands of the West. If we leave them to fall, what new horrors would Voldemort be capable to unleash once his attention turns to us?"
Faykan paused for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts, before continuing, "I offer this solution, a pledge of alliance, and what immediate aid we can spare, which would have gone to Britain in secret regardless, and a promise of military aid when the time is right, which we plan to do regardless. The longer it takes for the final battle, the more time we have to prepare for whatever end awaits us there."
Hermione saw many of the heads nodding, and small smattering of whispered conversations sprang up again as Faykan resumed his seat, but no longer were they irritated or scathing in sound, but more agreeable.
She presumed that many were considering what they had that they could give if asked. But her thoughts were distracted as Mr. Bode turned to address them and Faykan specifically.
"There is more, but on a less overarching nature. Minister Scrimgeour is trying very earnestly to arrange a meeting between himself and Mr. Potter, presumable in attempts to have the 'chosen one,' speak out in favor of the ministry and gloss over the actions they had taken against him personally the year previous."
Hermione saw Harry bristle at the news. "He's going to have a good time trying to get me to agree to that…" the boy responded, only managing to restrain the full front of bitterness in his voice.
Bode nodded, "We of the Department of secrets are inclined to agree. Naturally we hold none of you responsible for the damages that occurred during the battle last year, in fact the data we collected from that event along was worth every knut of repair that we had to spend."
The red robed man smiled genuinely, and bowing slightly to Faykan, took his leave. Faykan sighed after Mr. Bode was gone, and shifted in his throne, before shaking his head at the milling group of leaders from Eastern Europe and rose, beckoning for Hermione and the others to follow.
He led them up the twisting staircase of Orthanc, right up to the very pinnacle. Hermione suspected that this was the boy's favorite place in his home, the view alone being relaxing and quite useful for clearing one's mind.
For several long moments they just stood there, the four of them looking confusedly at each other as Faykan stared of into the west, a look of pained longing in his eyes as he scanned the seemingly endless forest.
Finally, he tore his gaze away and returned to them. "My friends," he said, and Hermione noted the pain that lingered behind the words, "I know the things that have been growing in your hearts, for it is also in mine. You fear for the future of Britain, and the lack of care its leaders and people seem to give to its destruction."
The words rang true for Hermione, and she felt a pang of grief that she had only been barely aware of before. The others seemed very much the same, growing somber with their eyes downcast. "I feel much the same for the whole of the earth," Faykan continued, turning somewhat to linger on the vista before them, "the time of magic is waning in this world. And many things must come to an end in days no longer so far off as one may hope."
He sighed, and it seemed like the rushing out of the wind. Hermione felt tears starting to form, just from listening to the sorrow that was behind every word. "But hope remains," the boy said, turning back to them, and his eyes shone with a sad determination. "So long as we stay true to our cause, no dark clouds can dim the light we bring. We must inspire wizarding Britain to free itself. This is the cause that has brought us all together. While I admit my hand was very much at work from the beginning, I cannot take full credit."
Faykan smiled, and while Hermione could still see the pain that must have been there from the very beginning, she couldn't help but return it. "We will," Harry said, stepping beside his best friend. It was in that moment that Hermione realized what she had never seen. Harry and Faykan were all too much the same, bolt and courageous, yet intelligent and at times wise beyond their years. It was no wonder that she, and many of the other girls at Hogwarts, had presumed falsely that the two boys were more than friends.
Even now, each seemed to instinctively react to the other, as if they were two parts of the same being. Hermione suddenly snapped out of her reflective daze. Something interesting began to whirl in her mind; a series of events that just might explain… she found Faykan's eyes on her, and he nodded sagely, permitting her to rush down to her chamber and dig through her many books for where she had seen a glimpse of soul magic.
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Albus had decided to take his time in preparing for his and Severus' departure to Orthanc to meet with Alatar and Harry. It was by no means because he wanted to be tardy, but rather that his body was starting to feel the effects of age and a near lifetime of battle, his current affliction aside. The hand itself was a constant irritant, but Albus had resigned himself to the fact that he had precious little time remaining in the world, and went forward with that knowledge with one goal: Give Harry every tool he could to help defeat Voldemort.
Fawkes soared over as Albus gather the last of his vials of memories, lighting on his shoulder and offering strength to the aged wizards failing body. Severus promptly arrived moments later, and in a flash of phoenix fire they traveled the thousands of miles to the grand tower that was the central stronghold of the Light.
How he had yearned to wander its halls and discover the many secrets hidden within, to learn of a history long forgotten by the races of men. Alas, Albus sighed, it was not his lot to learn all the mysteries of the world, and he was most certainly more occupied with the true greater good, the one that demanded a sacrifice of self, rather than of others.
Stepping forward, Albus pushed the blackened wood of the main doors aside with ease, and together he and Severus entered. Alatar was already waiting for them, along with Harry, Draco, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley. "Good afternoon Albus," Alatar greeted warmly, and Albus returned the pleasant smile that the young face seemed to always wear.
Looking at Severus, who nodded in the direction of the other children to indicate that he would be with them while Albus had his lesson with Harry and Alatar. "Shall we then?" he asked, patting the pocket of his robe where the vials of memory and his shrunken Pensieve lay.
The ancient Istari nodded his consent, and together the three wizards withdrew from the main hall to a private chamber on the ground floor. Albus took a moment as he entered, gazing over the many historic and artistic relics from ages long past. Dominating the room was a preserved banner of a white tree, crowned with six stars on a field of black. There were suits of armor of many varieties, and cases showing weapons and fine crafted jewelry in such precision of creativity that even Albus wasn't sure who made them or how.
Alatar led them to a back table and gestured for Albus to set his pensieve upon it. "If I may Professor," the Istari said, stepping forward, "I have memories of Tom from while I attended Hogwarts with him that may be of… intense, interest to you and Harry."
"Of course, of course," Albus said, stepping back and eagerly awaiting as Alatar drew forth long strands of memory from his temple. The magical strands of thought cascaded into the bowl and swirled there, waiting for them to choose which one to view first.
When Alatar finished, he reached forward and prodded one of the strands as it floated by, causing the pensieve to glow. "It is ready when you both are," Alatar said, stepping back and allowing Harry to enter the basin first. Albus went second, somewhat delighted to have the extra memories to work with, as his own that he had brought were very limited and had less than what Albus would have wanted to show.
They landed in the Great Hall of Hogwarts as it was over fifty years ago. Headmaster Dippet sat in the large golden chair behind the staff table while a much younger Dumbledore, who Albus remembered fondly, was quite enjoying his time as Transfiguration teacher and Gryffindor Head of House, called each new first years name, and placed the sorting hat upon their head.
"Undol, Faykan," the younger Albus called, and the elder version, Alatar and Harry all turned to see the roguish face that was perfectly identical to each of Alatar's incarnations squeeze through a pair of taller students and approach the stool. Instinctively, Albus scanned the hall for Tom, spotting him at the Slytherin table, already sorted and waiting patiently for the ceremony to end.
What was interesting, was how focused the boy was as he watched Alatar's sorting, catching the boy's eye just before the hat was lowered over them. Unlike the time in Harry's first year, the hat took no more than a few moments to make its decision, "SLYTHERIN!" it cried, and the hall burst into polite applause.
The memory of Alatar made his way to the green and silver table, sitting across from Tom and smiling at him. Tom himself did not return the gesture, but continued to glance at Alatar with a mixture of annoyance and interest in his eyes as the Sorting considered.
The scene shifted, and the trio found themselves in the Charms classroom. A substantially younger Flitwick was teaching a first year Slytherin-Ravenclaw class the hover charm. Voices were clamoring all around as the students were attempting the spell for the first time.
Harry was the one to spot Tom and Alatar first this time, and the three viewed the interaction of the two boys. Tom was along the back row of seats watching the others for a long time before attempting the charm himself, without luck, while Alatar merely looked around with a bored expression on his face. Finally, after the diminutive Professor glanced in his direction pointedly, Alatar lifted his wand and cast the spell perfectly, causing his feather to soar into the air.
Albus was quick to catch the look of loathing and jealousy that flashed across Tom Riddle's face at someone succeeding before he was able to, despite his second attempt yielding nearly identical results.
Another shift in the scenery, to what appeared to be a Christmas break in the Slytherin common room, Alatar alone by the fireplace reading some book with no writing on the cover, while Tom sat in a far corner, talking with a pair of other students. Alatar pointed them out as Abraxis Malfoy and Evan Rosier, both of whom were dead now.
Every now and again as the others were speaking, Tom would glance past them at Alatar's past self, and frown slightly before returning to his immediate companions, albeit with much less enthusiasm for whatever they were speaking about.
Albus furrowed his brow in thought. Was it his imagination, or as each passing snippet of memory played, was Tom growing more and more openly curious, if still highly resentful, of the Istari. Alatar kept the chronology flowing, moving past through Tom's first and second years and well into the third.
A scene opened with Alatar walking down an empty corridor of the castle. Albus reckoned that it must have been a Hogsmeade weekend, with the light snow falling out the windows of the castle and the severe lack of other students.
But none of this seemed to concern the ancient wizard, as he strolled casually along, seeming to not notice the shadow that lurked behind him. Albus thought that the boy had honestly not seen Tom sneaking up behind him, but the sidelong glance and momentary pauses gave away that Alatar felt in command of his situation.
Just as Alatar was passing an empty classroom, it door partially open, Tom struck, seizing the smaller Istari by the shoulders and half dragging him into the empty room. Bolting the door in one swift motion mere moments after the three silent observers hurried inside, Tom turned on his prisoner, who was looking neither startled nor uneasy about being alone in the boy's presence.
Albus could see that that alone bothered Tom greatly, "You've been avoiding me," he said flatly to Alatar, who returned Tom's gaze without fear.
"Have I Tom? Or is it that you've made no great attempts to approach me since term started?" the Istari replied coolly.
Riddle narrowed his eyes, "Why haven't you been around Undol, I've wanted to ask you some things for quite a long time now…"
Alatar laughed at that, "Oh Tom," he said, wiping false tears from his eyes, "you're so funny when you say things like that…" suddenly the boy grew very somber, and replied again with a scant trace of steel in his voice, "I have been avoiding you Tom, as you well know the reason. Your little gang of 'friends' are the kind of people I would choose to be around, especially when I know what sort of position you'd want me to fill for you."
Riddle also grew very quiet and attentive; seeming to draw upon every word that Alatar spoke before replying. "I do not understand, Faykan. Surely you want to be with us? I thought you wanted to be friends with me. Think of all we could accomplish with your family's knowledge. All the wonders we could create for the wizarding world…"
"Wonders you say?" Alatar countered, stepping back from Tom, a look of warning in his eyes, "is that what you're up to? Researching family lines, looking up ancient artifacts in the library every free moment, not to mention learning spells that they Professors would be very upset to find out that you knew…"
Tom clamped a hand over Alatar's mouth, silencing the boy from any further utterance, "Tread carefully Undol," he breathed. "It would be most wise of you to keep silent upon what things your friends are doing…"
Alatar pulled the hand away from his face slowly, still meeting Riddle's gaze, "Tell me, friend… When did Tom Marvolo Riddle abandon wisdom for madness?"
Tom lost control, hitting Alatar hard across the face, and shoving him roughly along the wall in his attempt to silence him. Wands were drawn, but no spells were cast, as both boys stared at each other in silence, watching for even the subtlest of movement to betray an attack.
Alatar was smiling. Albus shook his head as he realized that the ancient wizard was enjoying toying with Tom's emotions, intentionally goading the boy toward a confrontation. "Come now Tom, we still have four years here together. Why sully our wonderful time in school by having an all out brawl in a tucked away corner of the castle, where no one can see… Or can they?" Alatar taunted.
Riddle's eyes widened in paranoia, and quickly he began backing out of the room. "You mark my words Undol, you will be one of mine in the end, or you will deeply regret it." He said menacingly.
"Threats are merely words we use to protect our pride Tom," Alatar retorted, "you would do well to learn that I am quite unafraid of you."
Tom snarled, and stormed off, just before the memory ended. Albus sighed as the three of them lifted back to the torch lit chamber of Orthanc, the Pensieve's light glowing merrily as Alatar returning his memories from where they had come.
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Harry stood silently as the memories ended. He noticed quite a bit about the boy Tom Riddle throughout the snatches of Hogwarts recollections, but he was far less concerned with them as he had been with the actions and motivations of his best friend. Faykan had seemed to be more than happy to engage Voldemort as a child, even to the point of nearly causing a major fight. It was the same brashness that had been evident throughout the time he had known the ancient wizard. This worried Harry greatly.
Professor Dumbledore talked with them about various things relative to Riddle's personality, from his choice of powerful and influential 'friends,' if they could be called such, all the way to his determination to be the very best at everything. Harry had noted that Faykan probably had been a main contributor to Riddle's anger in that sense, as the boy hardly had to try to accomplish great feats of magic, and such trivial things such as first year levitation was far beneath him.
Fawkes, who had been perched stilly on the large Gondorian banner for the entire time of their lesson, alighted down to Harry's shoulder, crooning softly as he absently brushed the warm plumage. Albus smiled at him and the phoenix, before turning to Faykan. "I believe the final key point of what we've seen here is a reaffirmation that Tom loved to collect things. His studies in the library covered a wide arrangement of topics, but they always seemed to settle around the artifacts of the Hogwart's Founders."
Faykan nodded in agreement, "Yes that was indeed one of his more favored pieces of history…"
"As we know, Tom eventually found out his connection to Slytherin," Dumbledore continued, stroking his beard in thought, "So I would wager that at least one of the major artifacts he sought would have been from that house. However, just for safety's sake, I will research what I can and discover the fates of the relics of the other three as well, and perhaps we will discover some time that they crossed Tom's path."
The Headmaster held out an arm, and Harry felt the small weight lift off his shoulder as Fawkes returned to Dumbledore. "I will take my leave then, as there are things that need to be accomplished during this holiday. Good day," he said casually, and departed.
Harry let out a sigh he had not been aware he had holding. Things between them and the Headmaster just felt so awkward these days, despite the close contact. Faykan shook his head as Dumbledore turned out of sight, but followed without a word.
Back in the main room, Ron, Hermione and Draco were conversing with Professor Snape in hushed tones, but stopped as the other three approached. The Potions Master nodded at Harry and Faykan as he departed after Dumbledore, stepping out into the snow swept grounds and out of sight.
Harry felt somewhat tired, but the looks on Draco, Ron and Hermione's faces told him that he would not be resting immediately. "Professor Snape just told us about what happened while we were at Slughorn's party." Hermione started. The listened intently as the three took turns repeating what Professor Snape had related to them in Harry and Faykan's absence.
When they had finished, Faykan nodded, "Well, not much to go on, but all along the lines of what we suspected. Alas that there is little we can do to stop whatever he's up to."
Ron looked as though he wanted to argue the point, and Harry was all but ready to agree, but Faykan silenced any protest by slicing his hand through the air, "It would not matter what we did, Nott seems to be on to our prying into his plans. And as we have no clue what said plans entail, we can only prepare for the worst possible outcome."
He softened immediately from the stern tone he had used, "We will not stand idly by and let Valar know what into that castle. Tabs will be kept on Nott, watching where he goes, who he speaks with, and we will plan and wait. Never forget that we are not alone in this fight."
"But, enough of all this dire worry," Faykan said, smiling, "It's the holidays; we should celebrate Yuletide with our many guests. What do you think? We could have a big feast on Christmas eve, with games for the youngest children."
Harry smiled in return, that did sound like an excellent thing to brighten everyone's spirit. Arrangements and preparations were quickly thrown together, but keeping the party a secret proved impossible. Soon the entire camp was busily setting up for a large Christmastime celebration.
And what a celebration it was. From somewhere in the depths of the tower, Faykan produced barrels of fine wine, aged beyond compare. Despite the fact that Harry and the others were only permitted a single glass of it, it was by far the most exquisite thing he had ever tasted. The Istari also conjured fireworks from nothing, sending large explosions of light across the sky that Harry thought could be seen for miles if not for the charm shrouding the area from prying eyes.
Tables and chairs stretched out all along the open grass, as men and women talked and ate from the fine food that was provided by Faykan's house elves. Children ran about and played, laughing and screaming in delight at all the wondrous magical toys and games that had been created as gifts for the holiday.
In between bouts of fireworks, Faykan would read to a steadily growing crowd of children and adults from the Red book of Westmarch, stories and tales from the previous ages, Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarves, Frodo and the One Ring, and even some older tales. Harry spotted Hermione listening eagerly to one about a mortal man named Beren and a fair elven maiden named Lúthien.
Enchanted instruments played old songs from the times of the elves, and bizarre drinking games were played by the older adults, their laughter ringing across the clearing. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as possible, and Harry couldn't help but feel happy for them, even if he overall felt aloof from the revelry.
Perhaps it was knowing that, despite whatever was going on here, in this protected little area of the world, Voldemort was still out there, plotting specifically to hunt down and kill him, or else it was just some other sense of foreboding, Harry couldn't quite place it. It had truly started since Dumbledore arrived, a strange detachment from the events around him, and some sort of a longing to return to Hogwarts.
He couldn't explain it, but it just felt as though it was the place he needed to be at. Somehow it felt like Britain, the Hogwarts area specifically, was more his home than anywhere else he had ever lived in, and he had a subtle yearning to return. Hopefully, their return to visit the Weasleys for the remainder of the holiday would help to ease the strange feelings that Harry was starting to get, but somehow he sensed that the ache wouldn't fully dissipate until he was back at Hogwarts.
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Draco quite enjoyed the festivities of Christmas Eve, and awoke the next morning to what seemed to be a continuation of the same party from the grounds outside the high windows of his room. The collection of gifts was by far the smallest that Draco had ever seen, but somehow it still felt like his best Christmas as he picked through the thoughtful and handpick gifts from his friends.
From Faykan he received a broach with a green stone, which he recognized as the very Elfstone that his ancestor Elessar had be named for. Hermione had given him a blank journal, with a note stating that she found it very helpful to record her thoughts and feelings during stressful times.
From Ron, who Draco had become surprising close friends with, had gotten him a simple charmed compass, set to not only point north, but towards the nearest ally in times of battle. Draco was most impressed that Ron had crafted something both intricate and magically powerful. But by far, the present he treasured the most was one that Harry had delivered to him, with assistance from Professor Snape. It was a small album of pictures from his youth, with his mother and a select few of his father, all smiling and waving up at him.
Draco spent long hours looking at the happy faces that were free from the monster that had torn them from each other. The only thing that pried him away was when Faykan came to collect him and the others for their departure to the Weasleys for lunch and to spend the rest of Christmas day among.
One portkey later, they were standing in the Burrow's back yard, loaded down with gifts for the residents. Draco could smell Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking as they entered and deposited their gifts in the living room.
The plump woman dashed around from the kitchen, yelling that they had arrived and giving each of them a massive hug. Draco flushed as they held onto him moments longer than the others. Noticing that the angry pink mark was still very noticeable, he reasoned that she still very much remembered his actions over that summer, and humbled himself to submit to her affection.
Smiling, Mrs. Weasley ushered them into the kitchen where the others of the family, including Fleur Delacour and Remus Lupin, sat with mounds of food before them. She was about to dish them plates when she froze. "Arthur," she said suddenly, "it's Percy, and he's with the Minister!"