Chapter Thirty-Eight: Yule
"Harry! We're going riding! Come along!"
Harry looked up from his homework, eyeing his closed door. Sirius had thrown a fit when he had seen the changes Harry had made to his room at the start of the holiday. Remus had been the one to talk sense into the animagus. The werewolf, like Ginny, was running a lot of interference between Harry and his godfather.
A rattle of knocks and the door popped open. Sirius stuck his head inside. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get fitted up."
"In this weather?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Sirius' brows drew together. "It's just a little snow, Harry. It won't kill you. I thought…"
"I meant the horses," Harry swallowed down an irritated sigh.
"The – huh?"
"The horses can go out in this?"
"Sure they can! It's not even coming down, really. Just a few flakes here and there."
"And the drifts?"
"We've got cleared paths," Sirius stood just inside the room. "Come on, Harry. It'll be fun!"
Harry glanced down at his homework. "Sure, just let me get changed."
Sirius let out a whoop and charged. Harry had enough time to cap his inkwell before being bodily picked up from his desk and spun around.
"Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo!" Sirius dumped them on the bed, breathless and dizzy. "I'll go get the others. Hurry down!" He tore off, galloping down the stairs in a clatter of excited shouts.
Harry struggled up to an elbow and pushed his bangs out of his face. "Where does he get the energy for that?"
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Dressed, hooded, wrapped with scarves and a change into the correct set of boots later, Harry found himself trailing after the others to the stables.
The snowfall had tapered off, leaving slate gray skies over white fields. A small wind did its best to cut through the gaps in his clothing. He tugged his gloves up and bent his head against a gust. The stable doors were open and beckoned warmth.
Inside, he stamped off a rime of snow from his boots on the mat near the door. He heard Ginny's squeal and looked up in time to see her throw her arms around a horse on the left hand row, a beautiful chestnut with a bright red bow tied around its neck.
"Oh, Sirius! Thank you!" She cooed at the horse, which bobbed its head and nuzzled her back.
"They're all already yours," Sirius rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "But I thought, you know…"
"I love it! I love her! Oh, thank you!" She flung herself in his arms with a breathless laugh. Remus beamed at both of them. Bill stood close by, leaning against a stall post, watching the festivities and getting his neck nuzzled by the curious owner of said stall.
It was quite the scene.
Harry moved forward as father and daughter broke apart, all smiles and bright eyes.
Harry had a feeling it was going to be a long afternoon.
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Bill checked his pockets. Wand, check. Wallet, check. Yule offering, check. The small figurine was something he had been awarded by his employers for all his hard work. It was valuable and ancient, a good offering for their first family celebration.
He caught sight of Harry standing framed in the entrance to the den. The younger boy had his head turned away, the glow of the fireplace outlining his profile. Bill pursed his lips and swallowed a sigh. He wasn't blind to what was going on. He knew there was something…off, with Harry, something he could not name, could not see, but knew was there.
Or are we simply seeing the real Harry? His mind offered. He scrubbed a hand over his hair and turned away. Harry would not be able to go with them to the family ceremony. Sirius had made a stink about it that morning – as Bill could understand it, it had something to do with the Headmaster meddling in Sirius' adoption and guardianship papers.
Harry, Bill had noted, had not said a word during the entire tirade.
It was time to go, though, and Bill couldn't help but feel off-kilter. It was Yule and they were all supposed to be full of joy and familial warmth.
Must be my dreams, he shook his head and followed Remus out the door. The two older wizards had had their own joining ceremony when Remus had taken Sirius away to Capri. Bill was a little irked at the pair for their silence on the matter, but it was their lives, their choices, he supposed.
Still, he would have liked to have been part of the ceremony, the idiots.
His dreams were bothering him, though. They were clearer at the Black Manor than they had been in Egypt. There was something calling him. Something bright and breathless and –
"Bill?"
He looked up at Remus. "Coming, sorry." He hurried after his family, slogging through the mushy path Sirius' spell had cut through the snow. He needed to focus on the ceremony, after all.
They were just dreams, anyway. They didn't mean anything.
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The Malfoy family temple was not inside the Manor. Built into the side of a hill, with the door facing east, the ancient dirt floors were packed down by the countless numbers of Malfoys who had walked the long aisle to the central room for centuries.
The sun had set. The torches at the temple door had been lit by the embers of the Yule log. As they walked down the aisle, Draco and his father lit each of the torches along the way with the burning tapers held in their hands.
At the central room, they knelt together at the hearth that took up the middle of the room. The piled logs had been sprinkled with the traditional incense Severus made for them every year. The logs caught the moment Draco and Lucius laid their tapers on the pile.
The flames that leapt up burned green and silver.
The images the fire threw onto the walls had little to do with the objects in the room. Shadows of ghosts moved in time to their own ceremonies, lost to the ancient past of the Malfoy line. Here, in this place, Draco knew his family had achieved the one thing Voldemort had lusted after the most: the image of immortality, a place where death was cheated, even if just by an inch.
It was a secret the Malfoy family had never given to anyone who wasn't family. If Draco had to reason a guess, joining the Malfoy line, even through forced marriage, was something that had crossed the Dark Lord's mind once or twice.
And it was probably one of the main reasons why his father had left the madman's side.
Once the hearth was lit, they turned to the western wall. The faded relics were long worn to weather and age, leaving only the vague shape of a woman holding a child in her arms.
It was the longest night of the year. It was the birth of the god, the return of the sun. Come sunrise, the light would peek out over the horizon and flood the temple entrance with light, bathing them and the statue with the first light of day.
Draco had always loved Yule. His mother had rarely celebrated it with them, leaving Draco to learn the rites in her stead. His father had walked him through it since he was a toddler, letting Draco sleep in his lap until dawn so Draco could see the return of the sun together with his father.
By now, he was old enough to stay awake the whole night. They had a busy evening in front of them and Draco had made sure to sleep as long as he could throughout the day. They would celebrate at home, visit the Temple to All Gods and return in time for dawn. It was enough to make any wizard tired.
They knelt and laid their offering on the altar. The quill and paper had been his only idea of how to convey his winter wish.
Please, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. On this day, of all days, I ask for wisdom. I ask for a way to see and the patience to work out what needs be done. He drew in a shuddering breath. So I ask, Mother Goddess and new-born God, for your help, for your wisdom, to help me guide my feet on this path that I have taken. He touched his heart, lips and eyes with his fingertips. He stood, without looking at the altar, turning to go. That too was tradition. The gods would either fulfill the requests or they would not, but one was not allowed to stare at the offerings until they were accepted or rejected. In the Malfoy family, it just was not done.
As they left the temple, slipping out into the inky dark, neither of them saw Draco's quill and parchment glow and then fade away with a sigh of dust.
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Blaise fussed with Neville's collar. "You're going to catch a cold."
"No, I won't."
"It's freezing out here."
"It's fine, Blaise."
"You could get pneumonia."
"Blaise," Neville caught Blaise's hand. "I'm from Lancaster. This isn't cold. It's pleasant. We don't get pneumonia. It's just a cough. So stop fretting already."
"Oh, Merlin," Blaise blinked. "You're one of them."
"One of what, exactly, Blaise Zabini?" Neville planted his hands on his hips and glowered at him.
"…a ridiculously healthy and fit set of people from northwestern Britain?"
"I thought so."
"Blaise! Neville!" Pansy bounded up to them. "I had hoped to catch you here!"
There was quite a crowd gathering in Diagon Alley. Many pure blood families had gathered, some large and many more minor branch houses, along with a host of what Blaise thought were muggleborns. Who were not a part of the silent protestors across the way, all members of the church of the one god, kneeling in the dirty snow of the gutters, praying.
Blaise had always thought they were a barmy lot. Now he had proof.
"Have you seen Draco?" Pansy linked her arms through theirs.
"He came with his father and Professor Snape. They're up at the entrance," Blaise said.
"Doing what?"
"Arguing, I think."
"Oh," her nose wrinkled. "That's normal, then."
That startled a laugh out of Neville.
"And you," Pansy turned to the ex-Gryffindor. "We have a lot to talk about."
Neville blinked down at her. "We…do?"
"Oh, yes," she said. Blaise knew that smile. Pansy's teeth showing never meant anything good for her target's pocketbook.
"W-what?" Neville shot Blaise a worried glance. He could do nothing but shrug back.
"We have a wedding to plan!" Her giggle carried through the crowd.
"E-eh?"
"Well, we have years yet, but still, your wedding will be my debut into the designer society! I have to get it right."
"E-eh!"
Blaise let Pansy corner Neville with chatter about colors and dates – he wasn't worried. As long as Neville showed up, Blaise was willing to wear a pink robe and have curlers in his hair for all he cared. Neville was the one Pansy was going to have to battle over the details, not him.
Blaise watched the crowd around them. Most of the muggleborn had worn robes for the occasion, but some had not. The few dressed in muggle clothing stood out against the crowd. One couple and their two children caught his eye. The older of the children was chattering up at his father about the temple and if they could get ice cream afterwards. Blaise watched as the mother bent down to help the youngest with his scarf. Her necklace slipped out from her jacket, the golden cross catching the light with a wink. Blaise blinked and the woman stood straight, tucked her necklace back into her shirt with nervous fingers and a frown at the protestors. She caught Blaise staring and froze for a moment, before standing straight and inching her chin into the air.
Blaise grinned at her and turned away as she gaped at him.
Not all of them are barmy, he amended as he peered at the kneeling protestors. Just the stupid ones it seems.
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At fifteen to midnight, the goblins opened the alley.
Blaise linked his hand with Neville's and joined the horde of people that began to jam the narrow passage. Shopkeepers had their lights on, the twinkling brilliance shining through the thick glass of the windows to cast a golden glow onto the dark, wet cobblestone street.
It wasn't a long alley by any standards. If he had to guess, there were less than fifty new stores that had opened their doors for business that night. The tall buildings held another five stories of flats and town homes for those central to Diagon Alley and the Ministry.
Blaise had to admit – the goblins had gotten a hell of a deal from Scrimgeour.
At the end of the alley, the space opened up. Above them the stars winked, the sky clearing for once in a month full of storms.
The Temple to All Gods was a circular building. It rose up before them, the white marble gleaming in the lamplight. Flecks of gold ran through the stone, causing the façade to flash with golden lightning. There was an elaborate ward worked into the freeze over the entrance – Blaise could make out some of the symbols, but not all.
Inside, the walls were lined with niches. Torches burned from sockets set into the walls. Incense burned on the altars. Priests and priestesses were already there in front of each altar, tending the areas. The giant dome rose up over them, the brilliant blues and greens mixing with reds and yellows, a mosaic of design Blaise had never seen before in his life.
"It's Goblin," Pansy murmured as she slid away from them. "It's their altar to their gods," she seemed to be rooted in place, staring up at the sight.
In the center of the ceiling was on open hole, lined with mirrors. Blaise could see the stars and the edge of the moon from where he stood.
It was breathtaking.
He let Neville lead the way. Blaise was not surprised to end up in front of the icon to the gods of the harvest and of agriculture. Smaller icons lined the altars, images and sometimes just names of all the gods and goddesses that filled that particular niche. They had the area to themselves for the moment. Most had gone to the major deities of peace and good fortune first. Draco, Blaise noted, had not and had ended up almost alone in front of the niche for the gods of intellect and learning.
How odd, he thought, tightening his hold on Neville's hand. He turned back to see Neville draw something from his large coat pocket. Neville freed his hand from Blaise's hold and stepped forward under the watchful eyes of the priestess. Blaise blinked at her, studying the lock of red hair that had slipped free from her head covering. She seemed familiar for some reason.
Neville seemed to think so as well, since he stopped short and turned to the woman with wide eyes. "Y-you!"
Bright eyes twinkled at them. The woman raised a finger to her lips and shushed them with a wink.
"I – I," Neville glanced at Blaise. He shrugged. "I – this is…for you." Neville held out the small pot, the miniature roses blooming from some arcane spell Neville alone probably knew.
Then it hit him what Neville had just said. "You," he started forward.
The woman's – goddess' he amended – smile grew. She reached out and touched Neville's cheek with her fingers and then took the plant, cooing over the delicate shade of red of the petals. She placed the pot onto the altar, arranging it just so. She glanced over her shoulder at them and winked again, before vanishing with a whisper of incense and wind.
"M-Merlin," Neville groped for Blaise's hand. "The temple really does work!"
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Harry let the last of the clock's chimes die away with a sigh. He was alone in the house, since Sirius and the others were still busy in the family temple.
He knelt on his window seat and pried open one of the windows. The clear night sky cooled the area to a biting cold. Harry ignored the sting and turned to the tray at his side.
He lit the cone of incense and let it on the windowsill. He looked around, shrugged and rang the small hand bell the house elves had found for him. He sprinkled salt around him with careful flicks of his finger. His preparations done, he folded his hands in his lap, bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"A simple ritual," someone said from behind him.
Harry turned, careful to stay in the circle of salt. A young man stared back at him, a shock of red hair on his head. He leaned against one of the posts of Harry's bed, his arms folded across his chest.
"I have no temple to celebrate in," Harry answered.
The young man's smile grew. "True," he pushed off the post and paced forward. Closer, Harry could tell that the young man wasn't so much a young man as much as a man without discernable age. The red hair was shot through with golden blond. The dark eyes reflected no fire Harry could see.
"Who are you?" Harry asked.
The man's smile turned smug. "I am someone close yet very far away."
"Huh?"
The man laughed, stopping just short of Harry's circle. "You are interesting, Dreamer," the man reached out, but seemed to be stopped by an invisible wall.
Harry's palms began to sweat. The Manor's wards were supposed to block…
"It's the longest night," the man said, ducking his head to catch Harry's gaze. "All wards are weaker now."
"How did you…"
"You're like an open book, boy."
"Oh."
The man dropped his hand to his side. "You haven't figured it out yet?"
"I – I think I have."
"You think so," the man said. "Wizards. So picky, picky, picky with their words," He wrinkled his nose. "Can I tell you something, picky little wizard Dreamer?"
"What?"
"Not all gods who are painted as evil by the brush of those considered good are, necessarily, evil," the man – the god's – mouth twisted into a wry smile. "You cannot have light without dark. Or rather, good without chaos." He tapped his chest and leaned forward. "We all serve a purpose, one way or the other. Most of us," he tilted his head to one side. "But it is the gods that are born from human emotion that should be feared. Remember that," the god reached out again, this time his hand moving through the thin circle of protection with ease. He cupped Harry's cheek and studied his face. "You remind me of Fenrir when he was still young and human," Loki murmured.
Downstairs a door opened and Ginny's laughter broke the silence. Harry blinked and the god was gone, leaving him chilled and alone, with a pile of ashes where his incense had been.
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That night, Harry dreamed of an open field where a giantess lounged on a huge picnic blanket and where a wolf pup chased after a young girl's heels. The image was there and gone, a quick portrait of something that hit him in the gut so hard his breath rushed form his lungs.
Then the dream changed, the brilliant sunshine gone, replaced with the murky fog of the endless Dark. He was running, grasping for twisted ribbons that sliced open his palms every time he closed a fist over them. The world lurched every time he pulled himself forward by the ribbons, making the screams that came from his throat louder each time.
But even his screams could not counter the clear call of a horn that echoed in his ears.
End Chapter Thirty-Eight