Chapter Twelve : Ancient Magick



A deafening shatter fills the castle's infirmary, echoing like a stone being thrown into calm waters, only to be silenced at the bare shores. A mumbled apology comes from two young medi-witches, and the head nurse, Madam Greingrass, shoots a serious and disappointed glare towards each of them before turning back to her business. She is a short woman with a few extra pounds, and her silver hair is wrapped tightly into a bun. Her heavy robes are white and red, and hazel eyes stare through a pair of glasses with lenses too thick for the frame. Her patient sits impatiently after she makes sure that the two medi-witches have cleaned the broken glass from the floor.

"Penelope, would you mind holding this?" Madam Greingrass passes her a small flask, thin necked and circular bottomed, filled with an opaque liquid. Penelope leans forward and reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the bottom of the potion, and drawing it back towards her. Greingrass turns back to her muddled desk, organizing a few papers in hopes of finding the file on Penelope that she needs in order to complete the yearly check-up.

Penelope Clearwater sits apprehensively upon one of the examining tables, a thin, pale sheet the only thing that separates her from the cold metal that chills her skin. She's never liked the infirmary, not since her sixth year at Hogwarts when the Basilisk petrified her. Glancing at the potion, she notices that a few green speckles have started to appear, causing a chemical reaction to start. Slowly, green spirals form, and Penelope stares at them, mesmerized by the way they move and the shapes they have taken.

When Madam Greingrass turns back to Penelope and her eyes fall upon the potion, she tilts her head in astonishment, never having expected that reaction to start. "How strange that is." She places her clipboard down onto her desk and cranes her head towards the young medi-witches who are now gossiping excitedly among themselves. "Olivia!" she calls, and a young girl wearing too much make-up looks her way.

"Yes, mother?" the daughter drones. Her hair is short and spiked and has been the colour of ivory since her seventh year at Hogwarts. She remains standstill, turning at her torso to glance at her mum with olive green eyes.

"Did you brew this potion correctly?" Madam Greingrass places her hands on her robust hips and gives Olivia a sceptical look; her daughter usually cuts corners when it comes to any sort of work.

Olivia rolls her eyes, annoyed with the interruption that is her mother. "Pansy brewed it herself. You know she's best in potions." And the witch beside her, Pansy Parkinson, smiles proudly. Potions was her best subject during Hogwarts, but only because she was taught by the best.

Olivia turns back to Pansy, and without another word to her mother, she runs her hand down Pansy's arm. In silenced whispers, the two nineteen-year-olds continue their heated conversation.

"Oh dear." Madam Greingrass turns back to Penelope with a nervous look and a pallid complexion. "Penny, have you been feeling well lately?"

"Yes . . ."

"Been throwing up at all?"

Penelope raises an eyebrow. "No. . . . What is this about? What's wrong?" She runs both hands through her blonde hair in frustration.

Madam Greingrass sighs, hoping the young Penelope won't drop the potion with the shocking news. It was a hassle to brew, after all. "It seems that you're pregnant. That potion you hold is a detector and will turn green if the lady holding it is with child."

Penelope's free hand automatically slides down to her stomach, and she remembers that Marie, Lucius's woman who is now five months pregnant, does the same thing. Finding words to speak is a task, but after several seconds, she manages to whisper, "But--but, how can that be? I've taken all the right precautions, wizard as well as Muggle methods. . . ."

"I don't know, Miss Clearwater. But these results never lie," Madam Greingrass replies with a soft and understanding voice. The last thing she wants to do is upset Penelope. She takes the potion back, and holding it up to the lights of the infirmary, she watches as the green dissipates. "Conception Charms aren't always foolproof, and the Muggle methods aren't trustworthy. I've always said that abstinence is the best way. If you don't wish to get pregnant, don't have sex. Do you know that a baby is going to change your lives?"

"Of course I do! It's not something that I will take lightly. I've always wanted to be a mother, but not now. Not with our future . . . looking as it does." She averts her gaze out the window, where a strong gust of wind howls past, blowing red and orange leaves from the October trees. "The last thing my child needs is to grow up with Death Eaters, and Death Eater beliefs." She inhales sharply, forcing herself not to get emotional.

"What will Percy say about this?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to tell him yet. And neither will you."

Madam Greingrass nods, respecting the wishes of her patient. "Please, take it easy, Penelope. Stress is not something you need balancing on your shoulders. And I will be here if you have any questions or concerns." She turns her back towards Penelope and replaces the potion into a locked cabinet high above her head.

"Do you know the sex of the baby?"

Madam Greingrass turns back to the girl. "I'm afraid I don't. We won't know till the beginning of the second trimester."

Penelope sighs, slouching her shoulders. A knot twisting inside her stomach tells her that she shouldn't return to her chambers to see Percy. She can't face him now--he'll know something is wrong. "Can you please call Terence Higgs? I'd like an escort into Camp Delta." She eases herself down from the cold medical table, wordlessly reflecting that she should have never showed up for her check up today, though it really wouldn't have changed anything.

Greingrass nods her head. "Of course I will. And you handled the news very well, better than Marie Amitri, actually. She was devastated. I don't blame her, though. If the baby were a girl, Lucius would have force her to abort it. Thankfully, it's a son. I've told him a million times that nothing can fill the void that Draco's ill-fated death left, but he won't listen." She frowns with tears in her eyes and courteously averts them as Penelope throws her blue robes back on.

"Thank you, Madam." Penelope nods her head once.

"I want to see you in two months, Penny. Owl me for an appointment, please?"

"Of course I will. And please, don't tell Percy."

"I promise."

"I hope so."

And Madam Greingrass remains silent as Penelope slowly leaves, mumbling to herself that Percy can never know about the child. She doesn't think twice about spending her months in Delta with Roger; he's always been there for her. Nothing has changed, and nothing will ever change.

* * *

His footsteps echo endlessly down the corridor, a steady rhythm that blends with the billowing of black robes shuffling against his feet and the marble floor. Reaching the end of the corridor, Igor Karkaroff suddenly drives the large mahogany doors to the Delacours' library open with both hands. He enters in a relentless haste and doesn't jump as the door slams with a great impact, causing everyone to jolt up in their seats, rudely awakened. With three large steps, Karkaroff joins his allies in the middle of the room enclosed with scriptures and throws an old, brown leather book onto the circular table filled with even more books.

"What is this?" a nameless wizard clad in crimson asks, and he reaches for the book before anyone else has the chance. He runs his index finger along the spine. It's warm and soft to his touch and has an ancient writing burnt into the leather. He turns the heavy book over and notices that the cover has a five-pointed star surrounded by a ring of raised rawhide. It's a common symbol in the old magicks known as a pentagram.

"Our salvation," Karkaroff declares, looking over his fellow alliance members with black eyes, as sharp as an hawk's. After being up nearly all night translating the text, purple and blue bags hang under his eyes, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. The other members are a lot better for wear, as most of them fell asleep during the night, the books that they were studying serving as their pillows. After being refused by the Ministries, they were forced to resort to another plan--now, all they have to do is find it. And Karkaroff just may have found what they need. "An ancient book of magicks, dating back to the time of the first magic users. It holds a ritual that, when properly performed, can release an energy powerful enough to overthrow Malfoy and his Death Eaters."

"What's the catch?" They've learnt that there's always a catch. They'd be disappointed if there wasn't one, actually.

"We need the power of the four founders' heirs to produce a cone of power, and an heir of Merlin to channel it. There's more to the ritual than meets the eye. It's in an ancient script, and I've only managed to decode the basics, but I believe that it may work. The hardest task will be finding those five heirs." Karkaroff speaks with a conviction that doesn't inspire the rest.

"Are we forgetting that Voldemort is dead? He was Slytherin's only heir."

"This book speaks of a brother to Salazar Slytherin, Balthasar," Karkaroff replies.

Severus Snape clears his throat and abruptly stands to leave quietly. All others remain at the business at hand and simply watch as he departs from the library without an explanation. Whatever Severus's reasons are, they have far more important things to discuss.

"It's a plan. Not the best, but it's what we need at the moment." The leader of the Last Alliance glances around, his once youthful face masked with the guilt of a thousand deaths, and deaths that have yet to come. "Our first priority is to find these heirs. Now remember, they could be anywhere and could be anyone--Death Eater or prisoner. Fleur and Karkaroff, there's a mystic in the east; I want you two to visit her and find out what you can. See if her talents can reveal the heirs to us. And, on your travels back, see if we have an alliance with the giants."

"But she's rumoured to be a myth," Karkaroff scoffs.

"She's not. Trust me, and please take Snape with you. You two," he glances at two wizards who are seated closely to each other and wipe sleep from their eyes, "will work with me here. Remember, time is not a luxury. We have family and loved ones in those camps, and I refuse to lose them." He pauses, glancing at each for a few moments with a serious expression. "Look around you; we are our allies and our friends. We just became Britain's last hope. Let's not fail again."