In his office at the top of an ivory coloured tower, an old and wise wizard is dealing with the official side of the Potter child's placement. On the mantelpiece the new monitoring dodads let out their little pips and whistles that form the tune to a song his mother used to sing.
As the first note to the tune is skipped, the wizard looks up from the paperwork in concern. Then a second note is skipped and the wizard's expression turns grave.
Over the next couple of minutes, as all of the dodads fall silent one by one, the wizard stops looking so wise, and instead just looks old. Finally, a single dodad is left puffing out it's merry tone.
Carefully, he retrieves the droplets of blood from the non-functioning items and places them into a crystal vial. Then he retrieves a large polished silver bowl and fills it with water. On the desk beside the bowl he places the open vial and a silver needle.
Pulling out his wand, he waves it across the surface of the water as he mutters the incantation to the most powerful scrying spell he knows. One that should be able to punch through any wards known to wizard kind, including the ones he placed around the child's home.
As the water takes on the silver of the bowl, the wizard takes the needle and carefully dips it into the blood before allowing a single drop to fall into the centre of the bowl.
As the crimson drop stains the surface of the silvery liquid, he waits patiently for the spell to find the largest concentration of flesh, bone, or blood, directly related to it, and show an image of it in the surface of the liquid.
As he's waiting, he feels an increasing pressure on the protections around the school that he desperately tries to reinforce with his own magic. However, whoever is attacking is bringing their power to bear in a far narrower point than the protections can defend against.
As his defence fails, the old wizard slumps against his desk as an image starts to form on the surface of the liquid.
Exhausted, the old wizard lifts his head to peer into the surface of the bowl, only to slump backwards in his chair, the image in the bowl changing to mirror the movement. Tears stream down his cheeks as a sob is ripped from his frame.
He's not sure how long he's been crying for before the periodic toot from the last dodad filters through his greving mind. Slowly his eyes move up to the mantelpiece where a device, that would get him thrown through the veil of death if the way it works was ever uncovered, continues to toot every few seconds. While the magic he used in its creation isn't black, legally it's considered dark, and the use he put it to is very much black magic.
The sole purpose of the device is to track the life of the person it was linked to by forming a link to the soul through the blood of the individual. This is very different to the magics the goblins use through Lackgotts, the clan involved in inheritance and legal services. They use sympathetic magick to create a copy of a soul inside a lifestone, a process that takes days to complete as the person needs to be in constant contact with the stone for 72 hours.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the wizard sighs and places the remaining blood under stasis, before returning to the paperwork. Paperwork that no longer needs to be sealed, just an abeyance order to preserve the estate until the Potter heir has returned and been verified by Lackgotts through Gringotts or the Ministry.
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Without looking up from her work, Kirke warningly says, "Lamia, what have I said about being inside the house?"
The soft sound of scales on stone is quickly replaced the patter of bare feet on stone, "But legs are so hard to use mother."
"And less likely to knock stuff over. Now come here and help me with the nectar for Medusa."
Lamia sighs, "Yes mother. Why do we need to make nectar for her anyway?"
Kirke glances out of the window sadly, "Medusa is the third child of Keto and Phorkys. When she spurned Posidon's advances the first time, he ripped the ichor from her body leaving her mortal."
Lamia thinks very hard for a 4 year old, "If Medusa became mortal, how come's she's still alive now?"
"In order to allow her a mortal life, her parents sent her to Olympus in the service of Athena. There, she was able to partake of the nectar that Hebe made for the gods cursed by Chronos. Later she was given a form of immortality by Athena and banished to the island her sisters lived on. The three of them came here, however Athena is of the line of Zeus, and thus carried the curse of Chronos."
Lamia looks confused, "Why didn't you just remove the curse?"
Kirke ruffles her daughters hair, "Once we've finished the nectar we can go to the caves and I'll teach you about the origin of curses as we study your Minoan language."
Lamia makes a face, "I hate studying Minoan."
Kirke laughs, "Well, once we've done that, we can study cuneiform."
Lamia perks up, "Can we read Gilgamesh?"
Kirke ruffles Lamia's hair again, "What is it about you and Gilgamesh? What's wrong with Persus or Jason?"
Lamia pouts, "They were mean to you or Medusa. I like the story of Odysseus though."
Kirke nods sadly, "He was a good man. I wish he was able to stay with me, but the Olympians had plans for him."
Lamia nods seriously, "That's why I don't like Jason. It's his fault that aunt Medea is dead."
Kirke looks out over the sea, "It isn't really. He was only mortal, and what mortal can fight against the gods. Even your grandfather ultimately fell to them, and he was a Titan."
Lamia looks up from where she's grinding some petals, "What was grandfather like?"
Kirke smiles softly, "He was a kind but stern god. The mortals believed that he was the sun, but he was actually the protector of the light. This was when Nyx and her get roamed the world freely. Aunt Selene did the same thing during the darkness of night. She used the moon to protect us from the children of Nyx that left Earth. Like many Minoan men, my father was absent a lot of the time doing tasks that were too dangerous for the women folk to undertake. However, when he was around he oversaw the oaths between our people. I remember being taken up in his chariot a few times, and being able to see and hear everything that happened under the light of the sun. Of seeing lands in the distance, far beyond the known world."
"Why couldn't women do those tasks?"
"Because life was hard, and survival was not assured. Even for those who stayed in the safer areas. As women, we already put our lives in danger to ensure the next generation can be born. Putting ourselves at further risk to confront those dangers that will claim lives before they are dealt with is only foolhardy. Yet there were those, like your cousin Artemis, who swore to remain unmarried so that they could hunt the monsters and protect our communities like the men folk did."
Lamia proudly pronounces, "I want to be like Artemis!"
Kirke laughs, "When you're old enough, and you've mastered the bow and sword, and I deem you competent with magic and elixirs, you can do that if you wish. But I don't believe there are any monsters left to hunt." She points at the neatly mended blanket that is folded on a cushion, "Though we do know that whatever killed the Olympians didn't kill the mortals as well. As you came to us from the sea."
Lamia's eyes go from the perfect blanket to her own attempts at weaving, before she looks back down at petals she's crushing before her mother decides she needs to practice her weaving again.
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Lamia is most certainly not hiding from her lessons on how to make the tablets used for writing, not at all. She's providing for dinner by hunting game with her brand new bow and arrows. Brand new because she broke her last bow from overdrawing it, and a larger bow with heavier draw means longer and stronger arrows too.
Spotting three rabbits on a hill, Lamia breathes in and out deeply as she lifts her bow and plans out her shots. A couple of seconds later she rises high on her tail with a whoop of joy, as she managed to not only shoot all three rabbits, but she also had three arrows in the air at the same time.
A moment later she's slithering towards her kills as fast as possible, as an owl drops it's previous catch and dives down on one of her downed rabbits, "Oi! That's my dinner, you can't have it!"
The owl ignores her as it ravenously tears strips of meat from the rabbit and swallows them whole.
As Lamia reaches the owl, and wraps her hand around it's body, her grip turns gentle as she can feel how few reserves the owl has left. "Hey, are you migrating or something, as there's no way you should be this skinny. Come on, lets get you back to my mother, and maybe she can teach me about taking care of you instead of how to make the perfect clay for tablets."
Unstringing her bow, she places it in the loops beside her quiver, before carefully retrieving her arrows and moving the quiver to her back. She then ties the two intact rabbits to her belt before picking up the rabbit that the owl is feeding on with one hand. As she turns towards home, she spots the owl's previous kill lying on some bare rock, and swiftly grabs it as she slithers home.
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"Mother! I need your help."
Kirke looks up from her spinning, where she's still trying to produce a thread as fine and consistent as the wool used in the blanket. "What is it Lamia?"
"I found an owl while hunting, and it's almost starved."
Kirke frowns as she carefully puts the carded fleece to one side. As she's walking outside, she says, "Lamia, I know that you weren't supposed to be hunting today…" Kirke's voice trails off as she recognises one of Athena's owls, "Oh, whatever happened to the Olympians doesn't seem to have affected Athena's owls. Did it say anything when it arrived?"
Lamia shakes her head and hands over the animal skin she picked up, "Though it seems to have caught something else first."
As she catches sight of the writing on the outside of the skin, Kirke sighs, "Lamia, did you even look at the owl's 'kill' on your way back here?"
Lamia holds up the animal skin curiously, "No mother, I was more worried about the." On one side of the skin is a blob of some sort of clay with an impression of a seal pushed into it. On the other side are is a painted representation of Greek.
Λαμία Potter
Το σπίτι της Κίρκης
Αίαια
Somewhat alarmed Lamia looks up at her mother, "Mother, how does it know where we are?"
Kirke sighs, and gently takes the animal skin as she leads Lamia over to an empty wicker cage, "Place the owl in there, along with a second rabbit, one of the nymphs will make sure it gets water. Once you're done, meet me in the caves." As she walks off, she looks over her shoulder, "Remember, feet only in the caves."
Lamia sighs as her mother walks off, "Yes mother."
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As she's working, the deputy headmistress glances over at the admissions parchment as a name and address appears in the delivered section of the parchment for pre-registered students.
As her eye picks out the word Potter, it draws more of her attention. Attention that is then pulled fully to the scroll as her brain failed to understand the rest of the address.
Rolling up the parchment, the Deputy marches out of her office and straight to the headmasters office, using her authority as the deputy to get past the guardian of the tower.
As she storms through the office door, the headmaster looks up from his work in surprise, "Minerva wha…"
"Don't Minerva me you whiskered old coot, you told me that the boy would be safe."
The headmasters eyes widen in surprise, "He is safe."
Minerva slams the scroll on the desk, "Then where is he."
"My dear, that is a secret that I will keep until he arrives at the school. To divulge it early could risk his life."
Minerva narrows her eyes at the headmaster, "Albus, is he even in the country?"
Albus just looks at Minerva calmly, "I'm not going to answer that."
"You don't know do you? You have no idea where he is. Is that why you kept trying to look at the book of names?"
"Minerva, I…"
Minerva unrolls the section of the scroll she had open before, "Well congratulations, the school knows exactly where he is. The school is the only thing that knows where he is."
Albus peers at the scroll intently, "It appears that we are going to need the services of Madam Babbling."
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Lamia uncomfortably makes her way down into the caves below the island. As she passes the different galleries that branch out from the spiral path, she looks inside each of the lit ones to see if her mother is there rather than one of the nymphs that populate the island.
Eventually she reaches the deepest gallery and finds her mother standing outside holding an oil lamp, tears occasionally dripping down her face.
"Lamia."
Lamia walks over to her mother and places a hand against her arm, "I'm here mother."
Kirke lifts up the animal skin with its now broken seal, "This is a letter from the mortal world, it's addressed to you."
Lamia looks at the letter curiously without taking it, "What's it say?"
Kirke shakes her head, "I don't know, I don't recognise any of the letters, let alone the language. Just that your name is on the inside as well as the outside. It probably developed after they discovered how to make animal skins suitable for writing on."
"What are you going to do about it?"
Kirke shakes her head, "Nothing, as it could be a warning, invitation, greeting, or something completely different. I want you to store this inside that gallery."
Lamia looks at the darkened gallery, "Mother, why don't you do it?"
Kirke smiles sadly, "Because this is your labour. This is the first gallery I ever made. I've moved it three times since I started it and the last time I dug down as deep as I could before I made the new gallery. None of the tablets in there have ever been reproduced."
Lamia expression falls as she remembers how large some of the galleries are, "Why?"
Kirke shakes her head, "Because I wrote around half of those tablets myself, and the rest come from the Olympian gods I remained on good terms with. Each shelf is a true account of somebody's life. Many of those tablets I've never read myself, so you will be the first. You wanted to know how the owl knew where you are. The answer is in there, as is the reason why we live on this island." She snorts a laugh, "It also contains the most complete accounting of magic from all the different factions of gods. That's why I was known as The Enchantress, not that the mortals had the slightest clue. Turning men into pigs indeed, as if that's a feat worthy of being called an Enchantress."
"Mother, why did you stop reading them?"
"Lamia, they killed my children, they killed my niece, and they murdered my parents and my aunt. The last tablets I read were from Hectate and Athena informing me of the death of Selene after Artemis finally grew jealous enough of the last aspects of her power and slew her for them. That's when I turned away from the world and hid the island so throughly that only those with my fathers power could find it."
Lamia whispers, "How did I get here then?"
Kirke smiles, "Divine chance. To those that are looking, this island doesn't exist. They could search forever, and they would never be able to cross the barrier between the mortal world and this island. Medusa followed what I believed was the last of Athena's owls, and you were touched by Hectate, and asleep. You didn't even know enough to want to find somewhere."
Lamia looks down at the animal skin, "What about that?"
"I'm going to investigate the descendant of Athena's owl to find out how it was able to find us. I'll then adjust the enchantments around the island to prevent that method of detection, if I can. Remember to use a preservation spell while you're reading the tablets, and that you need to re-scribe each one."
Lamia swallows hard, "Mother, who will be my check?"
Kirke hands the oil lamp to Lamia and, in a voice heavy with emotion, says, "I will."
As her mother walks into the darkness, Lamia swallows hard before taking a step into the gallery. As she does, the enchantments embedded in the walls of the gallery magnify the light of the lamp until it's bright enough to clearly see what she's doing without any sort of straining. In the centre of the Gallery is a low carved altar with an angled plinth to place a tablet, and three lamp holders so that the scribe can change the shadows on the source tablet.
Hanging from the ceiling above the altar is a bronze lamp holder to allow the lamp to illuminate the entire gallery. Lamia ignores those in preference to looking at the shelves that have been carved into the walls around the gallery.
On the left are several stacks of shelves filled with leather wrapped bundles of tablets, the clay seals still intact around the knot. On the right each shelf has one or two clay seal attached to the space between it and the shelf above and below it. The seal on the right is the label for the shelf below, while the seal on the left is the seal for the shelf above.
Walking over to the right Lamia's face lights up as she sees that there are shelves for Perêis and Hêlios, her grandparents. Near the bottom of the stack is the first shelf with her mother's name on it.
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In a brightly lit workroom that also doubles as a classroom, Albus sits down with Madam Babbling, the youngest teacher on staff, and the most promising student of Ancient Runes in the last 50 years.
Scattered over the workbench in front of them are dozens of tomes on ancient languages.
Slightly impatiently, Albus asks, "Where is this address?"
Madam Babbling laughs hysterically, "Nearly 3,000 years in the past, and at the end of a fools errand."
Albus slams his open palm on the workbench, "We know it's not 3,000 years in the past, as the admittance book produced the address this year. The letter has also already been delivered and opened. So where is it?"
Babbling stabs her finger at the translation, "It's right there. Circe's home on 'Holy Shit'! That's not what the name of the island used to mean, but that's what it translates to now. It's a legendary island amongst magical scholars, and not just because Circe, the greatest enchantress ever known, lived there. The Egyptians had Alexandria, the Greeks had Aiaia, or Aeaea. A repository of knowledge that goes back to nearly 2,000BC. There are reliable reports that the entire library of Uruk was transported there when the Hittites attacked. The reason why we don't use Cuniform or pre-phoenician Greek for magic or ancient runes, is because there aren't enough records of their magic for us to work from. The muggles call those languages Linear A and B, and I think they've uncovered two others that they call Cypro-Minoan and Cretan hieroglyphic. But we don't even have that much. Either the Olympian mages destroyed their entire library to spite the Romans, or they shipped it off here. Except, here clearly doesn't exist as mages have been searching for it since the fall of Olympus."
Albus shakes his head, "Well clearly the place does exist, as the acceptance letter was received."
Babbling giggles, "Well, send another owl then. Oh, wait, you did didn't you, and it didn't work. As I said, the place doesn't exist, and if it does it might as well not exist as far as we're concerned."