Harry stands patiently as Daphne dips her fingers in a wooden bowl that contains a paste made from ground bones and chalk, before painting it onto her skin in the whorls and lines of the Tuath De Danann. At the same time, Susan tugs her hair backwards as she braids it in the style of a maiden. Off to one side, Marianne stands holding the precious metal jewelry, polished bronze, iron, and a single torc made from steel.
Harry doesn't even flinch when Daphne switches her bowl for one filled with a mixture of red clay lightened with a little chalk and magic, and nudges her legs apart to apply the pigment to the inside of her upper thighs. Neither does she flinch as her belly cramps slightly as the magic seeps into her skin. As this is a process that she's performed herself multiple times over the last week, and harks back to their nomadic roots.
As Daphne retreats to clean her hands and retrieve Harry's clothes, Marianne walks forward to apply the jewellery, starting with the steel torc. No giggling laughter or ribald comments this time, though earlier in the week there were plenty to go around.
As Susan and Marianne both step backwards, Harry smiles as she takes the rabbit skin skirt from Daphne and wraps it around her waist, ensuring that the skins fall where they should. Then she takes the cloak she made with a single leaf taken from every tree in the forest and wove into a loose weaved fabric made from the reeds that now grow by the stream.
Now garbed, Daphne, Susan and Marianne all lead her through the forest to the heart, and her tree. There they are met by The Morrigan, Ahmed, Ecne, Marie, and Dora.
Taking a single step backwards, all four of them lower themselves into a lunging bow over their leading knee, without allowing their back knee to touch the floor. Then they rise.
The first one to speak is Susan, who says, "She knows how to dance."
As Susan walks off to the edge of the clearing, Harry is surprised to notice the rest of her friends and Ahmed's family, along with Padma and Kali, all stood in the shadows between the trees that surround her tree.
Daphne is the second to speak, and she says, "She knows how to weave."
Finally, Marianne is the last one left and she looks back at Harry before looking at The Morrígan, "She knows our pain."
Harry's not sure what's supposed to happen now, so she stand nervously before the Elders. Slowly The Morrígan raises her hand and makes a single clap. Then another, and another until she's clapping out a beat that Harry has learnt by heart over the last week. As she reaches the repeat of the rhythm again, Harry brings her foot forward in the first step of the maiden's dance.
As she does, pain floods through her abdomen, but still she steps into the second step and the paint begins to flow and drip down the inside of her legs. Step after step she dances, twirling and spinning in a celebration of her body and her life, her jewellery providing a ringing counterpoint to beat. At some point in her dance her new sister joins her, dressed in a plain, unbleached, linen dress.
As they dance together, Harry can't help smiling at Alice across the imaginary fire pit. As they dance, twirl, and spin together.
Abruptly, the clapping stops and Harry takes Alice's hand as they turn to face the elders, and ignore Wayne's whisper of, "That was hot."
Ahmed is the first to speak, "I saw no men in that dance."
Ecne nods, "I agree, and I know the men's dance, and it was not there."
Harry's eyes tighten as a particularly bad cramp hits her abdomen, and her hand twitches to hold it. As it does, The Morrigan walks forward and embraces her daughter, "Well done my daughter, I too see no men here. Your flinch proves it."
Harry looks confused, so The Morrigan laughs, "It will be explained when we don't have an audience. We accept your dedication to woman hood and welcome you with open arms."
Then she turns Harry around and proudly calls out to the assembled people, "This is my Daughter, and I am proud to call her mine."
Harry hiccoughs as tears come to her eyes, "Thank you mum."
The Morrigan nods before pointing at the tree, "Is it time?"
Harry nods before looking at Alice, who nods twice. First hesitantly, and then firmly. As the two of them clasp hands, the Elders part to form a corridor to the tree. As they do, first Marianne joins them, then Daphne and Susan, and then the rest of the mundane studies group.
Together Harry and Alice walk down a corridor of people who stand in silent vigil as they witness them raise their joined hand to the tree and step inside.
The last thing Harry hears is Daphne exclaiming, "Not now, I'm busy. No, No! What the fuck did you sacrif…"
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Albus walks slowly through the halls of the ICW to the council chambers, the words of the Ojibwa Elder filtering through his head once more. Is he really one of very few in the ICW that is genuinely looking to preserve lives.
Shaking his head to clear it as he reaches the debating chamber, Albus walks down the stairs towards the Supreme Mugwump's chair, only to pause as the inquisition circle comes into view.
In the centre of the circle is an altar right out of Mayan myth, complete with the brazier to one side to burn the heart of the victim, and an obsidian dagger to cut the heart out. Standing to one side is an upright cage holding a shivering victim.
As the blood drains from his face, he turns to Fawkes and says, "It seems that Sakmia was right."
When Fawkes ruffles his feathers, Albus picks up his pace as he draws his wand. When he reaches the seat, he touches the wand to the seal before he's even sat down.
As the compartment under the small lecturn becomes visible, Albus wrenches it open and pulls out the minutes of the meetings he's been forced to miss due to his duties in upholding the Statute taking precedence.
As the representatives of the various ICW nations filter into Albus first frowns, and then his expression turns ashen and tears start to fall down his face.
Soon enough the entirety of the ICW has been seated, something that never happens outside the two solstice meetings, and the visitor's galleries have been filling up.
As the guards close the doors, Albus uses his wand to send up a cannon blast before standing up and looking down at his desk for a moment. Then he looks up again and pushes his magic out as an aura.
"Good afternoon everyone to this historic meeting. At this point I would normally say something witty and then sit down, however as this is to be my last meeting sat as the Supreme Mugwump I feel that I have the right to use my traditional right to speak for more than just witticisms. As many of you know, the primary duty of the Supreme Mugwump is to maintain order in the proceedings of the ICW. What is less well known is that the Supreme Mugwump also exists to prevent this body from becoming the very thing we created the Statute of Secrecy to protect us from. Something that I am sad to say I have failed at. On the 9th March 1992 at 8:45 in the evening, 15 minutes before the official end of all ICW meetings if they are not closed early, 10 members of the ICW conducted a trial. Those members included the head of the guards who should by rights have been too busy dealing with the ongoing breaches to be here. During this trial they accused a young woman who has only ever helped the people who have seen her of not only revealing magic to the mundane world. A crime that carries at most a short prison sentence before having your magic bound. They also added on every single breach of the statute that we, the enforcers of the Statute, caused in our bull headed approach to enforce the statute without a true understanding of how far the mundane world has moved on since what is now called the Victorian era. They accuse her of revealing the existence of the magical world and endangering our communities, a crime that we committed under the effects of a protection we're not even sure she had a part in creating. Meanwhile I have been dragged by my navel from disaster to disaster trying to find some way to ensure that our communities remain hidden and safe from the church."
Albus conjures a goblet of water and lets his gaze rove around the sitting members and the visitors at on the balcony as he wets his throat.
"During their investigations they discovered that the young woman was bound to appear with the utterance of her name, and a blood sacrifice." He points at the prisoner at in the circle, "A fact that they are now going to break one of the oldest taboo's of ICW in order to force her to appear before us. According to the evidence presented in that session, they could have sacrificed a small animal like a rabbit and taken the opportunity to find a way for us to co-exist with her. Instead, they used this fact to classify a person as a beast, a walking breach of the Statute of Secrecy. I urge you to think about this, as I move onto the next item that you should be aware of. This young woman is associated with a group of ancient magicals from the Celtic culture. I am not going to list their names, as to speak of them is to draw their attention. However, each and every one that is listed in myth has been classified as too dangerous to prosecute. There is also a fact that I have recently been reminded of. Not every magical nation in this world has signed the Statute of Secrecy, yet we have enforced the statute over them by force of arms. Can we do the same with the Celtic people? I would argue that given what we have seen of their magical workings we cannot. So instead I ask all of you to reconsider this verdict and seek to talk with the Celtic people and see how we can accommodate them instead of striking at their weakest members preemptively. Especially given that I fear that my friend and mentor Nicolas Flamel died attempting to do just that. In the event that this body does not seek to talk, and instead wishes to force the Celtic people to bow to their will. Then I ask all of you that are good people to leave these proceedings in protest. I for one fully intend to do the same as soon as my oath bound duties have been fulfilled. With my speech out of the way I declare the session open. Is there any new business?"
Albus holds out for as long as he can for someone to raise their wand. Once the allotted time for him to wait runs out he slumps down into his seat. "Moving onto the first item on the docket. The prosecution of the being known as Aoibhgreine."
As the captain of the guard takes his place in the pit, Albus is gratified to see that the entire section of visiting dignitaries files out of the room, along with a noticeable thinning of the visitors gallery.
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Daphne appears in the centre of the ICW court room, still wearing the embroidered clothing she wore to Harry's ceremony. Beneath her feet is a spreading pool of blood. While she's still trying to gain her bearings, the familiar voice of the Chief Warlock calls out, "Aoibhgreine, you have been found guilty of being a living breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Under section 127, the sentence is to be carried out immediately."
Daphne looks around and she loses it and starts laughing, "Headmaster, you are here, sentencing me to death, while there is a basilisk in the school and we were working on saving the life of one of it's victims? You, who are responsible for the safety of the students are here, sentencing one of those students to death? For what?"
Albus' sad voice carries across the auditorium as he says, "The accused shall be silent! For the record, I railed against this motion, however as the Chief Warlock it is my oath bound duty to pronounce it. Bailiff… execute the sentence."
As Albus stands to leave the hall, Daphne releases her hold on the Otherside and lets her magic run free as she reaches for her nascent domain. Around her the guards all flinch as her passive aura encompasses the entire pit. With that distraction, she disappears into the mist just long enough for a green bolt passes through the space she was just standing in, blowing a chunk out of the marble surround.
As she's pulled out of the mist by the power of the sacrifice, she begins to laugh and the pit starts to fill with mist, appearing from the wall obscuring Daphne, the guards, and the Bailiff.
Up in the balcony, the Ottoman representative calls, "Where is she, she should have been prevented from using any magic."
Backing up the stairs to the exit, Albus pulls his wand and start to works through the different spells that can dissipate fog. Of the Guards and Bailiff, there is no sign, even though they should have been able to activate their portkeys or even just apparate out of there.
He's almost at the exit when, suddenly, the feel of magic in the air starts to grow, quickly surpassing anything that most of them have ever felt. As it does, the fog starts to thin around the edges of the pit. In a panic, one of the representatives fires a spell into the mist, and as if that was a signal, the rest of the court start to fire a vast arsenal of spells into the mist, starting at lethal and working up from there. Seeing that his own spells are going nowhere, meaning he has no hope of saving those guards only doing their duty, Albus flares his own magic and staggers through the exit while he still can.
Around the auditorium magicals succumb to the pressure being brought to bear, first one, then 3, and then six, faster and faster, the spells stop firing into the mist as the pressure of magic becomes too much for them to bear.
Once the last spell has been fired, the mist covering the pit starts to recede from the edges and it appears to transform from a disk to a rapidly shrinking pillar, before finally disappearing into the girl they summoned to the ICW. Though, now she stands nearly 6 feet tall, her maiden's clothes have been replaced by clothing befitting someone of her station, and her eyes glow with power.
All around the hall, those who stayed to watch the execution shiver as Daphne's voice fills the auditorium. "I am Aoibhgreine, and I claim my place amongst the Tuath Dé. I call upon The Morrigan and The Dagda to witness my judgement upon you who sought to judge me for what I am."
Morgana and her husband appear in the hall, and the pressure of magic rises again, forcing those who were crawling for the exits to lie prostrate on the floor. Looking Daphne up and down, Morgana smiles, "Welcome to the clan. Why have you called us?"
"These people summoned me with a blood sacrifice, they then informed me that I was sentenced to death for being a walking breach of their statute of secrecy. I have called you to witness my judgement upon them. People pray to me to aid with building. They pray to me to help safely clear rubble. They pray for shelter."
Daphne spins around as she points at each of those who are desperately trying to escape or are still trying to raise their wands to fight back. "As they are so isolated from the world that they seek to destroy that which they cannot control, this building shall become their shelter. Impervious to the outside world, Impervious to death, none shall pass in or out, save through the gate I will leave here. Where they summoned me, and sought to destroy that which they didn't understand. Here they can choose to step into the unknown, past Donn's domain and beyond the succour of the afterlife. This is my judgement."
Morgana and her husband look at each other, and then nod and stand behind Daphne, flanking her in a triangle, "We have heard your judgement, and we accept it is just."
Turning her hands out, Daphne raises her hands to the side and up until they meet above her head. As she does so, an ornately carved archway grows out of the ground to either side of her and fills with swirling, and billowing, mist. Faintly, the sound of wood and stone moving around the outside of the building can be heard as the marvel of wizarding architecture is twisted and distorted until it looks like a mausoleum. Taking the frescoes of superiority and twisting them into frescoes of hubris.
When the changes reach the highest point of the building, Daphne sags from the effort. Before she collapses, she staggers through the archway into the mist, sealing her judgement. Wordlessly, the other two follow her as she slowly makes her way to the part of her that didn't exist before the ICW summoned her.