In which Harry meets Ravenclaw's heir, there are renovations to be done and answers to be found.
Enjoy!
A_A
The apparition was another form of magical transportation that Harry hated. He was swallowed by a tight, rubbery tube, chewed, and spit up, feeling nauseous. Helga assured it gets better with practice, while Harry thought it would be a real challenge to make it feel worse.
The evening had already become quite late, and the sun had set behind the horizon, so it was hard to see anything in the place where they landed. Harry could only say that there were no city lights to be seen; he saw the shapes of hills, darker shades against the sky, and heard the sound of the stream nearby.
In the light of Helga's wand, he could see the earthy path before them, some grass and moors on the sides. But he got even blinder to everything else surrounding them.
"When I lived here in the past, the place was rather deserted," Helga said. "But now it's so crowded with muggles. It's good that I wasn't completely dead, so the security system held on and kept muggles away, but the keep's state is disastrous. We managed to make it only a little bit more habitable by now, but you know how it is: a couple of spells today, a couple tomorrow, and in the blink of an eye, everything is just fine! Welcome to Badger's Keep!"
Harry didn't know, but he nodded anyway – he got the idea. And he didn't get to respond and ask questions. Just a moment later, he felt the tingle of magic, and they entered the circle of ruined walls surrounding… a small castle? Well, it was tiny in comparison to Hogwarts. It looked like it could fit the Great Hall without any problem and wasn't as fancy. It was a very rectangular block of old stones with four small towers glued on top in every corner, connected by walls with battlements. Here and there, in an unpredictable manner, the building was holed with small windows without glass panes, indicating that the structure had four stories. From where they stood, it looked like one of the rooms was lit with a warm fire.
"Ah! So Rowena is back as well, excellent! Come, Harry dear, and watch your steps. I haven't fixed the stairs yet."
Harry looked under his feet where, indeed, most of the stones were chipped and some even missing. The stairs were steep and tall, ending with a small platform and a massive wooden door. Not precisely massive in terms of size, but thick and crude, hanging on the pair of solid iron hinges. They led to a small, dark antechamber. Normal person would probably start questioning their decisions, but not Harry. He just looked around and followed Helga to a brightly lit room. It wasn't pristine and barely furnished. There was only a table and a couple of chairs. A table was wooden and heavy, and over half was buried under the books and scrolls.
Two of the chairs were taken. One by a strict woman in a sapphire blue dress of a simple cut. Waves of dark hair surrounded her pale face, her eyebrows were raised, and her lips curved in a reserved smile. Knowing what he did, Harry was confident that she was Rowena Ravenclaw (however weird that was). But even weirder was seeing a person occupying a second chair.
"Hermione?!" he exclaimed.
"Hello, Harry," she smiled broadly, already on her way to hug him tightly. "I hoped you'd come. I was just saying that I would expect you to want to get out from the Dursleys as soon as possible. And you're the heir, too! That's so amazing!"
"Yeah, you think Ron will come too?" He joked, moving away. But he couldn't hold a glimpse of hope, quickly put down by Hermione shaking her head. And before they were able to tell anything else, Helga placed a hand on his arm.
"So you're my dear Raven's heiress? Such a pretty girl you are! I'm Helga Hufflepuff, welcome to my home, dear."
"Hermione," she said brightly, extending her hand for a handshake. "Hermione Granger. I'm glad to be here, and I hope I'm not imposing."
"Not at all. It's a pleasure to meet you," Helga shook her hand vigorously and then approached the table, leading Hermione and Harry with her, hands resting on their arms. "Now it looks like Salazar again wouldn't be happy with our ways of following his plans, wouldn't he, dear Raven? Meet my Harry and Harry; this is my dearest friend, Rowena Ravenclaw."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Harry said, a little intimidated by the woman sitting before him. She seemed colder than Helena; somehow, he was glad to be the heir of Hufflepuff rather than Ravenclaw… Although he felt like he wouldn't fit this particular role. Hermione, on the other hand, did much better. And she wasn't that intimidating.
"Aren't you two a dream come true of best friends of all time?" Rowena smiled. Harry wanted to ask why, but Hermione confirmed vigorously.
"We befriended each other during our first year. Not right away, but Harry and Ron came to defend me from a mountain troll that was let into the castle. And we have held together ever since! It's a shame that Ron is not one of the heirs. I've asked about him as soon as I learned you're one."
"A troll was let into Hogwarts?" Helga asked bemused.
"Was it some kind of a teaching exercise?" added Rowena curiously.
"Just Voldemort's scheme to drag attention," Harry replied lightly. "So he could check out what guards the Philosopher's Stone."
Both women exchanged looks, which made Hermione frown. But Harry was too tired, his head too wrapped around all that had happened to notice. He curiously scanned the titles of old books, watched how Helga and Rowena prepared supper and listened to Hermione. It all felt… weird. Really weird. Abstract. He almost laughed when he thought about writing Sirius first thing in the morning and realised that everything in Shrieking Shack happened just around a month ago, and he was already thinking about the man as someone… well, someone who could have possibly been a father. Or someone of the sort. And again, he thought about what he had lost with the escape of Pettigrew. But maybe, just maybe, this situation, this place, could be something like that? Could it?
Badger's Keep was indeed in a disastrous state. Most of the rooms were yet unhabitable. Sometimes because of the leaky roof, sometimes because of the hole in the wall and other times because something was already living inside. Therefore, Harry and Hermione got a shared room on the second floor. It previously belonged to Rowena, who temporarily moved to Helga, and both women were making plans for further renovation in the coming days. Hermione was ecstatic.
"Can you just imagine how many spells we can learn? Ones that it would never occur to me to even look for! For what reason would I want to renovate an old keep? I read about them when we learned about medieval history at school, but I was told that they came to England in the eleventh century, and since it was the family home of the Hufflepuffs, they must have found the design sooner in France. That's very interesting, don't you think?"
"Sure," Harry murmured, analysing his bed. It was interesting, a little weird. The mattress, pillow, and duvet were all filled with feathers—actual bird feathers—and weirdly soft under the stiff linen. Rowena conjured it just like that, apparently used to sleeping in this setting. Was it normal at the time? Has everybody slept this way? Dipped in feathers?
"Oh, that's nice!" Hermione was already in her bed. "I don't know what I was expecting, but I wouldn't be surprised by straw; it was the most common bedding during the Middle Ages. I suppose Wizards had no problems obtaining feathers since they could just conjure the appropriate amount. Magic must have made a bigger difference at the time. I must ask about it. But there's so much to ask!"
Harry entered his own bed and had to admit that dipping into the feathers was pleasant—like lying down in the cloud. Super relaxing.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, interrupting her monologue. "How did your parents take it?"
"They were surprised, obviously. Mum had all kinds of questions about the family members connecting us. I'm not the only heir there is, but the only one legitimate. There's another line, you see, but it's the male line, and Rowena has her inheritance passed through the female line, and it was like that for ages in the family. But they agreed that it'll be better for my education if I accept the proposition and spend some time during Summer with Rowena, learning. She was shocked about the Statue of Secrecy and the law that forbids children from doing Magic at home. It is also very discriminative, as the charm can only trace that the Magic was used in a certain area, and not who used it, as it happened with you and Dobby, so the magical children can use Magic at home if their parents allow it. Additionally, it's safe to use it while adults are around."
Harry only hummed sleepily in response. The flickering light slipping under the doors went out in the meantime. The sounds outside died down, and Harry started to doze off when he felt his covers move.
"Scoot over," Hermione said quietly, sneaking into his bed, "We need to talk. Quietly."
Harry groaned but moved to the side. He was a little uncomfortable about the company, but Hermione didn't let him complain.
"Look," she whispered. "Have you thought about this situation? About what does this whole heir business mean? Has Helga told you anything about other heirs?"
"Nothing. I didn't ask. Do you know something?"
"Rowena told me only about you when we came here and talked about Helga. I was about to ask, but then you came. But I was wondering, who do we know is the heir and would be quite capable of resurrecting someone?"
Harry's brain wandered drowsily for a second, and then he was completely awake as the realisation struck.
"Voldemort," he said through the clenched throat.
"Exactly," Hermione confirmed, "I think he resurrected them all and lied, confusing them all about the situation. We have to set it straight and gather information about You Know Who and what he's up to. But we have to be careful. I'm certain that Helga and Rowena have no ill intentions toward us, but if they have false information, they can take us to him without knowing what that would mean. That is the second reason I decided to come here, so I wouldn't be surprised by meeting with You Know Who unexpectedly. So tomorrow, we have to try and talk with them, learn what they know and think they know, and we'll discuss it in the evening, okay?"
"Sure," Harry said, still with the lump in the throat. Nothing good could last. Not for him, right? Voldemort would always crash it. He or one of his followers.
Hermione moved back to her bed and, judging by the sound, fell asleep quite fast. But Harry couldn't for a very long time. It was already dawn when he finally dozed off.
Hermione woke up energised and determined. She found it an exciting experience to live in this place in conditions that were not imitating but equivalent to those in the tenth century. She was fascinated by everything surrounding her when even breakfast was the occasion to learn. There was fresh bread, cheese, and some apples. Eaten just like it was. That led to a lengthy conversation about the history of sandwiches and meals. And Hermione barely noticed when Helga and Harry left to start with renovations. But when she did, she saw and took her chance immediately.
"I was wondering who the other heirs are," she said. "Is there anyone else attending Hogwarts?"
The change of subject pushed Rowena closer to reality, and she began casting to clean the table after breakfast. The wands used by both witches were fascinating, so raw and close to natural branches, unlike the modern wands, that Hermione wanted to ask about them immediately but restrained herself, at least for now.
"Yes, one," Rowena said. "The boy your age is also from Gryffindor, so I assume you know him—or at least know of him. Neville Longbottom?"
"Neville?" Hermione asked in surprise. "And he's… Gryffindor's heir?"
Honestly, it was hard to imagine shy and clumsy Neville as Gryffindor's heir. Although a lot of time has passed and well… some apples fall further from the tree than others. And she still hasn't met Godric Gryffindor himself. Maybe there was more resemblance than Hermione could know.
"Yes," Rowena confirmed, "Neville Longbottom and his great-uncle, Algie. I'm curious to meet him."
"And the heir of Slytherin?" Hermione enquired innocently. "Is he at Hogwarts as well?"
"Not anymore." Rowena slipped a wand to her sleeve and corrected the nonexistent wrinkles on her dress. "I doubt that you know him. Now, let's go and help with the renovations, shall we?"
"Yes," Hermione followed her obediently but didn't drop the subject, "But maybe I know of him? He must be quite a capable wizard because he was the one that resurrected you, is that correct?"
"Yes, quite capable. Fortunately for us, he performed the rituals himself. It would be distasteful to go around noseless, hairless, or otherwise mutilated. But the ritual is not that demanding. You have to be incapable to perform it incorrectly. The instructions are quite clear."
"What are the instructions? What has to be done?" Hermione was too curious not to ask.
"There's a list of ingredients for the body: spring water, the purest possible, phoenix ashes, the sea serpent's mane, amaranthus flowers, and maledictus venom. They aren't the easiest ingredients to procure, although they are robust and can be supplemented, of course, by combining other ingredients. However, everything was available, so there was no need for experiments; all that had to be done was to watch for the quantity, quality, and proportions. Additionally, you need to guide the process. That's why having a body piece containing blood, flesh, and bone is recommended. It should be measured precisely, as the amount of venom must be adjusted according to the weight of the body part. But the most important is the piece of soul anchoring the leading part of the soul to the mortal plane. The potion creates the body, after which a piece of the soul binds the leading soul to this new body with the runes inscribed on the cauldron."
Hermione was terrified by what she heard. That was the darkest imaginable magic she ever heard of! Blood and soul! She never heard much about the dark magic, but that… that was unimaginable. She doubted to find anything like that in the Hogwarts library!
"I-isn't that… d-dark arts?" She asked quietly.
"Dark Arts?" Rowena stopped and looked at her with interest. "Well, it would depend on the definition, don't you think?"
"Yes, well, that's true, I suppose. Blood magic and soul magic are currently considered the Dark Arts. Anything that's harmful to anybody is considered to be a part of the Dark Arts. However, not everything is punishable by the Ministry, like jinxes and hexes. Most of them are allowed."
Rowena looked at her, bemused.
"What has it come to?" she said, almost laughing. "To consider jinxes a part of Dark Arts... During my time, the border was much further away. But I have already heard about some absurd regulations currently considered necessary for safety. We can discuss that later. I would like us to repair those stairs for now. Do you have your wand?"
With a little nod, Hermione confirmed and concentrated on the spellwork she was taught. But that wasn't all she put her brain into. She tried to weigh the objective, hard facts, and her opinion about the Dark Arts and dark wizards to find the appropriate course of action that wouldn't put her, Harry, or anybody else in danger. She couldn't do that properly, not knowing all the facts. She was confident that at least Rowena knew about You Know Who enough to decide against giving his name. The question was: why? Was she a supporter? But it would be a highly rash decision based on the limited knowledge, and Hermione doubted that Rowena Ravenclaw was one to jump into anything without careful consideration. Then why? Was she manipulated or lied to? Probably. Would it be wise to ask straight forward? And what if Rowena denies it? Right now, she's only not offering the knowledge, but she could refuse it or lie, which would be much worse.
Forcefully, Hermione held the questions behind her teeth, trying to master spells for stone melding, renovation, restoration, and conjuration. After a while, Rowena declared the stairs usable and presentable enough and led them to one of the rooms. They worked steadily, limiting the discussion strictly to spells and science behind them. Hearing laughs and jokes from the adjacent room was a little disruptive. But that was Harry for you. He was offered an excellent opportunity to learn something unique from someone singular, and he spent time joking and playing around. Ron would probably do just the same thing.
"Your room is ready, Raven dear. Just furnish it as you like," Helga said happily, stopping in the doorway around midday. "We'll go downstairs to add something to the main hall before preparing dinner."
"Thank you, Helena," Rowena didn't even turn from the wall she was reconstructing. That was enough for her cheery friend, as she turned to Hermione with a smile unchanged and gleeful.
"Do you like apple pies, Little Raven?"
"Yes, very much."
"The dessert is settled then!" Helena declared and left the room. The laughter started again only a minute later.
"Wind and rain had beaten the southern wall for years, and no fire had been lit in the building… We have to remove the stones from this part of the wall," Rowena decided. "Look, do you see that? There is too much moisture in the mortar. It could become a problem in the future. We remove the stones, replace the mortar, and place them back in. It's tedious but easy work. And necessary. How do you remove the stone?"
Hermione took a breath and gave the correct answer, almost word for word, based on what she had been told two hours before. She concentrated on the task at hand and tried to suppress her need to ask about Slytherin's heir directly. It would be unwise. She stopped hearing laughter from downstairs after some time but didn't notice.
It was hard to hold her tongue, so as soon as Harry and her were back in their room, she sat in his bed almost immediately.
"They know," she whispered, "Rowena didn't say anything straightforward, but I'm sure. I don't know why she wouldn't tell me. And Harry, this resurrection ritual… it's dark, and I mean dark."
"Calm down, Hermione, I know that they know," Harry answered much too calmly for Hermione's taste. "I've asked, and she told me a bunch of things."
"When? You were joking around all day," Hermione noticed.
"Hey! We've done plenty, okay? And I asked just after breakfast, and later on, we had fun joking about Voldemort. He doesn't have a nose, you know?" Harry chuckled, "Like completely nothing, flat, with slits, like snakes have. Helga says he looks like he'd run straight into a freshly limed wall. He's also super pale. White. And Helga said that Slytherin has been moaning about it since the beginning, saying that he never imagined being so ashamed of his heir. And when he saw how Voldy looked before, he got even whinier."
"Harry! It's serious!" Hermione scolded, "It's not a joke material! It's the most powerful and dangerous dark wizard of all time who wants to kill you if you haven't noticed."
"Well, he doesn't," Harry shrugged. "Helga doesn't know much about what happened here, but she knows for certain that Voldemort never wanted to kill me. The goal was to take me and secure me from outside influence. It's all connected to what they want to do. From what I know now, Voldemort wanted to bring back the founders and fix the magical world from the start. But to keep founders here, they must have strong familial ties. The rest we'll learn on Saturday. And I really want to see how Slytherin is mocking Voldy about his nose…"
"Harry!" Hermione interrupted, whispering to him, "How can you know that any of it is true? How can you know that it's not a trap?"
"Simple, she did this oath thing. And I know it is true."
The catalogue of books in Hermione's head grew hot from viewing in every direction in search of any oath things that could make Harry so confident in what Helga (the person they met just the day before yesterday) said, that he would trust her in the matter concerning his life. She read once about magical oaths. However, it was only a little piece of knowledge, barely mentioned in the chapter, about the treaty between Swiss wizards and magical communities from surrounding countries at the end of the eighteenth century. It claimed the existence of many magical oaths, mentioned an epidemic of deaths years following the treaty, and the resulting ban on this type of magic. They were marked as the Dark Arts because they were feeding on the souls of participants.
"The oath thing?" Hermione asked almost instantly after Harry finished his sentence. "What oath thing?"
"Well, she swears something, wording it in a certain way. Then I accept, and I know it's true—like I really, truly know—without a doubt."
Harry shrugged again as he said everything in this irritatingly careless, trusting, and confident way. Hermione hated this for two reasons. First, Harry was usually correct but had nothing to support his words with besides his conviction. And she couldn't just believe this. Second, it was typically dangerous to go with his gut feeling. Sure, up to date, Harry made it following his premonitions and survived. Still, sometimes only barely, and because of some outside influence. Harry couldn't endlessly count on his crazy, nonexistent plan of 'go ahead, see what happens, and keep on going,' supported only by the sense of duty to protect or revenge or whatever it was at the moment—simply exhausting.
"Harry," Hermione said patiently, "It is soul magic. That's dark magic, Dark Arts. You can't keep using it. It feeds on your soul and can lead to your death. I don't know enough about that to tell you if any of that is safe to use, but Harry, has the diary taught you nothing? You can't use magic you know nothing about…"
"Is it the Firebolt again, Hermione?"
"I was right, and you know it!" she hissed at him. "It was from Sirius. And he could have killed you with that. It was possible. He didn't want to, and you couldn't have known that he didn't know. So, it was good that the broom was checked. And stop holding it against me."
To stress her point, Hermione punched his arm… well, not lightly, but with moderate strength.
"Ouch! C'mon 'Mione!" Harry stopped whispering and rubbed on his arm. "I know it's alright. I know I can trust Helga. But I'll promise never to bring up the firebolt again if you just trust me. Can you?"
Could she? Of course, she could! She trusted Harry. Only not his knowledge. It was just that simple.
"Yes, I can," she said, "But the question is: is it enough to go there on Saturday?"
"Yes. And before you say anything, Neville's gonna be there, and we can't leave him alone with everything."
Hermione's instinct was to groan, lift her hands to the sky, and face-palm herself simultaneously. Instead, she just sighed. There was nothing else left but to learn as much about the oaths as she could in her short time. So, there was only one thing she could do: hit the books. And if Hogwarts Library would possibly be too limited to provide her with extensive knowledge on the subject considered dark, the books downstairs piling the lion's share of the table and the floor around it would be entirely different.
"Well," she said finally, "Get up. We're going to the Main Hall, and we're going to find any information about the oaths available in this house."
Harry stood up with a groan.
It was early morning and another candle burned out. The Main Hall of the Badger's Keep was already lit with the rays of the early sun, and Hermione, as if noticing it only now, extinguished the rest of the candles with a sight.
"Harry," she shook his arm, "A-Are you drooling on this book?! I found it, look." Not minding his drowsiness, Hermione moved closer to Harry, pushing the book almost under his nose.
"Thy soul being ward, reeve, one that conveys magic to an effect desired?" Harry asked, furrowing.
"Yes. Magical oaths are based on soul magic; they bind the soul and make you either tell the truth or keep your word. The soul is responsible for judging whether you told the truth or kept your word, and if you act against the oath, it will be the executioner of the oath. It can do basically anything because it's based on the purest forces of magic and soul or life, by extension, so it will just act and judge impartially, and it will not base the judgement on any morality or law, just the words of the oath. If you break it, you suffer the consequences, whatever they might be. What did Helga offer to guarantee the truth?"
"Her life and magic, she says it's best to swear to both simultaneously because life without magic is not worth living," Harry explained, ignoring Hermione's dismay. "So, you see, it's valid. She told me the truth. We can trust that."
"But can't you see the danger? This can kill!"
"Well, if you lie or break your word, then yes. So just don't do it. Easy."
"But if you cannot be sure of the truth and claim it to be so, and the magic will judge it a lie, you will die anyway! So you might believe you tell the truth, but you will not, and you will die. It's dangerous."
Harry removed his glasses to rub on the eyes.
"I'm tired, and that doesn't matter now. It's true. Impartially or whatever, 'Mione. Voldemort doesn't want to kill me. So it's not a trap to kill me. And anyway, it would be a gun to a knife fight, don't you think? Or even a canon. To resurrect the funders to get me into a trap? Even Voldy is not so desperate. So, we checked, and I'm going to sleep."
What they knew was not enough for Hermione. Still, Harry was correct, and learning more was not so urgent to skip sleep anymore.
"I'm tired too..." She closed the book and stood up. "Just don't use it anymore until I know more, okay?"
"I will not make the oath," Harry said eagerly, and Hermione was sure he would say almost anything to go to bed. But she couldn't judge him.
"Off to bed it is then," she said with amusement.
But when they found themselves in the bedroom, each in their respective beds, when Harry fell asleep in seconds, Hermione couldn't. All that she learned rolled over and over in her brain.