AN
I promised a discussion about not-so-traditional traditions, I came to deliver.
Content Warning for a brief panic attack later in this chapter.
1992, 1st year
Harry watched Rhea enter the Great Hall and immediately had to check with Blaise that it was indeed Sunday morning.
"I'm expecting mail," Rhea told them, amused, dark bruises under her eyes that weren't usually there.
"How do you know it will arrive during breakfast?"
Rhea pointed behind her and Harry turned to watch a small owl glide down towards them, landing on Rhea's outstretched arm.
"Say hello, my dear."
The owl hooted.
"Family owl?"
"No, Hermes is my familiar."
"Hermes?" Blaise asked. "Rather mundane name for your standards."
"The Greek God Hermes guides the souls of the deceased to the underworld," Rhea replied, as she fiddled with the scroll tied to the owl's leg.
"Of course, he does."
"I've never seen your owl come down before," Tracey remarked. "The others usually come by for treats now and then."
"There is no need."
"Why not?"
Harry had a feeling he knew what Rhea's answer would be.
"Hermes does not eat. He is dead. And besides," she continued, a fond look in her eyes, "we are one. We need not be physically close." Then she threw Hermes into the air and turned her attention to her letter.
Harry watched the owl flutter away and wondered what Rhea had meant by claiming 'they were one'.
"Do we want to know why it took nine months for you to receive any correspondence at all?" Blaise asked sharply.
If it weren't for Malin Risberg writing to Harry on a semi-regular basis, Harry mused, he also wouldn't have received any letters – nor would he receive any in the future.
"My family and your family are simply different. This isn't one of those boring courtesy check-ins about my well-being, anyway. I asked about Quirrel." Rhea neatly folded her letter in half. "They said best not to get involved, so that's what I shall do. Pity, really, but it cannot be helped."
Draco scoffed at her. "Not one to go against your parents' advice?"
Harry thought he heard Daphne mutter, "As if you are any better."
Rhea gave Draco one of her less normal smiles. "Not in matters of Death."
o
Beltane was a fun festival, Harry decided.
To celebrate the beginning of summer, the students went outside and built a big bonfire on the grounds to dance around and play with. Harry watched in fascination as some of the older students took turns throwing various powders and potions into it to make the flames change colour and shape and some even dared to jump over the flames licking out towards them (all under the supervision of the teachers, of course).
One memorable moment was a flame shifting into the shape of a dragon taking flight, prompting Hagrid the groundskeeper to burst into tears and loud sobs – to the concern of some students and Draco's obvious delight.
Harry joined Pansy, Daphne and Blaise wreathing flowers together and Rhea and Theodore planting small trees by the edge of the forest.
Harry would have missed the passing of midnight if it weren't for Professor McGonagall rounding up the younger students and herding them into the castle to go to bed. If the adults were so concerned about their sleep schedule, Harry mused, perhaps they should rethink having them take Astronomy lessons at midnight in the middle of regular school weeks. Then again, no teacher actually made sure they went to bed and according to the third-years, Slytherin's Head of House was perfectly fine with letting them do whatever they wanted in their common room as long as they kept it civilised.
Having now partaken in six out of the eight festivals compromising the Wheel of the Year and read up on the rest, Harry found it quite odd how some stood out among the others.
The memory of the main Samhain ritual would forever remain vivid in his mind – though Harry couldn't be sure how much the presence of a literal Necromancer had influenced that particular experience with his – Well.
Yule would have likely been different spent in a smaller circle or at school compared to a ball at Malfoy Manor. A ball. At a manor. Never would Harry have imagined himself attending such an event.
Beltane he was at least somewhat familiar with, though the Dursleys had always turned up their noses in disgust at the Walpurgis Night celebrations of their neighbourhood and then looked at Harry askance. Looking back, Harry now understood why. Although, he supposed, warding off witches – as the Walpurgis Night bonfires were meant to do, should have been right up their alley.
Memories of the Dursleys aside (it was a good sign that he could think of them with barely any feelings, now … right?), Harry thought Beltane might have been his favourite of the festivals so far.
All that was left was Litha in June and, maybe, if his friends invited him and he was allowed to go, Lughnasa in August. Harry was tentatively looking forward to that.
"I have a question," Tracey began and Harry felt his heart drop.
Tracey's questions rarely lead to good things.
As if thinking the same thing, Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "What is it?"
"About the Wheel of the Year, as you call it."
That caught the attention of the others as well, all of them gathered in their usual spot in the common room.
"I read up on them, of course –" Tracey ignored Draco's scoffed 'of course', "– but I figured that asking the people who actually grew up celebrating them would provide a more reliable source than books I can't verify aren't biased."
Daphne gave Tracey a look that Harry interpreted to mean 'And you think we are unbiased?'.
"Yes, quite," Draco said in a haughty tone. "It is important to know such things, after all."
"So it's a wheel," Tracey started, "a circle. All balanced and equal and whatnot, right?"
"That is correct."
"Then why are the celebrations not equal? Why are some grander than others?"
Huh. Harry had been wondering about the same thing, but it never occurred to him to actually ask anyone about it.
"Well," Draco began, "historically, the solstices and equinoxes obviously held more importance than the mid-points due to their roots in natural phenomena."
"Actually depends heavily on the regional history and local traditions," Millicent interjected. "In some places, it was the other way around."
"Yule," Draco continued, blandly ignoring Millicent's input, "has retained popularity through the Malfoy Yule Ball." He sniffed. "Granted, it is more of a business opportunity these days, but my parents always strive to keep the traditions alive as best as they can. On the other hand, Litha has been neglected since the Blacks stopped hosting their Summer Ball and, well, the last Black heir is a disgrace who landed himself in Azkaban, so there is no hope of them ever taking up their duties again."
Draco looked around, his gaze lingering on a few particular older students, as well as Daphne and Theodore. Harry noted, then, how quiet it had become, even though no one appeared to be listening in.
"A pity that no other family of high standing has taken it upon themselves, either."
Daphne rolled her eyes at that. "It's not as easy as you would like to think it is. Although I agree," and here she eyed some of the same older students Draco's gaze had lingered on, "that some families ought to, perhaps, stop thinking it weren't their duty and someone else could surely do it."
Theodore said nothing.
"Why is it the Malfoy Yule Ball, but the Black Summer Ball?" Tracey asked, steering the conversation back.
"Because 'Litha Ball' doesn't roll off the tongue," Blaise replied. "So, as Draco said, the mid-points weren't seen as important, originally. In some places," he added at Millicent's pointed look. "But Samhain gained popularity in Britain when some branches from the family now known as the Totengräbers and later those that would become known as the Lémures settled on the British Isles several centuries ago."
"Oh, yeah," Rhea said, almost thoughtfully. "One of my greater aunts likes to tell stories about those times." She shrugged. "But she tends to get confused about the things she lived through – or existed through, for later centuries – and the ones the dead lived through, because she connected with quite a lot of them during the wars the Romans and later the Anglo-Saxons and so many others waged."
Millicent perked up at that. "She was present for that? She experienced that first-hand?"
"And Beltane," Blaise continued, a bit loudly, before Millicent could derail their discussion completely, "gained popularity with the introduction of the Christian Walpurgis Night, oddly enough. Or ironically enough, rather."
"And that is why the other four seem insignificant in comparison," Tracey realised.
"There is a balance in it, still," Rhea said. "But something will have to give soon for it to remain so."
"How so?" Harry asked curiously.
It was Blaise who answered, taking out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Because Samhain and Yule are opposite to Beltane and Litha on the Wheel," he said as he drew a circle on which he marked the eight festivals, circling the four.
"The term 'Wheel of the Year' is a modern one, by the way," Daphne spoke up. "It has found its way into our day-to-day vocabulary as the times changed."
"As so many things have," Blaise agreed. "Now, Beltane and Samhain are equally popular these days. As are Imbolc, Ostara, Lughnasa and Mabon – if to a considerably smaller extent. But while the Malfoys are keeping Yule alive, in a way, Litha's importance in the eyes of our community is on a steady decline."
"Either one gains strength or the other loses it," Draco said. "And my family shall always strive to fulfil its duty, so someone better take up the Summer Ball again."
"Or a similar venture," Daphne added.
"So you are telling me," Tracey said slowly, "that the eight festivals are basically kept alive by a select few pure-blood families – namely the Malfoys, the Lémures and previously the Blacks. Except for Beltane, which is being kept alive because of a Christian Muggle festival? The very same Christians who you loathe for introducing Easter and Christmas to the magical community."
"Of Britain," Blaise said. "That is important. Traditions are different everywhere – there are many overlaps in Europe, but you would have a hard time finding any in the old traditions of magical communities from other continents. And, of course, traditions change over time as communities and cultures and societies do."
"Yes," Daphne said to Tracey. "That is how it is, these days. It is sad, in a way. Very sad."
"Our rituals and 'traditions' aren't all that old, either," Rhea said. "Most have been lost to history."
"Wouldn't your ancestors know?" Daphne asked curiously. "They lived through all this, after all, and are still around from what I've gathered."
Rhea shrugged. "If they had cared for it, back then. Most of them still don't. They brought with them some of their own traditions for the night when the veil between the world of the living and Death's Realm is thinnest – which happens to be Samhain, usually. But our kind never much cared for Samhain itself or any other festivals that were and are not connected to Death and His subjects."
"If we look at the history of the British Isles," Millicent said. "It's not that hard to see why. The earliest cultures inhabiting the islands did not leave much behind, but we can infer from what has survived that they at least ascribed some importance to the solstices and, presumably, the equinoxes."
Tracey's face lit up. "Stonehenge."
"We know much more about Roman culture, of course – but, for all that the Romans stayed for quite a long time, they didn't leave much behind and after that it gets incredibly complicated as the Anglo-Saxons and other tribes invaded and lots of disputes broke out and more invaders came and everything was split and …"
As Millicent continued her little impromptu history crash course, Harry's mind started wandering, contemplating the ways the Dursleys had celebrated the holidays and how he hadn't even wondered about magical people celebrating the same things initially, had accepted that there were two sets of independent festivals when he learned about them, hadn't even known the Wheel of the Year wasn't all that old, but rather a recent invention – that Paganism did not mean the same thing in every situation.
There was a lot Harry didn't know, despite reading up on so, so much.
(Perhaps Ravenclaw would have been the better house for him.)
(But Ravenclaw had different rules.)
Draco's indignant voice eventually broke Harry out of his drifting thoughts.
"Excuse you?"
Harry blinked and tried to bring his focus back on the conversation.
"All I'm saying," Tracey raised her hands in a placating manner, "is that I can understand why not all pure- and magical raised half-bloods celebrate your so-called 'traditional festivals' – because they're not all that traditional in the first place. Since they're actually not rooted that deeply in history, I really don't see why the gradual change to different, yet similar celebrations like Christmas poses such a problem. It's simply the natural progression, just as the Wheel of the Year you're celebrating was a gradual change from whatever those festivals originally were. Or a re-imagination of them, if I interpreted what Millie told us correctly."
"They're Muggle festivals!" Draco growled. "They celebrate the life and death and whatnot of some Jesus Christ no one cares about."
Tracey raised her chin defiantly. "So? Your so-called 'magical traditions' are derived from modern Paganism."
"And that justifies worshipping the most central figure of the very Religion that hunted us down to burn us alive?! The International Statute of Secrecy had to be put in place because of them! We had to go into hiding because of them!"
"Things change. People change. Traditions change. It's not about their origins, anymore. I doubt most of the people celebrating Christmas and Easter even know what it's about in the first place, thinking of Father Christmas and Easter Bunnies instead."
"That does not make your argument any more valid. You forget that there is magic involved in the traditions we practice, Pagan or not. There is a reason different cultures celebrated them historically and still do to this day."
"There is magic only in some," Rhea murmured, earning herself a glare from Draco.
Tracey huffed loudly, disbelievingly. "You are such a hypocrite." She looked around at all the older Slytherins pretending they weren't following the argument closely. "You are all hypocrites."
"Hypocrites?" Draco exclaimed. "Hypocrites?! I will have you know –"
From there, the argument blew up into a fight about pure-blood ideology – pure-blood hypocrisy – mainly between Tracey and Draco at first, but soon involving Pansy and Vincent supporting Draco's claims, Gregory looking torn, Daphne arguing for both sides, several older students getting involved and Harry suddenly didn't want to be there anymore.
They were being so loud, defending their points so fiercely and Rhea – the only one Harry knew to ask to make them stop – had disappeared at one point (as had Theodore) and there was so. Much. Noise.
He could feel his heart beating faster, louder, hard against his ribs as the fear set in, choking him, suffocating him, drowning him. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop!
"Harry."
He couldn't do this. Not now. Not here. He had been doing so well all year. He couldn't afford to – He couldn't – Not now. Not now. Not here. It had to stop. He had to stop. There was no –
"Harry."
Blaise's face swam blurrily in front of him.
"Come on, love. Follow my voice. Come this way, where it's quieter."
He could hear the words, but they made no sense. He didn't have time for this – He had to –
"I'm going to take your sleeve, alright? Just – Come with me. It's going to be okay."
It was too loud. There were too many people and they were arguing, shouting, fighting –
And then, there was silence.
When Harry finally managed to get his breathing back under control, he found himself in the dormitory, sitting on a bed, a cat cradled in his arms.
A very patient cat enduring the tight grip he was having on her. A very kind cat, purring despite it all, because she knew that helped ground him.
Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in Hedwig's soft fur, trying to get his hands to loosen, his body to stop shaking so much. The vibrations of Hedwig's purrs soothed the gaping hole in his aching chest. He was sweaty and cold and so, so tired.
"Did they see?" he asked quietly, when he was sure his voice would come out at all. He couldn't find the strength to look up.
"It's alright," came Blaise's soothing voice. "No one noticed. They were too busy fighting like cats and dogs."
That was – good. That was good, yes.
"Rest, Harry. I'll make sure no one bothers you."
Harry believed him.
(True to Blaise's words, Harry slept, undisturbed. And in the morning, no one asked about the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion visible in every motion.)
(Harry also learned that Severus had eventually come into the common room and broken up the argument, giving the main perpetrators a stern lecture about proper conduct and not abusing the privileges of being allowed to stay up for longer than usual.)
o
"Where's Rhea?"
"Out. Presumably to do Necromancy stuff." Blaise looked up from his notes. "Why are you asking?"
"I had a question about –" Harry remembered who he was sharing a table with – Sue and Oliver, and Hannah and Susan and Justin – and reconsidered his words. "It's not that important, but I wanted to ask her something."
He had this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, that he was forgetting something important and Rhea usually knew such things. Or her cards did. That was also something he wanted to ask her about – how to go about what the cards she had spread for him a few months ago could mean.
"She'll probably be back in time for dinner."
Harry nodded. Rhea never ate much, but she did make sure to eat something for lunch and dinner at least, no matter how small the portion. It was like a personal rule she had set for herself.
Rhea never turned up for dinner.
The next day, when Rhea joined them in the library after lunch, Harry thought she looked rather spooked. Like a Muggle who had seen a ghost. It was an odd look on her. It perplexed Harry.
When asked, her only reply was a shudder and the words, "Unicorns are creepy", which perplexed Harry even more.
AN
Rhea went out hoping to find dead things. She found unicorns instead (one dying and a few dead unicorns, yes, but unicorns.)
Yeah, I still don't know how to write realistic children. Eh, it's fanfiction.
And yes, Harry is avoiding thinking about the pureblood bigotry.
Bonus:
"So what happened with the Hagrid situation?"
"Hm?" Pansy looked up from the Witch Weekly magazine she'd been reading. "Oh, that's old news. Keep up, Harry."
"You never did tell us what happened after his hut went up in flames," Daphne pointed out.
"He got reprimanded, the hatchling taken away to some dragon reservoir, I lost interest after that. Draco was pestering his father about it, but it doesn't seem like anything came from that, either."
"How did he even get a dragon egg in the first place?" Harry asked.
"Some shady person at the pub."
"Because that doesn't scream 'highly suspicious'," Daphne muttered.
Pansy gave Daphne a Look. "I'm good, but I'm not that good. 'tis all I got, I'm afraid."