AN at the end of chapter
Book II
Small Gods
Chapter 2
I Know I've Been A Little Bit Off, And That's My Mistake.
"III"
"Now here is something to ponder: if many people believe something to be so, does that make it so? If you believe in opposition to those beliefs, will your will win out?"
"III"
March 22, 2008
The sun slants in low through the windows, refracting off of the crystal vase onto the floor. A hush sits in the home, heavy and quiet. Dust motes drift serenely in the sun. The air glows with the warmth of the early evening light. A small breeze rustless the curtains, a slight stirring in the still air. It is warm for March and the air smells like spring, wet grass, and optimism.
It's that kind of day where the sun is hot and the air is cold and the contrast feels delicious.
Ginny stands, out in her back garden balanced on one foot, the other stretched up and over her head. Her eyes are closed and her mind empty. She ever so slowly lowers her leg pulling herself down into a low one legged squat, her other leg now stretched out in front of her. Her mind's eye is full of the slow lapping of waves on a lakes shore. She moves slowly, her will over her body absolute.
"III"
"There are things a wizard can do to strengthen their will; or as we call it, their authem. Having a strong authem isn't only important for the strength of your spell, but also when working against another wizard. Pitting your authem against another's when you're not the strongest, can be catastrophic. While it is rare for a wizard to cast a spell in direct contest with another's, in a duel or firefight it can be more common; a basic example would be a spell versus a shield charm.
"A way we can see this in practice without trying to hex each other, is via the Stello Lumos charm. I'll cast it, and I would like you to try to put it out. My spell, my authem, my intent, is to keep it lit, while your spell and intent is for it to go out. A simple Nox should work well enough."
"III"
She breathes in and out with the waves — wshhhh, wshhhh, — echoing in her mind. Over the years, she has honed her authem, working it into an iron hard edge. Her will is her way, and what she wills, is.
My will is the way, what I will, is. A mantra that flows with the waves.
She comes out of her meditative flow, breathing deep the evening air. The sun is starting to set across the water as the wind plays gently in the tall grass surrounding her small home. She smiles feeling fully at peace. Her authem thrums — she feels purpose deep inside. Her home overlooks a high lake, and, bordered by two streams, it sits happily surrounded by water. The water helps keep her calm and grounded, especially after her ascension. And, with her living nearby, the banks of the stream are lush with new growth and the lake sparkles crystal clear.
She loves her little haven here. The ward stone she buried deep beneath the foundation is directly connected to a ley nexus. It hides her sanctuary away, a little slice taken out of the world just for her. The small home is simply built but perfectly cozy. She loves the sounds of the quiet waves outside on the lake; the rainstorms that fill the valley with a gentle hiss as they patter on the lake and roof; the sunsets she watches every night that flood her home with warm sunbeams, painting the walls gold.
The teapot whistles, steam filling the warm air, catching on the orange beams of last light. Her feeling of peace lasts through her first cup of tea, and then, as it tends to do, loneliness sets in. She loves her home, isolated and hidden as it is, it's her escape, her comfort. But some days she can't help but remember how alone she is. She's been on her own for over twelve years. She's used to it by now, her self-imposed exile, but sometimes it still gets to her.
It felt normal, she keeps telling herself, running into Harry just yesterday. Like she had friends again. She hasn't let herself think about her old life, seeing her family again, her friends again. She hasn't let it be a possibility. But now with Tom gone…
Does she really have a reason to stay away?
She sighs into her mug, wrapping her hands around the warmth.
But it's just so easy.
"III"
March 23, 2008
The city lights whip by, flashing variegated over the windshield. The growl of the engine rumbles beneath her, and she thrills at the power of the car. The muggles do a lot of things right, and sports cars are one of them. The all black Audi R8 Quattro roars up the street as she presses her foot down to the floor, the V10 engine screaming in response. She lets out a gleeful whoop. The car reminds her of a storm, of a barreling wave, of the crash of thunder. It ignites something in her not quite dissimilar to the feeling of standing in the eye of a storm. All of her worries from yesterday are forgotten in the exhilaration of the drive.
All of the time she has spent in the muggle world over the past 12 years has helped her become comfortable with their customs and ways. Her job has helped her become comfortable in many different situations, in different venues, among different types of people. She settles into her roles like greeting an old friend: comfortably and easily.
Tonight, her hair is the vibrant pink of Talia Katyagida, one of her favorites.
The car screeches up to the curb with the barely restrained growl settling to a purr as she pulls it out of gear. She swings out of the car, loving the sound of her heels on the pavement, the clack of each step an announcement of her presence. Her black overcoat sweeps behind her as she strides past the valet into the club.
The admirals have been invaluable. For her job, that is.
Talia Katyagida is a personality she came up with a few years ago. She's loud, vibrant, aggressive, and doesn't care who sees. Her bright pink hair is clearly the eye catcher, and tonight, paired with an elegant LBD, and thigh high patent boots, she makes a striking figure. Her Heckler & Koch is hidden under her coat and her wand is in her wrist holster, ready on hand.
The loud music pounds into her as she pushes through the doors, ignoring the long line wrapped around the block; the bouncer just gives her a nod. She picks up a martini at the bar as she sweeps the room, pushing off several pushy men, until she spots her target on the first floor balcony. She sets up on a red leather couch, crossing her legs as she sits and sips her drink, surreptitiously watching the man. He is loud and egregious, wearing a garish electric blue silk button down, and several gold chains. His VIP section is crowded with beautiful girls and hard looking men. Classic.
She almost misses it. But in a brief glance between sips of her drink, she catches a flare of magic out of the corner of her eye.
"III"
He sits down heavily in the plush leather chair with a sigh. There are parchments spread in a messy scrawl across the desk top that he has been ignoring for a way too long. He knows he should be grading them, but his mind is occupied, completely taken up with thoughts of that box.
That box, just sitting there. Waiting for him to figure out how to destroy them.
In a small warded room, back in his London loft, sits an oaken box wrapped in velvet. The velvet is bespelled, stitched with runes: runes of sleeping, stillness, and quiet.
The room is hidden behind the back of the closet in his spare room. Behind his winter robes and a collection of muggle gear he uses on occasion, the back of the closest pushes open. Bill had come over one night, specially to ward the tiny room. Dumbledore, Moody, Bill, and Harry are the only four who know about the horcruxes, well, and now Ginny he supposes.
Dumbledore, upon realizing he was dying, took Harry aside and told him about horcruxes. During that final year of his life, Dumbledore spent as much free time as they could both spare teaching Harry how to sense, look for, and find the horcruxes. After Dumbledore died from the cursed ring, Harry brought Moody and Bill onboard. Moody for his expertise in fighting dark arts, and Bill for his ward breaking abilities. Their small team has found all of them, all seven of Voldemort's soul fragments. The only one remaining is the piece of Voldemort lodged in Harry's scar. It had been invaluable to their hunt for the others, Harry used his connection to the other soul fragments to track them down. The piece Ginny had trapped in her mind had been the hardest to find, constantly moving around the country, around the world. And it was muted. For the longest time, they assumed it was because it was the last of his fragments, and therefore the smallest, but now they know it was because Ginny had locked it away under layers of her own mind so effectively the soul fragment was essentially stunned into non-responsiveness.
Access to the room is guarded carefully, the wards keyed to his voice and a specific ward stone. The stone is hidden under a mini fidelis, Bill casting it had surprised Harry, he had never heard of a mini fidelis before. Bill had explained Dumbledore had shown it to him, claiming one of his more brilliant students had come up with the array when they were only a second year.
Harry sighs, feeling tired and weary. Shuffling the parchment around his desk, he picks up the first essay and begins reading.
Later, he walks slowly up to the Burrow gate. He's been struggling with himself ever since that night in February, his stomach twinging with heavy guilt. He wants to respect Ginny's decisions, but everytime he catches Molly looking sadly at the clock, or setting an extra setting at the table in her absentmindedness, the guilt digs a bit deeper into his stomach. Maybe he'll talk to Ginny next time he sees her. Running into her the other night was a huge coincidence, one he feels lucky to have happened. The shock of finding her in the deep cavern had been a shock to his core. He knows he didn't handle finding her with much grace, but what can you expect! Thinking she was dead for seven whole goddamn years. Then he hadn't seen her for an entire month and he began to question if she would just disappear again. It seemed like she was spending time in England now, but even with the story she had told him and Moody, he still had no real idea of what she has been up to or where she's been. Running into her at the lounge had been a relief. A verification.
It settled an anxiety in him he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.
He sighs again, kicking a stone in the path.
He hopes he'll run into her again. Maybe he can talk her into coming for a Weasley dinner for Molly. Yeah. For Molly. He shakes his head.
He pushes the back kitchen door, opening into the familiar warmth of the Weasleys: loud conversation, the bustle of dishes cooking on the stove, washing themselves in the sink, Molly fondly patting Fred's cheek, Ron and Hermione in a friendly argument with Percy. He smiles. It feels something like home.
Arthur looks up as he enters the room, smiling at him, "Harry! Glad you could make it."
"Me too Arthur, me too."
Ron glances over at Arthur's exclamation, "Harry! C'mere. Percy here is trying to tell us that the enchanting spell is harmless! As our resident DADA expert please tell him he's a bloody fool and wrong."
Hermione scoffs into her drink at Ron as Harry gives her a side hug in greeting. She looks up at him fondly while Percy quips snippily back to Ron.
Yes, it feels something like home.
"III"
Ginny stretches her toes out as she slides off her boots. With a slight tap of her wand to her breastbone, her hair fades from bubblegum pink to its natural red and she gains a bit more height, up from Talia's five five to her natural five foot ten.
"Ahhhh," she sighs, cracking her back as she gains her natural form. No matter how used she is to filling in her other personalities, there is a definite comfort with her natural form.
She flips the lights on in her London loft, low light flaring around the open space. The highlands had her feeling melancholy. The loft holds a certain modern sterility that feels safe to her. Golden wood covers the floor surrounded by white walls, a large plush white sectional fills the living room, bleeding seamlessly into the kitchen: all warm wooden cabinets and steel countertops.
Something that has been fluttering behind her chest settles. This is exactly what she needs. The lights of the city are muted through the glazing and diaphanous curtains, but there is a certain comfort to knowing there is a city full of people out there. Each light in a window playing host to someone or a family or friends.
She shucks off her dress and slides on a pair of old sweats, collapsing into bed, letting the city wrap around her in a comforting cocoon.
AN: This was the longest chapter I've written so far! I know it's pretty short in the terms of FF chapters, where it seems like the usual chapter length in the entirety of my story, but it's a moment for me! I'm trying to write longer ones. But with my schedule I'm lucky to get any time in to write.
I hope you all enjoy this new chapter and new look at our characters.
As always, read, rate, and review. I love hearing from you!
-o-o-
Thank you Scrappy8
Thank you Nisha! Hope this update makes you happy!
Mat94 - great question. I think a distinction can be helpful: quantum theory states (in the most basic and supremely simplified of terms) that every possibility exists at once. This theory in turn lends credence to the multiple universe theory.
My concept I've taken from this theory for this story, is that when a wizard casts a spell, they are forcing their will upon reality. It isn't that they are directly stealing from a parallel reality, it is more about the fact that the potential of their will (or spell) already exists in the quantum level, they're just bringing it to bear (when they cast). In terms of the unforgivables, or any spell for that matter, the caster's will needs to be strong (this is true in canon as well, especially for the unforgivables). Also in terms for the imperious, the victim's will matters as well. As I got into in this chapter, the will of the caster matter's a lot. It is less about the level of magic one has within them (which for this story is just propaganda) but more about the conviction of their will.
Think about crucio, all that is happening is the caster is enforcing a reality in which the victim is in extreme pain.
For AK, the caster is enforcing a reality in which the victim is dead. Hence why the spell is immediate and painless.
For potions, they connect to magic in their own way. Just as when you cook, you combine ingredients who's combinations create lovely flavors, when you create a potion, you're combining latent magical properties to create something new. In this world I've created, I would expect new potions to be much rarer than new spells.
We've already seen several spells that are of Ginny's own design. There is a spell in "A Long And Winding Staircase" that Ginny uses that is basically just her amusing herself - she opens the door with the spell crepito. Which just means "click". Since spell casting is based on intent, it is quite easy to create a new spell. The word is essentially meaningless, than as an exercise in focus.
Whereas a potion would need experimentation, and a full understanding of magical signatures and properties of all the ingredients involved and a thorough study of past uses of ingredients, so on. Of course there are potion's masters and those who create new potions. But it is an intense skill and study.
The reason we don't see rampant new spell construction and the reason everyone uses the same words for their spells, is because most of the wizarding world is complacent. They also just don't learn about it either. The Fundamentals of Magic isn't a course at Hogwarts, neither are ancient languages such as Latin, Greek, Assyrian, or Akkadian. Unlike other AU stories, I'm using canon Hogwarts structure here. Students are taught spells, not how or why the spells work, or how to make them their own. It is only through Ginny's intense interest and skill that she gains the eye of Dumbledore and he decides to instigate private lessons.
Super long aside, but I hope this clarifies things for all readers and adds to this world I'm slowly constructing!
-o-o-
til next time
-upstater-