In which there's Mabon, Augusta sings and magic grants it's gifts.
Enjoy!
A_A
"Beautiful!" Nicolas exclaimed, his eyes following the flight of Witherwings. Indeed, with the perfect proportions, muscled legs, and shiny feathers, the animal could be called beautiful. "And he flew all the way from France?"
"Without a single stop," Sirius replied proudly.
"And how does he enjoy Loir-et-Cher? Druids there have quite a herd of hippogriffs."
"I'm pretty sure he's going to be a daddy," Sirius admitted merrily. "He's quite a dog for a hippogriff."
That made Nicolas laugh.
"I can imagine how happy Adelard is about this development. His perfect bloodline desecrated by the British bâtard. I imagine you'll be taking the foal with you?"
"Oh yes," Sirius said emphatically. "And I'm responsible for cleaning the hippogriff run and stables for the rest of my stay."
"I see that druids of Bosque Tranquilo are still as conceited as they were?" Salazar asked, having heard this part of the conversation.
"Even more so since they became one of the last ones," Nicolas confirmed. "They demand to be celebrated, and when they're not, they're obnoxious. They still quote that no man shall speak before the king, but no king dares speak before their druid. It does not matter to them that the last king of France died in 1850 and that druids were replaced by catholic priests centuries before that. And Adelard is only one hundred and fifty-four years old!"
"I heard you were banned from the oakwoods," Sirius said lightly.
"And that's for the better," Nicolas said confidently despite clear annoyance with the fact.
"They have no right to forbid entrance to anybody who seeks refuge or wisdom," Godric piped in. "That stands against the very core idea of the sanctuary."
"They argue I seek confrontation," Nicolas replied with clear indignation. "And won't ever admit to creating a thick wall between themselves and the majority of the wizarding world. But they still know their duties and offer their wisdom to those who seek it. You just cannot suggest that they are wrong in any department."
"And you have to respect them. Haven't you said to Adelard that his head is so deep in his ass that he wouldn't notice if the whole forest burned?"
Harry, Ron, and Godric laughed, although Godric for an entirely different reason.
"Because it is, and he wouldn't," Nicolas replied proudly. "And haven't you told me that you are there to heal? It looks like you spent too much time gossiping."
"There's this one druid who can't shut up," Sirius said defensively.
"Let's not spoil the occasion with talk of those who ire us," Salazar suggested softly. "Could you gather the children, Sirius? I'd like to explain to you how we're going to proceed tonight and why."
Sirius nodded in agreement and ushered Harry and Ron with him, leaving Witherwing to devour the rest of the ferrets. Salazar approached the tables only for a moment, greeting the gathered people and making the acquaintance with Tiberius Nott before he joined the children a little on the side. Sirius remained with them, and Salazar was thankful for that. He wouldn't like to be forced into more precision while including Sirius among those who needed information. And Salazar judged he needed it more than young Nott or Malfoy.
Children sat on the benches, which Augusta and her friends abandoned in favour of conjured armchairs. Hermione leaned towards Salazar with curiosity. Malfoy and Nott sat straight as an arrow. In contrast, Ronald and Harry seemed entirely comfortable and relaxed. Neville, in turn, tried to fit in with Harry and Ronald, but he was schooled too effectively to lose the posture similar to Malfoy and Nott. And there was Sirius, who simply sprawled on the grass and entertained the kids with some funny anecdote.
Salazar didn't wish to waste time. They hadn't had too much time before the sunset. He cleared his throat, and Sirius fell silent, looking at him just as the rest of the children. He was very much still a child himself. Even if locked in the thirty-four-year-old old man.
"Before we started celebrating Mabon and the end of the harvest time, we celebrated the Autumn Equinox as Mea'n Fo'mhair. Much of its meaning remained unchanged, and the customs still circle around the same elements of life. It's the time of balance between the rule of day and night. The time when the forest and its life slowly descend into stagnation, to bloom again during Spring Equinox. You don't experience the change in daily life as prominently as it is experienced by those who work with earth and with balance with cycles of nature. Yet you are still dependent on it."
Salazar explained in a quiet voice, slowly. He saw the differences in perception of his words. Malfoy seemed slightly bored, as if listening to a recurring lecture. Sirius and Ronald furrowed while the rest simply listened with varying curiosity. Only Nott seemed to listen to something he had not only heard of before but also understood.
"You may wonder why we celebrate and why it is so important. We do not harvest. We do not live in accordance with the rhythm of the forest. And the dependence on forces of nature to fulfil the most basic needs of our bodies may seem as not enough to celebrate. It is, we have much to celebrate in this manner. We have a lot to be thankful for. But that is not the most important of reasons. The most important is the force of nature, which makes us who we are. Magic. Magic is very much dependent on life and its circle. The forests are the primary source of magic on this earth, as the most stable, the strongest, and the longest living organisms on this earth. Yet, they never give enough for each magical creature to use freely and without limits. To create enough, we need to participate in the creation of magic. And we do so by performing rites on the most significant days of the cycle of life. During two annual solstices, two annual equinoxes, and four midpoint festivals for life and death and for the beginning of each season. But not only. Every important day in the life of a person, a family, a community, used to be a day celebrated with a rite inviting magic to our lives."
"The rites differed significantly from place to place, but what was important for magic was not how the rite is performed, but that it is and by how many participants. The more, the more magic was created. And the more often one participated, the closer his connection with magic, the easier it was to bend magic to one's wishes. It was forgotten. And so, the magic wears thin. It will never disappear entirely, but it will become unreachable for all but the most powerful of mages. You need to remember that. The more power you have, the more responsible you are for the state of magic in our world."
Salazar looked at Harry, who shifted uneasily in his seat. It went unnoticed by the rest of the children. Now, even Malfoy stopped looking bored, while Hermione seemed eager to learn everything and do her best in whatever she should. Salazar looked at Ronald, noticing the pensive expression on his face. Good.
"During Mea'n Fo'mhair, we should celebrate by leisure, feasting, and pleasure until the sunset. Just before sunset, we shall help the forest grow by planting new trees. Ideally, we would do this in Druidhean Forest next to Hogwarts. I hope we will next year. This year, we'll plant one here. When the sun sets, we'll light a fire and gather around it in a circle. Stand next to those significant to you and hold the hands of those standing to your sides. We'll sing and dance. You don't need words and steps. They will come to you. Until they do, just listen and don't disturb the circle. If they won't come at all, just listen and don't disturb the circle. You will know when it is over, and then, we will continue with celebrations as they are, eating and drinking what was gathered during the harvest season."
"That is all we'll do this year and the core of what you need to know. That will suffice. And if you truly and fully go through the rites during this only holiday, magic may reveal a secret to you. If it does, know that this is important. More important than any of your plans, thoughts, and ideas. Magic wouldn't give it to you if it weren't."
With amusement, Salazar noticed that all three Ravenclaws visibly perked up at hearing they may gain any kind of new knowledge. But all of them looked eager to try their best and receive the secret from magic. Salazar couldn't recall even one person who wouldn't react this way.
Neville was excited about the tree they were planting. First of all, Godric asked his opinion and listened to everything Neville had to say. Even if, at this point, Neville thought that Godric knew quite a lot about planting trees himself. After all, he loved the forest; it was impossible for him not to know. And yet, he always wanted to know what Neville knew and thought about it and clearly trusted him with making decisions in this regard.
Neville didn't know who, but someone prepared a special place for the new tree. Someone built a circle of stones and filled it with soil. It was a couple of feet wide, making the circumference long enough for all of them to stand around. All with a glass of something in their hand.
Godric spoke, but most of this was in some old language which Neville didn't understand. Yet his voice carried differently, melodious and strong, but surprisingly humble in its undertones. The other three founders and the Flamels joined them, while the rest followed only in the deed out of lack of words, raising the cups held in their hands and tilting them slowly to the side in a synchronisation more perfect than they could master by weeks of practice. When the drinks were spilled, they defied gravity. Dripping to the ground too slowly attracted each to the one on their left, connecting into one stream that circled above the ground lower and lower, seemingly adjusting to the rhythm of the words spoken. Neville felt his heart adjusting as well and tore his eyes only when the ground in the middle moved to make space for one little acorn. And while the seed dipped into the earth, and the soil covered it, the stream of poured liquids fell lower to sink into the ground.
The sun was setting, colouring the world red with the taint of long shadows circling the newly planted tree. Neville loved it.
Hermione wanted to ask for a translation or explanation a couple of times, but only the ambience stopped her. She looked at Rowena at her side, but she didn't look like she'd be prone to answering, her eyes distant. So Hermione pushed her questions deeper, leaving them for later, and let others lead her to form another circle, even bigger, around the barren ground. She tried to listen to the chanting and understand the words but for nought.
Harry felt a little stupid at the beginning, holding hands with Helga and Sirius. But the feeling receded quickly. He stopped seeing people around, enchanted by the magic pulsating in the air, amazed by things that happened before him, entranced by chanting. He felt as if something pulled at his very soul. Yet it reminded nothing of the violent, painful ripping he felt a week ago. It was soothing, like a glass of water drank after too long of thirst or the poorest food eaten while starving. A relief that he longed for unknowingly.
Harry laughed in surprise when a fire erupted in the middle of the circle, he felt a squeeze of Helga's fingers on his palm and caught her joyful eye.
Something in the whole situation was otherworldly. It was so magical that raised-in-the-Burrow Ron participated with his eyes wide open and jaw hanging. He let his body move, following the others circling the fire. He wasn't dancing per se; he rather walked along, unconsciously humming with others. But he was too focused on watching and too overwhelmed with his thoughts to let the moment carry him along.
People around him were dancing and singing, joining in at different times. Harry, a moment after the fire started to burn, then Neville and Nott shortly after. Neither knew words or even the language, but they caught up without a mistake. Malfoy didn't, but he had tears in his eyes, and Ron quickly looked away. Hermione seemed lost, trying to concentrate and conscientiously follow the steps, and often taking the wrong ones.
Ron was just too confused to go on.
He wondered why it was called evil and dark. He tried to understand what exactly made Dad speak with dread of those practising the old celebrations and spoke of them as criminals watched by the Ministry with a careful eye. Why Mom fought so violently with Aunt Muriel about teaching Ron and his siblings the old ways. Weasleys didn't implement the traditions in generations, but Prewetts did. Since Molly stopped being Prewett and became Weasley – she protested against the traditions wholeheartedly. But why?
It felt so good, even without full immersion, that apparently remained beyond Ron's reach.
Augusta sat comfortably in her armchair, flushed from the dance and the heat of the flames. She was breathing hard and couldn't hold back a smile. She hadn't had so much fun for a decade!
"Be a dear, Godric, and pour me whiskey," she requested, fanning herself with her hand. At other times, she would be sour of being unable to conjure herself a proper fan, but this evening, nothing could spoil her mood, especially when the absolute best of Ogden's tickled her senses. It smelled strongly of smoke and cherries; the taste was rich, sweet and spicy, and the dark chocolate lingered on her tongue until the next sip she took. She provided only the best for this occasion, and what a pleasure it was.
"Do you know the tale of John Barleycorn?" she asked, looking at the children sitting nearby. Neville, of course, nodded.
"It's a fictional protagonist from the folk song, the personification of barley and the alcoholic beverages made from it: beer and whiskey," Hermione Granger said eagerly, and she looked like saying more, so Augusta stopped her with a wave of her hand.
"I didn't request a lecture, girl," she said with laughter. "I'll sing you a song as a tribute for this fine whiskey on the day of its holiday."
She ignored Neville, hiding the intensely red face behind his cup, and started to sing. She had a good voice, not the best, but supported by skills, and she quickly gathered attention with the song she sang.
*There were three kings unto the east,
Three kings, both great and high,
And they have sworn a solemn oath.
John Barleycorn should die.
"I swear, her love of whiskey overgrown even her love of her grandson," muttered Amelia Bones, holding a cup of tea with only a drop of cider.
"Fortunately, she's rather a connoisseur than a passionate, like her cousin," replied Violetta Black with a harsh look towards Gareth Greengrass.
"Do you think it's true about her relationship with Ogden?" enquired Druella quietly, but she was immediately silenced with a glare of her three companions.
"Such gossip is unbecoming," chided Griselda Merchbanks.
They took a plough and ploughed him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they have sworn a solemn oath.
John Barleycorn was dead.
„Does it give you some sort of perverse pleasure to belittle me in front of my friends?" Rovena hissed angrily at Tom.
"I have only supplied your extensive expertise with a little bit of detail that seems to have skipped your attention," he replied evenly.
"It didn't," she crossed her arms. "I just haven't judged this amount of details to be necessary."
"Ah, so foolish of me. After all, the expert doesn't need to know that we're talking specifically about the modified Nordic ritual…"
"Not today!" she huffed with indignation. "And don't smile at me. If it weren't for me, you'd still wear the obnoxious mask of your first resurrection."
"Have I ever indicated that it bothered me? It was you four that have some unhealthy fixation on the state of my nose…"
And they have taken his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still, the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
„So you feel one hundred percent fine?"
„Better than ever," Harry assured again,
„So, how was it?" Ron wanted to know, leaning even closer than until now.
„Well… tasted like vanilla and chocolate. It felt warm almost everywhere, which was weird because Flamel said it should feel warm only where it repairs something. And I don't need my glasses, see?" Harry took them off, "It's a fake. And only because Tom said that if Salazar sees such a major change exposed for everyone to see, he'll get an aneurysm and then we'll have real problems. And after it was… Dunno… Just normal."
"And… you know… your… brain?"
Harry laughed.
"Works just fine, Ron," he replied solemnly, a little amused but mostly touched with Ron's care.
John Barleycorn was a hero, bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
„How long is this song?" Hermione asked quietly, leaning towards Neville.
„Really long," he replied with a heavy sigh.
„And she's… She's going to sing everything?"
„Only one version of the song, if we're lucky…"
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tears were in her eye.
Draco was a little absentminded after the rite, yes, but he was absolutely certain that he wasn't seeing things. And yet, it was there, and it looked at him. The blasted hippogriff who wounded him just a year ago looked at Draco with clear aversion… Or maybe even more than aversion. Who was he kidding? The beast clearly hated him!
And it didn't matter if it was currently exposing the belly and allowing Gryffindor to scratch it just in the place where the soft fur of the belly turned into sleek wings on the massive chest.
It was a dangerous beast!
"Isn't he just lovely?" cooed Perenelle Flamel passing Draco on her way to the creature.
"Adorable," agreed Hufflepuff, "And so cuddly, spent all summer pushing the beak to be petted!"
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
Salazar ignored the song and the people around, sitting a little on the side. Leading the circle and feeling all the people within it was, in many ways, exhausting and invigorating. All his senses felt dulled, lacking the presence of other wizards and witches, his magic still reached outwards, once in a while catching someone or something. Randomly diverting attention.
Salazar let it happen, becoming aware of Neville's embarrassment, Augusta's delight, Helga's playfulness, hippogriff's mischievous pleasure… He received and collected the feelings and knowledge of little details, slowly letting his magic settle and rest within the usual boundaries of his body.
It all needed to settle so he could think of the true secret he learned during the rite. Gaining this kind of knowledge from magic was never something he took for granted, but it was always a gift he cherished and put to the best use. The secrets were always important, often shocking, sometimes groundbreaking. The one he received today was… worrying.
Salazar looked at Tom, observing his silly bickering with Rowena. They stood close, both pleased with teasing one another and taking joy in every evoked spark of irritation. In all her wisdom, Rowena happened to be very childish sometimes. But it was good, such immature behaviour made it harder for others to discover the secret around Tom's identity. Discouraged the eight guests, oblivious to the presence of Voldemort, from considering him too carefully. Salazar preferred to wait a little longer to inform the public. Yet he knew he would have to tell some of them soon not to lose their trust in the future.
It was a very delicate matter to discover when the trust was built up enough to pass the sensitive information without crossing the boundary behind which the person could feel cheated and used. Amelia Bones was a good example. As the head of the Department of Law Enforcement, she was warmed up to them enough to participate in the celebrations bordering on illegal and be relaxed, but telling her now would quickly lead her away. Salazar needed to bring her closer, gain more of her trust, and convince her of their cause. She needed to be aware of every factor to support them. If he'd informed her too late, they would have gained a powerful enemy with a personal grudge instead of an irreplaceable ally.
For a moment, Salazar placed aside the matter of Tom. The family was more important, but in this case – the family could wait a little longer. Salazar wanted to give him his full attention and as much time as was needed. The awareness of the necessity to have a short conversation with Amelia would limit the conversation.
Amelia Bones was clearly relaxed. She occupied one of the armchairs, a steaming cup of tea in her hand, a small smile lingering on her bright red lips, loose shoulders… Salazar couldn't contain his admiration and amusement: she still looked stern. Even with their face lit up by the fire and soft look in her eyes. It was just in the way she held her head, in the sharpness of her features, in little tell-tales inscribed in her face, more accustomed to severity than leisure. It made her a beautiful woman indeed.
Salazar stopped next to the table, pouring Augusta's favourite whiskey into one of the glasses.
"I see the close relationship with Augusta corrupts almost everyone," Amelia commented almost immediately with a tint of amusement in her voice.
"Indulgence on Mea'n Fo'mhair is part of the tradition," Salazar said, spreading his arms helplessly. "I'm a very traditional man."
Amelia smiled,
"Said Salazar Slytherin in the twentieth century, it carries a meaning for which the wizarding world may not be ready," she replied, and Salazar sat on the bench next to the table. "Although I hear much about you and other founders, not only from Augusta. It seems that many of your histories got lost in time."
"Ah, I'm afraid you may be right that the wizarding world is not ready for everything," he said with a smile, "I'm not certain what is larger nowadays, the number of written laws, forgotten truths, or social rules that I am not aware of. I must admit to being a little lost sometimes."
Amelia seemed amused.
"I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, could be lost. But maybe your reputation is one of those things about you that has been blown out of proportion."
"Most definitely, I have no chance of living up to the expectations set for me in this century. I'm not half as murderous as they paint me, I'm afraid, not to mention my vindictiveness."
"Should I believe you prefer kittens to snakes?"
"I have nothing against cats. After all, I kept Godric after he wandered in one day."
Hearing that, Amelia chuckled, looking in the direction of Godric. The man was just convincing Barty Crouch to get on a hippogriff, and this sight made Amelia lose her smile.
"I still can't believe the story of this boy," she said. "I wouldn't believe it if it wasn't Augusta who told me the truth about him."
"Young people often go astray and suffer terrible consequences. He was lucky to escape and find refuge with Tom."
"Yes... Your heir, is he?"
Salazar raised his eyebrows.
"Yes," he nodded. "Augusta told you or is it pure deduction on your side?"
"It's only a logical conclusion. Your heir had to be present, and knowing he's not a Hogwarts student I was left with little possibilities. Does he come from a squib line, like Miss Granger?"
"No, but his father was a muggle, hence the name you may be unfamiliar with."
"And he doesn't look like I could have met him in Hogwarts," she smiled.
"It's rather unlikely," Salazar admitted, looking back towards Tom, now a little further away, standing with the Notts.
"Are you certain about the muggle father?" Amelia asked with barely hidden amusement. "He could be a bastard son of one of them."
Salazar laughed.
"Don't let him hear that," he warned. "He's touchy about his father."
"Ah," Amelia nodded in understanding. "There's a lot of sad stories where parents come from two different words."
"That's one thing," Salazar nodded. "And I had to… straighten his worldview."
"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.
"A bitter child, let down by the parents, one of them muggle, who learned about me being his ancestor. Me, perceived as the greatest blood supremacist in the history of this country. You must imagine how it went."
For a moment, Amelia drowned in her own thoughts, and Salazar let her, taking this lull in the conversation as a moment to consider his further steps. He didn't plan to present Tom as a sad orphan to sell him to Amelia (mostly because Tom would protest such a plot), but the opportunity presented itself, and it would be a mistake to waste it. Amelia Bones clearly had a soft spot for unfortunate children. In fact, her eyes now wandered through the gathered people; Salazar caught her looking at Barty, Harry, and Tom; her eyes lingered for a moment towards Godric and young Nott. She was correct about Godric, that Salazar knew all too well, but was she correct about young Nott as well? Was there more than clearly a harsh upbringing?
"You seem to have a soft spot for children," she noted, and Salazar didn't stop the smile from spreading on his face.
"A terrible one," he admitted. "Especially those with potential. So, you must see that I would be fond of Tom even if he weren't my heir. He's incredibly talented and rivals Rowena with his knowledge… a lot to be proud of. But gives even more cause to worry."
Amelia was leaning towards him. Listening, engaged, clearly invested.
"You are raising a child, if I'm not mistaken," Salazar said, consciously mimicking her posture.
"Susan, yes," she admitted. "My sister orphaned her as a one-year-old. She's my treasure and the only family since… I must admit, I thought about taking her from Hogwarts after Augusta's revelations. I wouldn't like to lose her to one of the many accidents happening in Hogwarts."
"We're working on changing this pitiful situation," Salazar assured, and she nodded.
"Augusta told me this much," she admitted. "That's what's holding me back. Be honest, would you send Tom to Hogwarts in these circumstances?"
Salazar raised his eyebrows.
"I wouldn't allow him near Albus Dumbledore for the price of my life," he said with all honesty. "For many reasons. One of them being Dumbledore's influence on Tom's misery. No. I wouldn't trust Dumbledore with any child." Amelia Bones nodded, again reflexively looking in Harry's direction. "I understand your hesitation."
She nodded stiffly.
"I'm deeply disappointed in Dumbledore," she said. "But recently, I was shown that many of those I considered good and just are not worth being called such. And Augusta just keeps proving me wrong in many instances."
"As this celebration?" Salazar asked teasingly and received just the reaction he wanted. Amelia laughed softly.
"Yes, like this celebration."
"Would you mind finding a moment one day to explain to me the current laws surrounding old traditions?" Salazar asked, coming to the crux of what he actually wanted.
"With pleasure," she replied, and with amusement added. "I would like to confront what I know about them with the most traditional of traditionalists."
"I remain at your service," Salazar nodded slightly towards her and stood up. "Expect my owl and send your own whenever you please. Now, I believe I have to bow to traditions and find my heir."
"What traditions?" she asked, clearly curious.
"On Mea'n Fo'mhair magic sometimes shares secrets with those celebrating. Whatever they are, they always demand quick attention," he explained. "It became a tradition to act on them on the same evening."
Amelia looked at him in surprise.
"You will have to tell me more about this during our meeting," she said. "I was not aware that magic can… do something like that. Out of its own volition?"
"I'm not certain about the will behind this, but it's a natural consequence of full immersion into the ritual. If there is something you need to know about, the magic grants you the knowledge."
"Fascinating," she said. "But I won't hold you any longer. My curiosity can certainly wait."
"I'll make sure it won't wait long," he assured before walking away. Although… reluctantly. Quite honestly, he could spend the rest of the evening with this woman. And just for the pleasure of her company. Without any other motive! Fascinating…
John Barleycorn by Robert Burns, 1782. Not the first version, but the version that became a core for all that followed. So, I thought it was a good pick.