Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

The Amulet of Houle - #2 in the Viridian Wand Chronicles

PART II: RIPPLES IN THE WATER

May 2000

Hermione Granger sat at her desk. She was taking copious notes on the Puffapod potion, and the restorative powers it was known to have when taken in conjunction with the invocation of certain amulets. Professor Philbert was a rather pedantic lecturer at times, but the class’s material was so fascinating that she could not help adding it to her course list nearly two years ago. Now, she majored in this subject, Magical Objects and Their Uses, and she was taking Level II Advanced Studies this year. The Ministry intended to hire her when she graduated from the London University of Sorcery in two years. But for now, all she concerned herself with was her notes.

"The Amulet of Ygraine was created over a thousand years ago, when Merlin presented his queen with a silver pendant endowed with two sapphires. This was at the very end of Ygraine’s life, when Morgan Le Fay, her daughter, was the greatest of her concerns. With the last of her powers, she ensorcelled it to protect her daughter, and any children her daughter might have. However, the Amulet passed out of the hands of Morgan’s children only two generations later, and has not been seen since," Philbert said. He paused. "Therefore, the Amulet of Ygraine is considered a minor amulet, though in combination with the Puffapod Potion it will fully heal its wearer.

"Our end of year exam is in two weeks, and in addition, I am requesting that you write a foot-long essay on the amulet of your choice, including its history and reaction to the Puffapod Potion. Class dismissed."

The twenty-some students in the room woke, collected their books, and slowly shuffled out of the room, blinking as they entered the bright afternoon sunlight. On her way out, Hermione stopped by Philbert’s desk.

"Professor, what do you mean by saying that the Amulet of Ygraine passed out of the hands of Morgan’s grandchildren? Was it stolen or sold?" she asked.

"No one knows what happened to it, actually," Philbert replied. "In fact, no one really knows much about it at all, despite the fact it was considered one of the most powerful amulets ever made at the time. There’s never been a scholar willing to tackle the mass of information around it. You see, Slytherin was the last known owner of it, and his diaries…"

"Are legendary massive leather-bound books, nearly a hundred of them, never properly catalogued or inventoried. I assume Merlin’s journals are as scattered as ever?"

"Yes. At least Slytherin’s are in one place. Actually, isn’t it about time for you to settle on a thesis topic? It’s a project worthy of your research skills."

"Hmm… I’ll look into it. Oh, look at the time, I’ve got to be off! Nice talking with you, Professor!" Hermione headed for the door.

"Miss Granger-" She paused in the doorway. "Congratulations on your engagement!"

"Oh," she said, startled, "Thank you!" With that, she entered the sunny afternoon outside, noticing none of it. For Hermione Granger was nothing if not a determined scholar, and the Amulet of Ygraine seemed a fascinating challenge.

* * * * *

"It’s three in the morning, Herm," said her roommate, who was hovering over her right shoulder.

"…nrgh," she muttered, half-asleep. She was sure she had a lead, she’d been sitting at her desk in the flat’s living room since eight that evening, translating the old Latin…

"Three in the morning. You have class tomorrow. Professor Zandel doesn’t care much for sleepy students. I don’t care if you sleep here or in your bed, but I am turning off the light." Ginny’s tone was insistent.

Hermione yawned. "All right, I’ll go to sleep. I just… I was researching…"

"That Amulet thingamabob you’ve been slaving over since June. Relax. You don’t have to stress yourself out over it, you know- most students don’t even think about their thesis until they’re seniors."

"I know, I know," she said, standing up. She yawned. "But if I get it out of the way now… I won’t have it hanging over my head then. Or at least that’s what I thought before tonight."

"What do you mean?" Ginny paused, her hand over the light switch.

"I’m thinking… research project. I could get a grant to study it. Yes, I’m totally serious. There are all these things I’m learning about it. You see, these-" Hermione gestured to the pile of books on the table, "Are all copies of Salazar Slytherin’s diaries. I’ve just found the one concerning his experiments with one Amulet of Houle. The description corresponds exactly with the Amulet of Ygraine, but its powers are even greater. He talks about the Amulet’s Companion-"

"That’s wonderful, Hermione. And I’m absolutely delighted for you. Now go to bed."

One thing about Ginny, Hermione thought, was that she was never able to hold an intelligent conversation after two in the morning.

She stumbled, half asleep, into her room at the end of the hall. It was not surprising that her dreams were filled with strange things that night, though it was regretful that she did not remember them consciously.

So, she is the one who will bring about the end of the Dark One? a snake said, slithering its way across the sandy floor to the circle. A group of animals, perhaps fifty in number, ringed a large bonfire, which flickered and burned higher as the snake spoke. Yet, the snake did not move its mouth; it spoke into the minds of the other animals, in a voice (if it could be called that) that was like a red-hot iron, burning the words into their minds.

Her death, and her daughter, corrected a cat, smoothing her fur. Not she herself.

A murky, shadowy creature, which at second glance was revealed to be a Dark Nymph, laughed. You are so silly, all of you. The prophecies have been foretold. Trust in them. She glanced toward the cat. Especially you, Min.

Are you implying something? asked the cat.

We all know how worried you were when that Future Bearer died, a unicorn said sympathetically. But nature made up for it in the end, without throwing us out of the loop.

Nature? scoffed the Dark Nymph.

Show no disrespect! She is greater than you know, hissed the snake. It glanced over its shoulder self-consciously. She hears us.

All of the animals looked guiltily toward their leader. She was pale and drawn, her mouth twisted in a grimace.

You act as if I were dying, said their leader wryly, if faintly. It is simply the tug of the greater world. I have little time left in the between realms now. The spirit plane awaits me. It does not help that this is the time of the waxing moon, either.

Has the transformation come upon you? queried the unicorn anxiously.

Not yet, their leader said. She rose to her feet from the great granite throne where she sat, though she wavered a little unsteadily. Her long blonde hair swung around her, brushing her knees, as she awkwardly walked forward.

What are you, anyway? It has always been shrouded in mystery, asked a brown owl with golden eyes.

A weretigre. Much like a werewolf, but entirely extinct, except for those who are such in animagus form, their leader said. She tilted her head to the side contemplatively. Your next leader will be such, for I must leave you.

How long are you for this world, dearest Morgan? asked a water sprite, reaching a slender blue hand to the weretigre’s. I have been here longest, next to you. Shall I go to the spirit world too?

A very little of our time, Daughter, said Morgan. A great deal of theirs. Your time will come, but eons after mine. Do not worry. Your next leader will be wiser, and you shall be the better for it.

Tell me of her, said the owl. Will she be like Lee?

The cat and the owl, as well as many of the other animals, looked toward the empty space in the circle. Even Morgan blinked away tears.

Better, she said. She will return her to us.

* * * * *

It was December. Hermione and Ron waded through the slushy snow on the Charing Cross sidewalks to reach the Leaky Cauldron.

"So, you have a surprise for me?" she asked breathlessly as they leapt into the doorway of the pub.

"You deserve one, after shopping for wedding robes all day with my mum," Ron said emphatically. She gave him a curious glance. "Oh, I know how she gets. We were in Madame Malkin’s for hours when she decided to take Ginny to get her dress robes there three years ago."

Hermione laughed. "‘Hours’ is about right. We were in Gladrags all morning and a good part of the afternoon."

They made their way through the dingy pub and into Diagon Alley. Ron steered her towards an ancient shop. It was crumbling and decayed, but something about it made her heart beat faster.

"Ron…" she said, a bit nervously.

"You’ll see." He took her by the hand, and they walked into the old building. It was a curio shop, full of magical objects and old books. Hermione glanced around curiously, but Ron kept on walking. He nodded to the old man behind the counter before waving his wand at the back wall, muttering "Alohomora" under his breath as he did so. A leather flap appeared on the wall.

Wordlessly, he pulled away from the doorway behind it, and she stepped through.

As soon as they were both through, the portal behind them disappeared. Hermione gasped, but Ron appeared unshaken. They now stood in a huge room, something like a cross between a mad inventor’s laboratory and a library. Books and strange mechanical gizmos littered every open space. A walkway ran around the upper half of the room, giving one access to yet more bookshelves. Ladders and little balconies were placed at sporadic intervals.

In the midst of the vast space, there was a large table, covered with more of the intricate little machines. A man stood at the table, carefully assembling something. He looked up from his work at their arrival.

"Mr. Ronald! Miss Hermione! Welcome to my humble workshop," he said, taking off a patched cap and bowing vaguely in Hermione’s direction. The little man- for he was little, his shoulder stooped, his back hunched over in manner that suggested he spent rather too much time bent over his gizmos- straightened himself. "I have gotten the thing you asked, Mr. Ronald. Would the lady be so kind as to step over to the table?"

She glanced at Ron, who gave her a reassuring smile, before letting go of his hand and slowly walking over to the table. The little man picked up a worn roll of parchment, hardly large than a foot, certainly, and handed it to her. Hermione knew, from the feather-light weight of it in her hand and the musty smell, that it was old. Very old, older than anything she had ever seen before, save Hogwarts.

"Why… thank you," she stuttered, surprised. She had no idea what the parchment was, of course, but the fact that it was so old spoke volumes of its value.

"No trouble. No trouble at all," said the man, "It has been a pleasure to help you, Miss Hermione, and if you or Mr. Ronald should have any more interesting enquiries of such a nature, be sure to come to me. I hope it is suitable."

Ron spoke, for the first time since they had entered the shop. "I’m sure anything you’ve found is more than suitable, Aberforth."

The man laughed. It sent chills down her spine. "It’s nice to know you have such faith in an old man, Mr. Ronald. Have a good day now."

Ron tapped the wall with his wand, not even muttering the opening charm this time, and in the blink of an eye they were on the street outside the shop.

"Was that- Dumbledore’s brother?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup," Ron said, nodding.

"Is he quite sane?"

"Oh, no. Mad, utterly, off his rocker. Been that way for years. Very good source of information though."

Hermione shivered. "Let’s go home."

* * * * *

Once they had taken off their wet overcoats, she and Ron sat in front of the desk she was fond of studying at. Hermione slowly unrolled the ancient parchment. They read the ancient, spidery handwriting in silence.

Dearest Morgause,

I am sitting at my desk as I write this. Listen, for I know I am not long for this world, and I also know that when you read this, I will be as dust in the grave. You must take charge of the Coven now, and seek out the future Bearer. I would that you had at least my Accolon to help you, but he too is gone, slain by our foul brother’s sword.

Raise Sylvia and Yvain as you will; they are good children, if unassuming. Isolde is the only one intended for greatness. Remember that. I have placed an Amulet about her neck to protect her. I will write you of the Amulet of Houle tomorrow, there is so much I must tell you, but this is most urgent. The coven is yours now. Know this and trust in it.

Morgan of Rheged

Hermione was speechless.

After a few minutes, she managed to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence.

"Ron, this is- this is wonderful! I can’t thank you enough," she said, throwing her arms around him.

He shook his head, laughed, and kissed her.

* * * * *

"Maid of Honour coming through!" cried Ginny, sailing through the bedroom door. Sandra Granger and Molly Weasley let her pass, and she threw herself on the bed next to Hermione, who was having her hair done by Penelope, Percy’s wife. "Hermione," she whispered, "Look!" Ginny waved her hand in front of her friend’s face.

Hermione gasped, seeing the ring. "Harry proposed? Just now?"

Ginny nodded eagerly. "We probably won’t get married until June of next year, when he’s graduating, but oh! Mum!" She turned around to face her mother. "I’m engaged!"

"My baby!" Molly Weasley enveloped her youngest child and only daughter in an embrace. "My two babies are getting married!"

There was a proliferation of joyful laughter and tears in the room. Fortunately, it was only nine on that March morning, and none of the woman celebrating had done their makeup yet.

After several minutes of elated euphoria, the five women calmed down and set about outfitting Hermione in her wedding dress, which in the end had not been purchased from Gladrags. It was a gorgeous thing, in a grand Victorian style. Once Hermione’s great-grandmother had worn it; now it was hers. It was of ivory silk that had once been white. It had aged and yellowed a little, but that did nothing to affect the loveliness of the dress.

Penelope had done a wondrous job with Hermione’s hair, and Ginny an equally marvelous one with her makeup. Her frizzy light-brown hair was pinned up in a Victorian manner similar to that of the dress, and a few brown curls dangled from it. The only makeup she wore was a light dusting of powder and a dash of wine coloured lipstick. She was beautiful.

Sandra Granger, for not the first time that day, cried.

"Why didn’t you ever show me these before?" asked Mica, in an apparently submissive tone that those who knew her well shuddered when they heard. But Caro did not know her well, did she?

"It was not permitted, or even possible. The pool shows only what those in council in the between realms want us to know. I myself never knew the extent of this story," said Caro, blissfully unaware.

"How? It is your story, after all." There was a perceptible edge to Mica’s voice when she spoke this time.

Her mentor gave her an odd look. "Sort of. I gave it to the table, is all… I was never properly initiated, you see. It was a terrible thing, you understand… the true Future Bearer before me died when she was three, of an incurable illness. There was no one to teach me. The Bearer previous to her called upon the higher powers, as had been done only twice before, and one Maiden was born, out of the loop. She was born twelve years after the little Future Bearer died, and she lived only long enough to teach me of what she’d learned from the Bearer before her. She cannot even ascend to the council from where she is now, and that is part of your task. But enough of that."

Mica bit back the words she had been going to say. She sighed. "No, I want to know. I want to know what can be so important that you can show me now what you have withheld from me for years."

"Oh, you don’t know how I wish I could! Oh, how I wish! The magical world is unraveling around us, and if I could tell you now-" Caro paused. Her shoulders slumped. "But I can’t. The rites must be completed before I can. I will tell you this much: I could not do myself what Morgan asked. If I could, if I even knew how, I would work to my last breath to keep you from having to do it."

To this, even Mica had nothing to say. She simply shook her head, lost in a fog of confusion and denatured rage.

"Do you know why I am dying?" asked Caro after a moment.

"No." Mica looked away, towards the floor. Her face was again unreadable.

"Because, as Bearer, I have certain duties to magic, itself. Even in the days before the Cassadaga Coven existed, there were Maidens who guarded the balance of magic. It takes a toll on us if magic becomes unbalanced, and we cannot fix it. I have been forced to bear the burden of unbalance since I was seven. For nearly thirty-nine years."

"Argh!" Hermione screeched. She was sitting in the middle of her living room in the house she and Ron had brought a few weeks prior to their marriage. Despite the fact it had taken a month to unpack all the boxes, that wasn’t what was bothering her.

"What is it?" Ron stuck his head through the door.

"I have gone through every resource on this subject that I have. I have even gone to Hogwarts and ransacked their archives. There-is-no-letter." As his quizzical look, she continued. "In the letter you got me, Morgan of Rheged- Morgan Le Fay, that is- mentions a second letter about the Amulet of Houle. It was never written."

"Perhaps Morgause tore it up?" her husband suggested.

"That’s impossible. I read in several sources that she always, always cast the Tonh Sirep spell on her letters, which made them indestructible, as well as other spells. Spells that ensured they would reach their recipients no matter what, and made them unreadable to anyone else." Hermione shook her head sadly.

"Then how were we able to read the letter you have?" She had piqued his interest. Ron came into the room, scooted over a teetering stack of books with his foot, and sat next to her on the floor.

"The unreadability spells used back then tended to wear off after, say, fifty years. Since then, encrypting spells have been used instead."

"You know what I think, Hermione?"

"You’re the auror, you tell me."

"I think," Ron said with a smile, "We should pay another visit to Aberforth Dumbledore. "

"Oh, that creepy old man? Oh, very well, he can’t be much worse than he was six months ago. Now?"

"Why not?"

Hermione slipped on her shoes, and then the two of them Apparated to Diagon Alley.

* * * * *

Once inside Aberforth’s mad workroom, the old man greeted them warmly, in his quirky fashion.

"Ah, Mr. Ronald, and Mrs. Ronald now, isn’t it? Not so very long ago you were Miss Hermione, is that right?" Aberforth chuckled. "You let me have my little joke. Now, what errand have you come here on?"

"I’m looking for a second letter about the Amulet of Houle," Hermione said, summoning her courage. For although he looked harmless, there was something about the man that frightened her, and she was not a woman easily scared.

"The Amulet of Houle, is that it? The same thing as last time, eh? Well, would Mrs. Ronald be wanting that just now, or perhaps just looking?" the old man asked.

"I just want to know if there’s one out there. Written by Morgan of Rheged, or Morgan Le Fay."

Aberforth laughed again. "Well, that I can do now, easy as it is, and for such a pretty lady and Mr. Ronald’s wife, I’ll even give you a discount."

He bent over and pulled a silver dish with strange symbols carved about the edge of it from beneath the table. Hermione thought that it might be a Pensieve at first, before she realized that the liquid that filled it was not silver, but a murky grey-green.

"Hcraes Eht Dlrow Rof Morgan’s Letter Second, of Amulet of Houle Siht Ro Retteb," he chanted, slowly stirring the liquid. The liquid turned white, and even though from across the room she couldn’t read the blinking red letters, she assumed they spelled out the "Error Received While Processing Your Request" message that was echoing through the air. "I am sorry to tell the lady this, but no other letter exists. Would Mrs. Ronald like me to search, perhaps, for another document?"

"Yes, please," said Ron.

The old man nodded, and dipped his wand into the Pensieve-like bowl again.

"Hcraes Eht Dlrow Rof Document, of Amulet of Houle Kciuq Eb Eht Ylper Tnes."

A large crowd of smaller red letters blinked in the bowl, and it read the list aloud.

"Diaries, Salazar Slytherin. Owner: British Museum of Magical History.

Letter, of Morgan of Rheged. Owner: Hermione Granger.

Papers, Cassadaga Coven. Owner: Cassadaga Coven. Not Possible To Obtain.

Papers, Various Malfoys. Owner: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," it declared.

"Would the lady like a printout, now?" inquired Aberforth, his hand poised over the bowl.

"Yes, please," Hermione said briskly.

"Ypoc Repap." The bowl presented him with a copy of the list, and he handed it to her. "That’ll be fourteen Sickles and seventeen Knuts."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Dumbledore." She extricated the money from her purse, and sat it on the table.

"Anytime, Mrs. Ronald. Anytime at all. Now, you and Mr. Ronald have a nice day. Enjoy the good June air." Aberforth tipped his hat to her.

"Just one thing. What does ‘Not Possible To Be Obtained’ mean, exactly?"

"Only that there is no possible way to reach the owner."

* * * * *

"That’s ridiculous," Hermione said, as soon as they had Apparated back home.

"The bit about them being un-contactable, you mean? Some wizards can be pretty crafty if they don’t want to be found, you know. Look at Sirius." Ron wandered into the kitchen. "Want a cup of tea or a sandwich?"

"Yes on the one, no on the other." She followed him in, leaving her shoes on the living room floor. "How is Sirius, anyway? Had any near run-ins with him on the job?"

"A couple times." He handed Hermione a cup of tea, and she sat down on one of the barstools they kept in the kitchen. It was a nice kitchen, as kitchens went; there wasn’t room for a table, but Ron and his brothers had installed a counter against the sole bare wall. Ron sat down next to her, a sandwich in hand. "I let him get wind that some Aurors are coming through town before we ever start searching for him. He’s doing well."

"Good." She took a sip of her tea. "But I mean what I said earlier. It’s absolutely ridiculous. The Cassadaga Coven must be reachable in some way."

"Darling," Ron said, placing his hand on her free one, "They’re a bunch of vigilante wizards."

"Not necessarily vigilantes. If they’re the coven Morgan refers to in the letter, they’re a great deal more organized than you think."

"Well, if you know some way to infiltrate their organization, then, be sure to let me know."

"What is it about them that irks you so?" Hermione frowned. "All they want is justice. Surely they can’t be that terrible."

"That’s how I feel when they hunt down Dark Wizards who’ve killed thousands. But when they killed Alastor Moody because he killed all of Effluvia Nott’s family as well as her, that’s when I got angry. How do they know if they were Dark wizards or not? Alastor couldn’t risk it." Ron shook his head. "He was a great Auror. I feel honoured to have known him."

"But he did kill both of Effluvia’s teenage children, Ron. I knew the one who was in Ravenclaw, actually- Lorelei Nott was a first year when we were fifth years. She was a very bright girl. And they were only children! It makes me sick." Hermione shuddered. "It’s just- you talk about the Cassadaga Coven as if they have no ethics. Yet, if what I think is true, if the Amulet of Houle is what I think it is, they were created to uphold them. I just don’t have proof- yet."

"What do you need proof of?"

"You see, the Amulet of Houle was created from the Amulet of Ygraine in order to pass on leadership, and to protect the lineage of the leadership. If the Coven has a leader- and I think it does- the Amulet was intended to work to be passed down from leader to leader, but something went wrong. Morgan Le Fay, who must have been the current leader, died before she could pass it on."

By now, Ron was very interested. "You do know that this could be potentially valuable to the Ministry, don’t you?"

Hermione smiled. "It’s one way to keep an audience listening. You see, I think the Coven’s source of power is the Amulet’s Companion. I have no idea what it is, but if I can find the Coven, I can use the Companion to locate the Amulet."

"And why is that useful?"

Her jaw dropped. "Ron, you have been listening me ramble about this Amulet for a year now. And you don’t know why it’s useful?"

"Well, I’m sure anything you’ve been researching since last June is dead useful, Hermione, but no, I don’t recall you mentioning it."

"It will heal its wearer if invoked in conjunction with the taking the Puffapod Potion. That much was known when I started out. But its wielder, the one who it is intended for, cannot be slain by magical means when it is worn. The catch is that the only way the wielder can where it is if it is placed on them by a specific person."

"Who?"

"Well… Slytherin says ‘the one whobears no evil and feels only love and respect in their heart towardthe wielder, and whom the wielder feels the same towards’ is the only one who can place it on the wielder. It will not work if the wielder places it on his or her self, or if any one else puts it on them."

"Whoa." Ron said. "So it will only work if it’s placed on you by someone you love and who loves you."

"Love is a powerful weapon against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, as she scooted her barstool a little closer to his.

* * * * *

The kitchen of the snug house that was home to Hermione and Ron was empty, save for the small kitty that was helping herself to the milk in a small saucer on the floor. Snow falling in flurries could be seen out the window, which looked out onto a meadow. Their home in the village of Godric’s Hollow was beautiful, despite Harry’s initial dismay at the fact they had chosen to live there.

A calendar on the wall proudly declared "January 2002" in little dancing letters. It hung directly over the phone, which suddenly started to ring.

Hermione dashed ungracefully into the room, ignoring Ron’s cries of protest. She picked it up.

"Hullo?" she said in greeting. At the sound of her friend and sister-in-law’s voice, she smiled. "Oh, Ginny, how are you? Shopping with Mum Weasley for the florist? You have my sympathy. Oh, I’m fine. Despite the fact that Ron thinks I’m not fit to walk faster than a snail. Did I tell you, Dr. Patil says we’re having a little girl? Don’t buy anything pink though- Red hair clashes horribly. No, magic can’t tell us that yet- but best to be wary. Most of those places have a 30-day return period. Why are you in that baby store anyway? She’s not due until May. Oh, yes, that’s a good idea. Let Harry pick out the flowers, Mum won’t argue with him."

"I’ve got to be off- business meeting!" Ron ducked in to the kitchen and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Tell Ginny hello for me." She smiled again, blowing him a kiss as he Apparated.

"Ron says hello- no, he’s gone off to some business meeting now, sorry. Oh, you know as well as I do he’s probably going to chase down some dark wizard who’ll turn out to be a Muggle hermit again. They can’t all be windmills, can they now? Just because we think Voldemort is dead doesn’t mean he is. We never found his body after all. Oh, don’t worry about upsetting me, Ginny- I don’t worry. I’m sure with Ron and Harry around we needn’t worry about him. Got to go? Well, have fun shopping with Mum!"

Hermione turned on the stove and put a kettle of water on to boil, as she felt like a cup of cocoa on such a cold day. She sat down at the counter with the day’s copy of the Daily Prophet. About five minutes later she heard the sudden whoosh that meant Ron had Apparated back into the kitchen again. She raised an eyebrow. She raised the other one when she heard three slightly different whooshes following him.

"Ron? Molly? Harry and Ginny? What are you all doing here?"

"Voldemort. He’s back," said Harry grimly. Ginny was shaking, and standing upright only because she was hanging onto him.

"He… he blew up the florist’s," Mrs. Weasley said shakily. "Harry and I had just stepped out to get Ginny. Did they know we were there?"

"Could be," Ron said. "It doesn’t matter. I heard the explosion from the office, two buildings down. Hermione, they’ve got to stay here. We can cast protection charms or something, but they can’t go back to London. And before you ask, Mum, the Burrow may not be too safe either."

"No." Harry said forcefully. They all turned to look at him. "You never should have bought a house here in the first place. We’ll all die if we stay here. I know."

"Hogwarts?" Hermione offered. "He’d never dare attack there."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Dumbledore will let us stay there, I know. Do you have any robes you could lend Ginny? Because we are not going back to London."

"I could stop at the Burrow, though, and pick up Mum’s things," Ron interjected.

"I’ll get ours," said Hermione, "And I have some things for Ginny, and I’m sure you have something Harry could borrow."

"So we’ll all meet in Hogsmeade in half an hour?" Ron asked.

Everyone agreed.

* * * * *

"Of course you can stay here!" exclaimed Albus Dumbledore, looking shocked. "I wouldn’t have expected you to go anywhere else. Hermione, I know you’ve been commuting to LUS for your classes- perhaps one of the Professors could supervise your studies, instead?" The six refugees (who had upped their number by one when Ron had, in addition to picking up his mother’s clothes, also brought his father from the burrow) now stood in the Headmaster’s office.

"Oh, that’s very kind of you, Headmaster-" Hermione said.

Dumbledore interrupted her. "You can call me Albus, you know. You’re not a student anymore, after all."

"Well- I’d be delighted, Albus, if Professor McGonagall could."

"It can be arranged." He looked to Harry and Ron with twinkling eyes. "I’m sure the Ministry would not mind greatly if we replaced the two Aurors that they will, inevitably, send us with you."

"We’d be honoured," Harry replied.

"Perhaps, Ms. Weasley, you could share with us some of your talent in Divination by helping Professor Bell with her classes? She knows the books very well, but it would be a great help to her to have experience with a genuine Seer."

Ginny smiled. She was a little less shaken by now. "Certainly. Is that Katie Bell, from Gryffindor?"

"Yes, in fact. Do you know her?"

"I did once. Frankly, I never thought she would end up teaching Divination."

"I do not think she did, at the time. Ah, and the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, you needn’t worry about doing a thing. I’m quite happy to have such distinguished alumni for my guests."

Both of the elder Weasleys mumbled their thanks shyly.

"Perhaps I could have a house-elf or two show you to your rooms?" offered Dumbledore.

Hermione struggled to say nothing.

"I’d appreciate it, yes," said Arthur Weasley, and everyone else nodded their consent.

"Well, here’s Dobby, and he’ll show you the way."

"I was born at Hogwarts?" asked Mica, startled. Caro nodded.

"Yes. I was there, you know. I knew by then you were to be the Future Bearer, and I came to see your parents the night you were born. Poppy Pomfrey was the only medical staff they had, but everything went just fine," she said. "Hadn’t anyone ever told you?"

"No." Mica shook her head. "Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry- they talk about Mum and Dad, Ginny more often than Harry, but never about the time after Hogwarts. Well, almost never. I knew my mother went to LUS, like I’m going to, but I never knew about a thesis project, or that they were at Hogwarts that year at all."

"Does Harry talk about his parents at all?" asked Caro, a sad half-smile on her face.

"Sometimes. I asked him once, when I was fourteen, if he remembered them. He told me no. But he told me that at least I had grown up knowing who my parents were, what they looked like, and that they loved me."

"I remember mine." Mica looked at her in surprise. "My parents died when I six. Had I told you? Perhaps not. Well, never mind. Would you agree this is as good as a memory?"

"Oh, of course-"

"It will sustain you through what will come. Not now, but when the year wanes."

"Must you be so foreboding?"

Caro frowned. "I am not being foreboding. Merely accurate."

It had started to rain, and Mica could hear the faint pitter-pattering of it on the roof as the room was briefly lit by a lighting bolt streaking across the sky.

"This is actually a good thing, you know, dear," said Hermione to her husband. She was perched in the window seat of their room, wrapped in a soft wool robe. "I can probably find some interesting things here, since Hogwarts does have one of the best libraries for research in the country."

"Darling…" Ron walked over to the window and sat down beside her. " Must you keep researching the Cassadaga Coven? Sooner or later, someone may notice you are, and they may not like it."

"Why must you keep harping on about them? They’re not what I’m researching, anyway- I’m studying the Amulet of Houle- the Amulet of Ygraine."

"I just don’t want you to get hurt! I don’t want our baby to get hurt, either, they’re dangerous people, Hermione, you mustn’t anger them!"

"Ron." His wife’s voice was like steel. "You’re one of them, aren’t you?"

He flinched. It was a moment before he met her eyes.

"Yes."

"How long were you going to wait to tell me this?"

"Hermione… it’s not… I hate them, Hermione. I never asked to be involved with them. When Father was injured, three years ago, half-stripped of his magic, I took his place in the coven. Yes, you’re right- about the Companion, them having a leader, them being organized. But I don’t want to be part of it. We’re all sworn to secrecy, as well, and I don’t know who anyone is. Darling," he said slowly, "Believe me when I say that I never told you because I was ashamed, terribly ashamed that I was even knew those people. I was sworn to take the place in the Coven when I was a very little boy, before I even knew what I was doing. Forgive me."

"Ron, I have nothing to forgive you for except that you kept this from me." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "Consider yourself forgiven, okay? Let there be no more secrets."

He gave her a look like a pleading puppy dog. "None?"

"What more is there?" Hermione asked him warily.

"You know the leadership lineage that the Amulet is supposed to protect?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, the leadership is inherited. It’s a very complex thing, but basically, the leader is always a person born with extra magical powers. Loads of extra magic floating about, not very tidy. They’re born about twenty to thirty years apart. The current leader is about twenty-eight, I think."

"What are you trying to say, Ron?"

"Well… I’m an Auror… I notice these things… Honey, you reek of magic. Absolutely reek. "

* * * * *

A storm had erupted over Hogwarts. It was raining steadily. Occasionally a crack of thunder was heard, a bolt of lightning seen flashing across the sky.

Hermione lay in bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. She was vaguely aware of Ron holding her hand, of Madame Pomfrey handing her daughter to her, saying, "You have a beautiful baby girl." She was exhausted, and barely conscious, but above all she was delighted, hearing her daughter’s heart beat next to her.

Through the haze, she heard Ron say, "Her name is Mica Stella," to Madame Pomfrey, who was writing out the birth certificate. Mica Stella Weasley. Born May 28, 2002.

She frowned when she heard the door open. Harry and Ginny? No, they’d just left on their honeymoon. Dad and Mum Weasley? But it wasn’t them either. A dark-haired woman in a black waterproof over a Muggle outfit of black turtleneck and pants entered the room, her eyes shaded by sunglasses. Surprisingly, Madame Pomfrey let her in without a word. Ron narrowed his eyes.

"Bearer," he said in a harsh voice, "You’re not wanted here."

"No," the woman said in an oddly musical voice, like low-pitched bells tinkling. She lifted her glasses, and Hermione noticed her strange, golden-coloured eyes. "But I’m needed here, Third Protector." To Hermione she said, "Hello, I’m Caroline. Could you give me your right hand?"

Wordlessly, she disentangled it from Ron’s and extended it to Caroline, who held it for a moment. Suddenly, the haze disappeared. "Thank you," she said, "I appreciate that."

Caroline smiled. "Poppy, could you-?" The nurse quietly left the room.

"You- you- what have you done to her? To Madame Pomfrey?" Ron exclaimed angrily.

"Nothing but that which would make her feel a bit better. Poppy left of her own accord." Hermione looked at Caroline closely. The golden eyes seemed friendly, if a little mistrustful of Ron.

"I’m Hermione Weasley, but I think you know that already. Are you coming about my daughter?"

"Oh, you’re a smart one, are you?" Caroline laughed; the bells tinkled again. "Yes, I have come about Mica. She will be the next leader of the Cassadaga Coven, you know. I know that. And I- I wanted to meet you."

"Are we related?"

"Hm?" Caroline gave her a quizzical look, her brow furrowed for a moment. "Oh, you mean the lineage of the Coven? That is only magical."

"Ah."

A flash of lightening lit the dim room for a moment. "I must go," said Caroline, looking at her watch, "But be assured, I will be in touch. If you could, would you send me your research on the Coven via Pensieve? It would be most helpful." She kissed Hermione on the cheek and disappeared.

* * * * *

"So, I just do the one-time setup spell, then tap the wand to my head and concentrate on the memory, or memories?" she asked Ron across the Gryffindor common room. They had taken to giving the Gryffindors homework help in the evening, in return for the sharing of their space. Mica slept quietly in her bassinet at Hermione’s feet, while the Pensieve sat on her lap.

"That should be it, yes," replied her husband, before continuing his explanation of how to convincingly fake Divination homework to a rapt audience of third- and fourth-years.

Hermione frowned at the wrinkled parchment she held in her hand. Like many of the older spells, few of which were used in modern times, it was a metered verse, which had to be spoken exactly the right way. She sighed, and then with her wand pointing towards the Pensieve, recited it.

"Pensive thinker bowl you are

May Knowledge of the Past you store

Silver water th-"

"Mrs. Weasley!" She turned to see young Samantha Wood-Chang holding a parchment out toward her. "I’ve just been to the Owlery. A letter’s come for you."

"Oh?" She unfolded it, an eyebrow raised.

Dear Hermione and Ron,

I’m Lowell, Ron’s second cousin from Scotland. I’m currently vacationing in London, and I wondered if I could perhaps meet you all? I’ve heard so much about you from Molly. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, by the way.

I’ll be staying in Godric’s Hollow with a friend for a few days next week, and it would be lovely if we could get together for dinner.

Lowell James

"Ron? Do you have a cousin named Lowell James?" Hermione asked him. He’d just finished his spiel on Divination.

"Lowell James… Well, Mum’s got some cousins in Scotland, name of James, I think," Ron said pensively.

"Well, she’s currently in England, just written to say hello. She might be in Godric’s Hollow next week. I think we should have her over for dinner."

"Hermione, we can’t go back to the village! Is your mind half-addled?"

"It’s only for a night, dear… We don’t even have to spend the night if you want."

"Oh, very well." Ron sighed and shook his head. "Dinner it is."

She flashed him a smile, then resumed working with the Pensieve.

"Pensive thinker bowl you are

May Knowledge of the Past you store

Silver water the memories flow

Let this be the first that’s known

To that Pensieve, to yonder star!"

"So, now you have seen what I brought you here to watch," said Caro. "Are you ready to be Bearer now?" She stood up and stretched; it was only then that Mica registered that she was entirely in black. She wore black robes, black shoes, even a collar of jet beads. Mica watched as Caro waved a hand at her. "Enchangia Bearing Dress."

Suddenly, her clothes switched. Mica now wore a long white dress, complete with a gauzy white cape. A great collar of pearls and rubies hung about her neck. "Now?" she squeaked.

"It’s best if it’s over and done with. It is not an… altogether pleasant experience." Caro waved her hand again, this time silently, and the Viridian Wand appeared on the edge of the table. "The only thing that I will not do now is shift the burden to your shoulders from mine."

Mica looked nervously around the room at the twelve Protectors, and the little Squib slumped in one of the thirteen doorways that lay a few feet behind the pillars.

"All- all right."

Caro snatched a jeweled knife off the table; a knife that Mica could have sworn hadn’t been there before. "Give me your right wrist, will you?" Wordlessly, Mica did.

Then, quickly, she slashed the knife across it, and shoved her bleeding wrist into the golden pool, the Great Pensieve.

Mica felt the golden liquid surge through her veins, felt it spread throughout her body. Words in languages she did not know seemed to hiss into her ears, people and places long dead danced across her eyes. She saw Morgan, a faintly familiar woman with lovely red hair, a young Caro, all streaming through her vision. A laugh trickled through her ears, like Caro’s but younger, brighter. Just as quickly as they had come, they slipped away; but she knew the people, the words, the laugh, were all there. She could almost feel the steady beat of her pulse, the ebb of her gold-tinted blood through her veins.

She trembled, feeling dizzy, as she slowly lifted her hand from the pool. There was no blood on her wrist, where the gaping wound had been just a moment before, only a thin scar.

"Protectors, recognize your new Bearer," Caro cried, and the twelve knelt down before her. Even the little boy got down on his knees.

Suddenly, the door behind the vacant pillar opened, and the last Protector was silhouetted against the raging storm. The Protector quickly came in and knelt down along with the rest of them.

"Where did you go, second Protector, to have been gone so long? Fourteen years is a great deal of absence," asked Caro, her voice ringing around the room.

"Fourteen? But I have been gone only two, Be- Past Bearer," said the cloaked Protector.

Mica spoke softly, but her voice rang around the room as Caro’s had. "All Protectors except the second, and the young Squib, return to your homes. I bid you goodday, the Meet of the Coven has ended." The thirteen people turned and exited the thirteen doors, which took them home.

The table was on a slightly raised platform, two steps above the rest. Mica stepped down, and the second Protector walked up to meet her.

"Granger?" he said, sounding half-startled, half-terrified. "But you’re dead!"

"My mother is," said Mica quietly, "But I am not. How do you know her, and where have you been?"

"We went to school together. I have just come from pr- from Azkaban, if you must know. I didn’t have a broom, and couldn’t Apparate the whole way, so I spent the night in the Forbidden Forest, next to Hogwarts. I woke up at dusk, and Apparated to the main entrance, and walked all the way down to here. I couldn’t find a Doorway to use."

Mica glanced up to Caro, who said simply, "The lands of Faerie are opening up again. He slept for twelve hours; it turned to twelve years. Workings of the heir of Morgan’s grandson."

"The Heir of Slytherin!" exclaimed the second Protector. "Voldemort has arisen again?"

"No," said Mica. "Fourteen years have passed. I daresay I know who you are, and you must know who I am. So you know who is the heir of Slytherin now, don’t you? It must have worked, the spell. My blood would have been enough. He is out there, free to fulfill the prophecy!" She looked at Caro. "I know what the Amulet is for now." Mica looked back at the Protector. "So tell me, Draco Malfoy, how has prison suited you?"

 

COMING SOON:

Animal Instinct ficlet and PART III: The Girl With Two Faces

 

While you wait, be sure to check out the new story in the Viridian Wand story arc!

Ginny Weasley and the Tea Room of Doom takes place in Ginny’s fourth year, and she has to investigate some mysterious disappearances…

 

This all belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros., with the exception of Mica, Caroline, the Cassadaga Coven, etc. J

 

You can email Love at [email protected] or [email protected] ; or you can write a review. Love likes feedback, especially reviews. She really likes reviews. She really, really, would like it if you review. Okay?

 

Thanks: Mom, Dad, BJ, Lunchtable crew, Laurie, Cody, Bob the Amazing Wonder Guitar, & of course my beta-reader, Lissanne.