The Osiris Song

"Isn't this just a little bit obvious, Fleur?" Ron asked, frowning as they stepped into the abandoned antechamber of the temple. "Sure, it makes sense to me. If you want to hide something so no one can ever find it, put it somewhere they're all going to be looking for it. Absolutely. Makes complete sense to me."

Fleur smiled. He sounded so like Bill sometimes. "Shh," she shushed him, before raising her wand. "Lumos!" she instructed, and the torches which lined the walls of the room burst to life, bathing the stone chamber in golden light. Like so many Egyptian tombs, the walls were decorated with hieroglyphs and detailed carvings of life along the Nile thousands of years in the past. Fleur felt a rush of nostalgia wash over her as she took in the rich details of the crypt. Bill had been so excited when his team had discovered this place. "There's some special treasure under those flagstones, Fleur," he'd told her the first night, as she stroked his hair in bed. "I can feel it. It's in the air. Such old magic… It's all you can breathe. And the Eye carved onto the back wall… I've never seen one so big. They were guarding something; something huge. Whatever's there, it's going to make my career."

It probably would have, if it hadn't killed him first.

She shook her head to dispel that thought and moved deeper into the chamber. There in the center was the customary stone sarcophagus, engraved with a plethora of protection spells to guard its occupant. Inside she knew was the golden coffin that housed this tomb's mummy. But that was not what interested her. Instead, she bypassed the sarcophagus and made her way to the back of the crypt, to the enormous Eye of Horus that looked out over the chamber like a guardian spirit. She heard the others arrange themselves around the entrance, obviously loathe to delve deeper into the room. Fleur didn't blame them. Bill had been right - the taste of magic on the air was old and powerful. It made her tongue feel as though it had been coated with gold dust.

"Zis is ze Eye of 'Orus," she said over her shoulder, never taking her own eyes from the immense painted carving which covered the entire back wall. "It was conzidered a symbol of protection." Her eyes ran over the fluid lines, painted blue and gold by ancient artisans. "'Orus, 'e was ze god of ze pharaos. Zat is what 'Ermione said, oui? Ze living god." She turned around then, but rather than looking at her companions, her eyes focused above them, following the line of sight of the enormous eye behind her. "Zo why iz zis Eye zo big, when zis iz NOT ze tomb of a pharoah?"

"How do you know it isn't?" Harry asked.

"Zere are no royal symbols. No guards, no wardens. No servants buried wiz zere master." She shook her head. "No, zis iz ze tomb of a lesser noble, per'aps, but not a king."

Bill's team had abandoned the site shortly after his death, out of respect, and had not yet returned to work despite the nearly two month interim. Why? It had never occurred to her before, but if this place DID house such an incredible treasure, why would Gringotts be keeping them away? The goblins were not known for their kindness, not even following the death of a loved one. Their hesitancy to send their curse breakers back to this place, their unusual generosity in allowing Ron to remain in England rather than shipping him off to fill his brother's shoes in Egypt… It didn't make sense. It smacked of foul play, or at the very least, powerful magic. Old magic.

"I zink zere iz somezing 'ere," she murmured, taking a step forward as her eyes continued to scan the wall around the entryway. "I zink whatever it iz, it 'as been enchanted wiz a powerful charm zat 'as 'idden it in plain sight. Zo powerful a charm zat ze protection spell protects ITZELF."

"What?" Harry sounded absolutely lost. "What are you talking about, Fleur?"

"Ze Osiris Song iz very powerful," she replied absently. "Zo powerful, people 'ave searched for it for centuries. Yet no one 'as found it? I find zat 'ard to believe."

"It must be very well hidden," Hermione reminded her. "If it IS real, the gods wouldn't have wanted just anyone laying their hands on it, correct?"

Fleur shook her head, stopping her forward motion and staring at a glyph just above the entryway. "No, 'Ermione," she argued. "Someone would 'ave found it. My 'usband was very good at 'is job. 'E would 'ave found it. Do you zink ze gods 'ave ze power to disguise life? Zat is what ze Osiris Song iz. It iz life. It gives life, it renews life, it guides ze spirit." She reached up a slender hand, tracing the shape of the glyph in the air. "Even ze gods cannot 'ide somezing as strong as life. Not forever. Zey may be very good at tucking it away, at making all zose 'oo search for it suddenly lose interest. 'Ave you ever known ze Gringotts goblins to ignore a crypt such as zis for zo long? Non. And yet 'ere it iz, untouched. Powerful magic. Old magic. A self-prezervation spell." She shook her head, letting her hand drop but not letting her eyes waver. "But zey could not 'ide it forever." A faint, triumphant smile trembled on her lips. "I 'ave found it."

The three companions turned and followed her gaze to the glyph above the door. It was an unusual symbol, rather like an abstract impression of a man. An imaginative mind could interpret the symbol as a figure with a large head atop outstretched arms, clothed in floor-length robes.

"What's that?" Ron asked, perplexed. "It's just a squiggle, Fleur."

Fleur shook her head, never taking her eyes from the chiseled cypher. "Non, Ron, it iz more zen zat. It iz an ankh."

"A what?"

"An ankh," Hermione explained in a soft voice. "It's the symbol for eternal life."

"It wuz a symbol of Isis," Fleur managed, though her own voice sounded weak and watery to her ears. "Ze uzzer gods, zey are shown wiz ze ankh, too, but Isis… Isis wuz ze Muzzer. Ze womb." Swallowing down tears, Fleur reached up towards the glyph again. It was too high for her to touch, but she could almost feel its rough hewn lines beneath her fingertips.

"What does it mean?" Harry whispered, probably to Hermione, as if afraid Fleur would overhear.

"Zey were an 'Oly Trinity," Fleur answered before Hermione could. "Ze Muzzer, ze Fazzer, and ze Son." Swallowing, Fleur clenched her fist until only one shaking finger was extended towards the ankh on the wall. "Muzzer."

She pivoted slowly on her heel, her finger moving in a geometric half circle as she did so. When she came to a stop, she was pointing directly at the enormous Eye of Horus on the far wall. "Son," she whispered.

"Where's the Father?" Ron asked quietly. There was an edge of anxious nervousness to his voice. He was beginning to believe.

Fleur's eyes drifted downward, to the stone sarcophagus that dominated the center of the chamber. Osiris. God of the Underworld. The coffin, when grouped with the other two symbols, formed the peak of an inverted pyramid.

She dropped her hand and let her eyes direct their attention to the sarcophagus. "Ze Père," she whispered.

Silence reigned for a long minute. Hermione finally broke the uncomfortable quiet. "But … it can't be that easy," she murmured. "Can it?"

Fleur didn't answer. Slowly, shakily, she walked towards the stone coffin. Her knees felt like jelly and her feet were numb. She couldn't feel the sandy stone floor beneath her feet; couldn't taste anything but the gold dust essence of old, powerful magics that lingered in the air like wisps of ancient memory. Voldemort couldn't have known - HADN'T known - that his answer was here all along. That the room itself was the map, with an arrow pointing to the very resting place of the Song. If he had known, he would never have tortured her Bill. If he had known, he would have killed her husband outright, and never have left a trace.

Fleur reached out a trembling hand as she drew up beside the coffin, and rested it on the edge of the heavy stone lid. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. What if she was wrong? What if this was all a dream, or some perverse fantasy, making her believe things that were unbelievable, and try things that were unachievable? What if she pushed back that lid - by some inhuman power and with some unqualified strength - and discovered nothing but a shriveled face, dead for millenia and resting in peace? What if she opened this coffin, and released the evils of Pandora's Box?

In that moment, Hope left her, and she was left to struggle with Doubt and Fear.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment left her, and Hope returned. No, she WAS right. This WAS what she had come to find. When she opened this coffin, she would find what she needed. All she had to do was give it a push.

"Alohamora," she murmured, though she knew it was a useless incantation to use in this context. The familiarity of the words made her feel secure. With a heave, she placed both hands on the lid and pushed. It slid away easily, as though it had been mounted on wheels, and tumbled with a shuddering CRASH! to the stone floor of the crypt.

The light that followed was blinding.

Hermione had thrown a hand up to protect her eyes and fallen backwards when the flash near-blinded her, but as the light began to fade, she allowed her arm to drop. The first order of business was, of course, to make sure everyone else was all right. A quick glance to the left showed Ron dusting his robes absentmindedly as he stared around the room in agape wonder. A look to the right revealed Harry crouching near the floor, staring straight ahead, jaw hanging slack. Fleur wasn't immediately visible, so Hermione lifted her eyes to find the other young woman.

And gasped.

The crypt had disappeared. In its place was a sumptuous throne room, perfectly square and immense in proportion. The chamber was crafted of blush marble, creamy ivory, and gold so pure it seemed liquid as it flowed effortlessly between the seams of marble wall slabs and around the bases of ivory columns. The floor was made of the same rosy marble as the walls, but it had been polished to such a high sheen, Hermione was afraid to stand for fear she'd slip and fall. It felt smooth as glass beneath her palms. The only aspect of the tomb which remained in this lavish hall was the stone sarcophagus, still unlidded and looking decidedly dusty and shabby in its newfound surroundings.

But the grandeur of the throne room was only of cursory note to the young witch. The focus of her attention - indeed, the focal point of the entire room - was the woman seated in a gilded throne on a raised dais not more than twenty feet away. The throne was a sight to see, fashioned of hammered gold and draped in swaths of crimson velvet. Gauzy curtains surrounded the seat, hanging from unseen rafters and fluttering in an unfelt breeze. The ceiling of the chamber seemed to stretch up into infinity, until the roof was lost in white. Whether that was because her eyes couldn’t adjust to the mammoth distance from floor to ceiling, or because the ceiling was actually lost in a haze of clouds, Hermione couldn't determine.

Even more immaculate than the throne, however, was the woman who sat upon it. She had the easy posture of someone who was used to living amidst such opulence, and she didn't seem the least bit surprised that four dusty, disheveled travelers had tumbled unceremoniously into her royal home. She was clothed in a sheath dress of fine Egyptian linen; so fine it was nearly transparent. A heavy necklace of slim gold plates, shaped like ever-growing half moons, rested over her chest like a breastplate, studded along the edge of the outermost plate with decorative turquoise. Woven sandals of what looked like spun gold were on her feet, laced up to the knee. Glossy black hair hung in finely plaited braids down her back, each braid no wider than a pencil. Some locks spilled over her shoulders, looking like the edge of nightfall encroaching on the sun of midmorning as they rested on her golden necklace. Her skin was the perfect olive tone of Egypt, sculpting a face that was so impossibly beautiful, Hermione's internal thesaurus was strapped for a word worthy enough to describe it.

And then there were her eyes. Black eyes; the purest black. Not brown so dark it seemed to be black. Not blue so hard and flinty it passed as black. Pure coal black, with pupils even blacker; irises framed by whites so white, they almost glowed.

No one could speak; no one even tried.

Finally, the woman's dusky pink lips curved into an amused smile. "You are surprisingly quiet," she said, and Hermione felt all her tensions, anxieties and fears melt away at the sheer kindness in that voice. "Are you afraid?"

Hermione felt her jaw working but no sound was coming out. To her left, she heard Ron answer, "N… No, ma'am. Lady. Your Highness."

The Goddess smiled. "Isis, child," she said gently, and the way she said child made Hermione feel as though this woman truly was her mother. "And you would be Ron."

Hermione heard Ron choke. "How… How do you know my name?" he asked.

Isis' lips curled into an even brighter smile. "I know each of you," she said, as though it were obvious. "Ron Weasley." Her eyes glanced to Hermione, and she nodded. "Hermione Granger." Then on to Hermione's right. "Harry Potter." Then up a bit, looking over their heads to a point behind them. "Fleur Delacour."

For the first time since raising her head in this room, Hermione looked away from the vision seated on the throne and craned her head around to peer over her shoulder. Fleur was, indeed, standing behind them, though how she had gotten behind them when she'd been in front of them earlier wasn't a question Hermione felt like battling with at the moment. The quarter-veela's body language was enough to prove that she was just as enthralled by their divine hostess as the others were, but Hermione saw an unusual spark in the other woman's blue eyes. "Weasley," Fleur added. "Fleur Delacour-Weasley. You forgot."

Hermione swallowed and quickly looked back to the woman on the throne. She didn't have much - well, okay, ANY - experience with deities, but she didn't think correcting a goddess with your first sentence was going to make a good impression. But Isis didn’t seem bothered. If anything, her tender expression seemed to soften even more. "No, child, I did not," the goddess soothed. "But I had to be sure you remembered, or else nothing that may happen here will come to pass."

Moving with the fluid grace of a cat, Isis rose from the golden throne and the gauzy curtains parted before her, as though tossed by a summer breeze. Hermione saw that, in addition to her broad necklace, the goddess also wore a gold ankh on a long woven chain which hung down past her navel, to rest on her lower belly. As she walked, it swayed slightly against her stomach. "I always knew someone would find the song," she said, gliding effortlessly down the three steps which led from her dais to the main floor of the throne room. "Others did not think it would happen. I remember Anubis felt it particularly unlikely." A nostalgic smile touched her lips. "They never understood how tenacious children can be."

As she spoke, she had been walking purposefully towards the stone sarcophagus, which stood to the right of her throne. She stopped there now, cupping her hands over the edge of the coffin and gazing down into it; not looking for something, but remembering. "But I knew," she murmured, silky hair glowing blue-black in the golden illumination of the torches which lined the walls. "I always knew the song would be found. That someday, a creature would come with such need of it, such desire for it, even our spells would break before their Hope." Looking up from her study of the coffin, she looked over her shoulder at them and smiled. "Hope is the cure of all ills, did you know that? It is a knowledge that escapes most, but the wisest understand its simplicity. With Hope, single men can defeat armies, and lost children can find their way home in dark forests. Hope is the harbinger of true love. Hope can shake the pillars of creation." She laughed quietly and turned back to the sarcophagus. "Hope can even undo the words of the Gods."

Hermione didn't know what to say. None of this seemed real. She felt as though she were in a waking dream, and any moment she would open her eyes to find herself tucked into bed, perhaps with Ron's lean arms wrapped snugly around her midsection as he spooned against her back. But as more seconds ticked by, she began to realize that this was not a dream. She was NOT going to wake up, this WAS really happening, and while Ron was here with her, they were in the presence of a GODDESS. Her mind couldn't comprehend it, and her tongue refused to cooperate.

"I am ze first?" Fleur seemed to be the only one among them capable of voicing anything coherent. Hermione marveled at her calm. "No uzzers 'ave come before?"

"Others have sought," Isis replied. "None have found. Their cause was not sincere enough, their Hope not strong enough. None of them were true believers."

"But I am?"

Isis turned then, a motherly smile on her lips. "Child, you would not be here if you were not. The ache in you made you believe, and that belief made you hope, and that Hope brought you here." She gestured with a slender hand, incorporating the throne room, but also all that lay beyond. "Do you know where this is?"

Hermione finally found voice enough to answer the question with one of her own. "The Netherworld?"

Isis looked at her and smiled kindly. Hermione felt all her nervousness flooding away, replaced by a kind of comfortable lassitude, like curling up in bed with a fuzzy quilt. "No, young one," the goddess replied, "though you are almost correct. This is neither the Underworld nor the Mortal Plane. This is the Waning; the In-Between place." She laid a hand on the sarcophagus. "This way leads to my husband's realm." She gestured up, to the fuzzy white expanse above them that constituted a roof. "And there lies the way back to corporeal life."

A flurry of motion caught Hermione's attention, and she turned her head in time to see Fleur rush by, headed for the sarcophagus. "Bill!" she cried as she reached the stone slabs of the coffin. Planting her hands on the edge, she leaned forward and shouted again. "BILL!" Her voice ricocheted around the inside of the stone casket, as though she were yelling down a deep, empty tunnel. Hermione felt the bottom fall out of her stomach as she realized that that was precisely what Fleur was doing. The idea of leaning over a bottomless coffin which was the mouth to an unobstructed tunnel to the Underworld was not a thought Hermione wanted to linger on for long.

Isis laid a hand on the frantic veela's back. "Shhh, daughter," she soothed, stroking Fleur's silvery hair. "The path leads only one way, and only the dead may walk it. Your love cannot hear you."

Fleur's knees crumpled and she slumped beside the sarcophagus, fingers still clenched around the stone rim. "Please," she begged softly, eyes squeezed shut. "Please, tell me ze Song. Please, I must 'ave it. I must sing it…!"

Isis knelt beside the coffin, one hand gently stroking Fleur's tense arm. "Why, child?" she murmured. "Why do you need the Song so badly?"

"I love 'im."

"Love is a good reason, but it cannot be enough. Tell me the rest."

Hermione found herself leaning forward in her position seated on the floor. For what felt like the first time, she became aware of the two young men who flanked her on either side. Ron was watching with wide-eyed fascination, while Harry only sat quietly, his green eyes burning with startling intensity. She thought back for a moment to the conversation at the kitchen table, and wondered if Harry wished he were the one crouching by the coffin, telling the goddess his reasons for needing to sing the Song.

Fleur took several moments to answer the question, and when she did, it was almost inaudible. "Becoz 'e loved me," she whispered.

Isis continued to stroke Fleur's hair tenderly, occasionally fingering the locks and smoothing them down, like a mother with a sad daughter. "He was not the only one, child," the goddess murmured. "There are many others; more than you know. These three love you." She gestured back to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "They are not alone."

Fleur shook her head, almost petulantly. "Zat iz not what I mean," she corrected softly.

"Then what do you mean, young one?"

For a few seconds, Fleur didn't answer. She pressed her cheek against the stone side of the sarcophagus and tried to steady her swirling thoughts. Then, finally, she answered.

"Bill loved me," she whispered. "'E loved ME. 'E did not love ze veela in me. 'E did not love my 'air or my eyes or my lips. 'E did not love zat I was beautiful and zat ze uzzer men envied 'im for 'aving me. 'E did not love any of zat, and if 'e did, zey were not all zat 'e loved." She laughed softly, but it came out sounding like a quiet cough. "'E was ze first man to say no to me when I asked 'im to dinner." An affectionate smile warmed her lips. "'E said I wuz too young for 'im. Too young." She laughed again, more surely this time. "I 'ad never 'ad ZAT before. It made me want 'im." She shivered, dragging her hands down from the lip of the sarcophagus and hugging herself. "I never stopped wanting 'im, even when I 'ad 'im."

She looked past Isis to the throne; not really looking at it, but using it as a focal point to organize her thoughts. "No uzzer man 'as ever loved me becoz zey zought I wuz funny. Bill says I make 'im laugh, and zat 'e loves zat about me. 'E says zat I can't cook, but zat 'e loves to cook for me, and I 'ave never 'ad zat before, eizer." She shivered, squeezing her eyes shut and hugging herself tighter. "'E made me believe zat I wuz truly beauteeful, and zat it wuz not just a spell I cast. 'E told me 'e loved me, and I believed 'im."

Curling in on herself, she pressed her forehead against her knees. Isis' hand still moved in comforting strokes up and down her back, and it gave her strength to continue. "Veela do not find ze men zey love; ze choices are too many. Ze men find ze veela. It iz ze only way. It only 'appens once - ze bond iz for life. Did you know zat?" Of course she did. Isis was a goddess. But Fleur didn't care if she was speaking nonsense. "My grandmuzzer… She wasted away wizout my grand-pre. 'Er 'air turned from cornzilk to rafia. 'Er skin wuz brittle az dry paper. I remember 'er eyes… Zey were… 'Ow you'd say? Rheumy? Clouded. Az if she forgot 'ow to zee." Sighing shakily, Fleur let her hands fall from the edge of the coffin. They landed in her lap, limp. "I did not understand, at ze time, 'ow she could be zo radiant in one moment, and zo broken in ze next. I zought she wuz weak." Shivering, she hugged herself. "I wuz wrong."

"You are afraid of losing your beauty?" the goddess asked softly. Fleur shook her head. "Then what, child? I still do not understand why you, above all others, deserve the song."

Fleur sighed, pressing her forehead against the sarcophagus. "Becuz 'is babies should know zere père," she whispered, so that she was almost inaudible. "And becuz I zink I may die before zey even get ze chance to try."

"Oh…!" Hermione gasped.

Fleur felt the deity's cool fingers lift her chin, and found herself looking into Isis' eternal black eyes. The goddess was smiling. "That, child," she murmured, "was what I hoped you would say."

TBC…