Darkened Waters

"Now, someone remind me why we're all being dragged to the library, at seven in the morning, on the last Saturday before Christmas break?" said Ron grumpily, still rather bleary-eyed. He had evidently forgotten the conversation they'd had after Harry had left Dumbledore's office.

"Hermione reckons she's got a hint on what that cauldron is. She just wants us to go through a few books with her." Harry was wide awake; he'd had more unsettling dreams last night, although they were much fuzzier and more difficult to remember now that he had gotten a little better at Occlumency. Hermione had woken him at six, telling him to meet her in the library at seven.

He and Ron made their way to a table in the back of the library, where Hermione was sitting, completely absorbed in a large book on mystical cauldrons and surrounded by books. "Hermione!" Harry hissed.

She looked up and waved them over, waiting for them to sit down before she said anything. She shoved one stack of books at Harry, and yet another at Ron. "These are a few books, Hermione?" said the redhead incredulously.

Hermione ignored him. "Listen...I've got a fairly good idea on what Harry's cauldron might be. Just flip through the books and see if you see anything like it."

"It's not my cauldron," said Harry, slightly nettled. Hermione ignored him too and went back to her book. He sighed heavily; he knew better than to argue when she got like this. He grabbed the nearest book from his pile and started to skim.

Harry worked his way through Mediaeval Metal Miracles, Cauldrons for the Kooky, The Irish Cauldron Catalog, and Infamous Cauldrons of the Dark Lords. He had rather hoped that he'd find something in the last one. The library was growing considerably lighter, and he could hear the chatter of people heading to breakfast. He put down Olde and Forgotten Cauldron Spelles with a decisive snap. To his amusement, Ron, who had been snoring gently next to him, woke up with a muttered curse.

"What're you on about, Hermione?" mumbled Ron sleepily. " 'S not like we'll ever find anything in these."

"I see that you've only managed to read half of a book," said Hermione dryly. Ron yawned and rubbed his eyes, unsticking his face from the pages of Mad Muggles and the Myths They Imagine.

"I'll swap piles if you like," said Harry, who had worked his way though about half of his books. He pushed his books over to Ron and picked up the book that Ron had been reading. This book was even more irrelevant than the others, mostly Muggle Irish folklore. He was about to put it aside when he turned at random to the middle of the book and felt a shiver run down his spine.

There it was. A great, black cauldron large enough to swallow a man whole, half filled with rippling, dark water. Harry shuddered as he remembered the coldness of his dream. "Ron...Hermione..." he whispered. "This is it." Hermione shoved aside the books half-blocking her, looking at him with rapt attention, and Ron jerked out of his stupor. Harry scanned the relevant article underneath the picture, reading it in a hushed voice.

"In Muggle myth, Branwen the Goddess of the Land married Matholwch, King of Ireland, in order to form a bond between Britain and Ireland. Bran and Branwen's half-brother Efnisien, however, was never consulted and destroyed all of Matholwch's horses in retaliation. In order to heal the dishonor done to him, Matholwch demanded the Cauldron of Rebirth, a magical cauldron that can raise the newly dead. Reluctantly, Bran relinquished the Cauldron.

"Despite so generous a gift, the corrupt Matholwch mistreated Branwen so badly that Bran was forced to march to Ireland to save her. Matholwch used the Cauldron of Rebirth, raising an endless supply of Dead soldiers. Bran's men were defeated, and Bran was wounded and died. Matholwch was not defeated until Bran's half brother Efnisien leapt into the Cauldron, breaking it at the price of his own life."

The three of them exchanged haunted looks, and Harry knew all of them were thinking the same awful things that he was thinking. If Voldemort had gotten his hands on the Cauldron of Rebirth...Harry had a sudden mental image of himself, Ron, and Hermione, cornered, trying to fight off an endless army of dead, rotting slaves...

"But it's not possible...it's just not possible," said Hermione, as if she could make it untrue by saying so. "The Cauldron of Rebirth...I remember reading about that myth, before I came to Hogwarts. Bran's half-brother irreparably broke it. It even says so here. There's no way that Voldemort could've gotten his hands on it."

"Let's hope that you're right as usual, Hermione," said Harry feverently. "Because if you're wrong..." He didn't say it. Rather, he closed the book, shoved all the others aside, and walked up to Madam Pince to check it out. As he signed his name, he heard Ron whisper to Hermione:

"How much worse could our luck get?"

As they walked out of the library, Harry muttered, "I'll talk to Dumbledore. If he doesn't have any answers, our luck's probably going to get much, much worse."

"But it's early Saturday morning, Harry," said Hermione. "Dumbledore's probably at breakfast."

"Then I'll talk to him after breakfast. It's not like he's keeping things from me anymore, is he?"

But Dumbledore was not at breakfast; as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, helping themselves to bacon, eggs, and orange juice, Harry did not see the Headmaster in his usual chair. He looked all up and down the length of the table, but Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.

"Where d'you reckon he is?" he whispered to Ron and Hermione as he chewed his eggs.

Ron shrugged. "Maybe the Ministry needed him for help again or something."

Hermione let out a loud scoff. "Really, Ron. Dumbledore's a busy man, but I doubt they'd call him away once every few days." The owls started flooding into the Great Hall, and Hermione picked up her usual copy of the Prophet, scanning the headlines. "There's nothing here anyway." She tossed it aside.

"Hey, Hermione, what's that?" asked Ron, spotting a large gray owl making a beeline for her. Harry quickly shoved her juice jug out of the way before the owl barreled into it; it too carried a newspaper in its beak, but this one was much thicker than the Prophet, and not made out of parchment. Actually, it looked rather like the paper that was delivered to the Dursleys...

"It's the Muggle paper," said Hermione shortly.

Ron sniggered. "You're getting the Muggle papers delivered now? Hermione, what would they know?"

"A lot more than you think. Muggles pick up on a lot; they just can't explain what they see." She gave Ron a nasty look before disappearing behind the paper. Ron and Harry exchanged exasperated looks before going back to their respective breakfasts. They were finishing up their bacon when Hermione let out a gasp.

"What? What is it?" asked Harry, knocking his plate to the floor as he leaned toward her. Hermione was staring at a small column at the bottom of the page. "Has someone been murdered?"

"Keep your voice down," hissed Hermione. She read the little piece in a hushed whisper, gesturing for the boys to crowd in.

"North Road Cemetery, Bournemouth, Dorset, was vandalized last night, according to local police. Several recently dug graves were found with the headstones broken and overturned. When the remains of the headstones were removed, the bodies within the graves were reported missing. Surprisingly, no traces of the vandals remain. After an extensive search, all other graves were found undisturbed and untouched, although some (perhaps highly superstitious) people reported seeing flashes of red and green around other graves." She dropped the paper into her lap, pale and pensive.

Harry didn't say anything; he didn't immediately make the connection as to why the paper was so menacing, but as he reread the article, a horrible sinking feeling filled his stomach. "Hermione," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice level, "where was Voldemort last spotted?"

"Near Poole," she whispered. "Just west of Bournemouth."

Harry abruptly stood up, taking the page of the paper with him. "I'm going to see Dumbledore. Right now."

"But we were going to study for exams!" said Ron, who looked as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.

"I'll meet you in the library. I have to see Dumbledore." With that, he left the Hall, clutching the Muggle article. A small voice inside his head told him that he was being stupid, that he was just jumpy from exams, leaping to conclusions. He ignored the voice; his experience told him otherwise.

He fairly sprinted up the staircases and down the corridors toward Dumbledore's office, earning himself several indignant yells from the paintings. He ignored them and barreled down the hallway to Dumbledore's office, skidding to a halt at the entrance

"Jelly Slug!" he gasped at the gargoyle. He waited impatiently for the door to open and dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He needed to get this to Dumbledore as soon as humanly possible.

Harry could hear voices from within the room, but he didn't particularly care who was there at the moment. He knocked on the door and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Something shifted in the room, presumably chairs, and one set of footsteps moved toward the door while another thudded in the room.

The door opened; Dumbledore himself stood in the doorway, gravely looking down at him. Harry swallowed hard as his Headmaster opened the door all the way. "You should be at breakfast, Harry."

Wordlessly, Harry handed him the Muggle article. Dumbledore quickly skimmed it, looking more and more anxious as he read. He pocketed the article and straightened.

"I want a direct answer, Harry. Only members of the Order should know about this," he said sternly, looking Harry straight in the eyes. "Where did you find this out? The library?"

Harry launched into the story, telling Dumbledore about the dream, Hermione and the library, and the Muggle paper. He kept his voice as low as possible; if this was supposed to be secret, he didn't want whomever was in the room to overhear. Dumbledore watched him intently at the end of his story, looking more serious than ever.

"Very well," he said. He looked briefly over his shoulder at Minerva, who was still standing next to his desk. Harry got a brief glimpse of a strange-looking bell standing on the desk as Dumbledore shifted. Dumbledore turned back to him, and he quickly tore his eyes from the bell. "Harry, this is not a good time for us to talk. I have a little unfinished business, but I will talk to you in fifteen minutes."

He felt his stomach drop a little, but he still trusted Dumbledore. "Alright, Professor," he said quietly. "I'll wait outside." Dumbledore gave him a little nod before he turned and closed the door with a dull thud.

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The office was utterly silent; even the early morning chirping of the birds outside the window seemed to have stopped. Finally, Mogget spoke in a low, anxious growl that bore only traces of his usual voice.

"I don't like this at all. A cauldron that can raise the Dead without any need for walking in Death is an open invitation to necromancy. In all my years of serving the Abhorsens, I have never seen a contraption such as this." He stared intently at Dumbledore, tail still twitching. "And what would you have the Abhorsen-in-Waiting do? Destroy it? Not even Sabriel could have done such a thing."

"You cannot destroy the cauldron?" asked Dumbledore quietly. Arielle stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Well...that would be like a permanent opening to Death...if I was close to the opening, I may be able to disable it for a time, but there is no way I could destroy such a thing." She stopped pacing and turned back to look at Dumbledore. "How many Dead has this...Voldemort raised?"

"According to some sources, he started in southern England." Dumbledore flicked his wand at one of the shelves, and a map of England rolled out. "Voldemort started raising the Dead near Plymouth; many graves there are still unguarded. He is working his way north and east; he must be in Dorset by now. We cannot determine how many Dead he has raised, but we estimate about thirty under his control right now."

"Thirty? Only thirty?" said Arielle incredulously. "After going through that many graveyards?"

For the first time, a slightly grim smile appeared on Dumbledore's face. "He can only raise those who have died within twenty-eight days. Which means that he needs to keep on moving to gain fresh graves." The smile disappeared as he regarded the map. "However..."

"What?" asked Arielle with a sick feeling in her stomach.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "The Dead that he revives are healthy and whole, restored by the cauldron. He can throw body parts into the cauldron, and end up with a complete person...that is part of the cauldron's magic as well."

Mogget raised his head and hissed. "You have no means of countering him with your brand of magic?"

"None. Necromancy was banned in Britain during the reign of Charles II; the International Confederation of Wizards banned it worldwide at the third meeting. All knowledge of it has either been burned or lost...it frankly astounds me that something like this fell into Voldemort's hands."

"Well, it has, and you are in deep trouble," said Mogget, rather unhelpfully stating the obvious. "So what's your brilliant plan?"

Dumbledore turned his eyes on Arielle, who felt the pit of her stomach drop out of place. "I had been hoping that you would have an idea...Abhorsen."

The title made her feel even sicker. "I'm not the Abhorsen. My mother is," she said quietly, as though hoping to make the unpleasant reality disappear; she was alone this time, without Lirael to guide and protect her.

The old wizard's eyes softened briefly. "I am sorry for placing you under this burden, but while you are here, you are the only Abhorsen in this world. In addition, it would be better if your true identity as Abhorsen-in-Waiting is kept rather silent."

"Why?" she asked with some surprise. "Underestimation isn't always a bad thing."

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Order of the Phoenix is an organization dedicated to opposing Voldemort and his followers; with the exception of the Weasley twins, all of the members of the Order are much older than you are. Although they are good people, many of them are somewhat...ah...skeptical as to the credentials of those younger than them. Do you see what I mean?"

"They won't take me seriously, unless I hold the title of Abhorsen."

"A rather blunt way of putting it, but true nonetheless," said Dumbledore wearily. "In addition, it would not do for Voldemort to know about your presence here, so I must ask you to stay in Order headquarters for the time being."

At that moment, the door to the office opened; Arielle and Mogget both jumped and spun around, but it was only McGonagall and a little house elf, holding a platter with two fresh, raw fish. The smell of freshly killed fish filled the room; Arielle wrinkled her nose a little as the house elf dropped the fish next to Mogget. The elf then bowed and promptly left the room.

Mogget investigated it closely, poking the dead fish with his claws. "Mm...not whiting, or sardine, but it's fish nevertheless."

"Trout," said Minerva. "It's lake trout." Mogget considered this for a moment before delicately sinking his teeth into the fish. He said something that might have been "not bad" before pulling the platter to one side and devouring the fish. Dumbledore watched him with some amusement before turning back to Arielle and Minerva.

He started to say something, but suddenly, someone knocked on the door. He hastily pointed his wand at the nearest bookcase, which slid away to reveal a small chamber. "Inside, quickly." Arielle grabbed her things and pulled the plate of fish away from Mogget; the cat hissed, but he followed her into the chamber. The bookcase slid back into position, just after his white tail whipped into the room.

Arielle could dimly see, due to the cracks between the bookcase and the wall. Mogget was eyeing her with a highly annoyed expression.

"My fish?" he said pointedly.

"Shush. I want to hear what they're saying." Nevertheless, Arielle felt around for the fish and pushed the platter toward Mogget. She heard an unfamiliar voice, a young man, speaking; he sounded a little out of breath and rather anxious. There was silence for a few moments, and she strained her ears to hear Dumbledore's reply.

"...find this out?" Dumbledore was saying. "The library?"

A period of muffled speaking from the intruder...he seemed to be unwilling to raise his voice, and his speaking shook.

"Very well," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry, this is not a good time for us to talk. I have a little unfinished business, but I will talk to you in fifteen minutes." The young man (apparently named Harry) said something else. There were sounds of footsteps, then of a door closing. Arielle cautiously pushed on the bookcase, which silently slid open.

Dumbledore simply stood there, looking at the door. To her, it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier one. "Headmaster Dumbledore?" she asked quietly.

He seemed to shake himself from his preoccupation. "It is nothing." With what seemed to be a monumental effort, he turned away from the door. He and Minerva McGonagall spoke in hushed tones for a few moments before he turned back to her, but it wasn't their conversation that had caught Arielle's attention.

It was the bell sitting between them on what appeared to be Dumbledore's desk...she blinked several times to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her after all that had happened, but the bell simply sat there, so innocent-looking, yet so, so dangerous. Kibeth, the Walker...but how could they have used the bell to call her here?

Dumbledore noticed her questioning expression. "Terciel, as you observed, left us the bell. There was something of an accident when we were attempting to call for help against another dark wizard, and the Abhorsen happened to stumble into our world. He spelled the bell so that it could walk another Abhorsen to this place."

"He spelled it? He cast extra spells over an Abhorsen's bell?" she said incredulously. "What was he thinking? He never knew how the spells would react with Free Magic; he could've killed someone!"

"Pity that he didn't," said Mogget in a rather muffled voice, throat half-full of fish. He swallowed, delicately cleaned his whiskers, and added, "But if you knew half as much as you thought you did, Abhorsen-in-Waiting, you'd see that that is most certainly not an Abhorsen's bell."

"What the--of course it's an Abhor--" The words died in her throat as she touched the bell, leaping back with a half-formed yelp caught in her throat. She immediately reached for her own bells, cursing herself for her foolishness. Drawing one of her knives and Ranna, she backed up toward the portal. "Tell me exactly what is going on here!"

Dumbledore looked startled, but not particularly alarmed. "Abhorsen, we have no intention of harming--"

"That's Free Magic. That's not an Abhorsen's bell. It's a necromancer's bell, bearing the brand of Kerrigor. Tell me the truth, or I start ringing this." She tried to keep her voice steady, but her heart was pounding with fear. Had Kerrigor found some way of surviving in a different world?

"Empty threat," said Mogget. "If you'd been paying attention, you would also notice that the bell's drained. No magic or potency left in it. I imagine that so much of the magic was used for that door of yours that the bell is no longer functional." He lightly leapt onto the table and examined the bell closely from side to side. "At any rate, it's no concern of ours. Terciel probably picked it up from some necromancer he killed."

"Are you crazy?" demanded Arielle furiously. "What Abhorsen in his or her right mind would keep a necromancer's bell? They react horribly to Abhorsen's bells when they're fully spelled and kept close by."

The little cat's green eyes narrowed, and he stepped away from the bell. "Mmm..." He paused for a few seconds, looking from Arielle to the bell to Dumbledore and McGonagall. "I hate to admit it, but you do have a point, unusually enough." He ignored her indignant huff and turned to Dumbledore and McGonagall. "You don't by chance happen to have a portrait of Terciel, do you?"

The two wizards exchanged glances. "No...I don't believe we do, although I can certainly search for one," said McGonagall hesitantly.

"What did he look like?" demanded Mogget. "Describe everything, anything you can recall."

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled a little in thought. "He was fairly tall, certainly no shorter than Minerva, and he carried the bandolier of bells across his chest and a very bizarre sword."

"What did the sword look like?" asked Mogget, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore.

The old man paused for a moment before replying. The tension in the room was humming and throbbing in the very air. "I could not determine the color. It seemed to shift every time I looked at it, but I am certain that it dripped with magical flame."

Mogget hissed angrily, and Arielle let out a startled yelp, stepping closer to the portal and raising Ranna in a spelling stance. The little cat stared intently at the two wizards, his clear green eyes burning a hole through Dumbledore and McGonagall. "Are you completely certain?"

Dumbledore nodded, and Arielle felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, soon replaced with the burning, gnawing fear that she had only felt a few times in her life...fear so intense that it made her want to retch. She felt Ranna twist in her hand, reacting to her dropped guard and trying to sound. Somehow, she got it into the bandolier and sat heavily in a chair, staring at Dumbledore as though she had somehow misunderstood.

"It's him, Mogget," she whispered. "It's Hedge."

Mogget's bright green eyes narrowed as he turned to look at her. "Yes, it was Hedge. Which, by the way, complicates your predicament tenfold." He paused and licked his paw. "Clearly, Hedge was accidentally summoned here, and hatched a plan for the Abhorsen's destruction. The recent disturbances in the Old Kingdom have not been coincidence."

"But he's dead, right?" asked Arielle desperately, not paying attention to the confused looks on Dumbledore and McGonagall's faces. "He's dead, and most of his followers are dead."

Mogget's face twisted a little. He walked up to the bell and ever so carefully touched it with the tip of his tongue; he immediately withdrew, spitting and backing away.

"Did he..." whispered Arielle fearfully.

Mogget nodded. "He did. It's triggered to bring him back to Life. I imagine he placed some of his own spirit inside to pull himself back." He shook his head and looked at Dumbledore and McGonagall, who looked simply flabbergasted. "First of all, you two have explaining to do." They nodded numbly, staring between him, Arielle, and the bell.

"Secondly," said Mogget softly, turning to look at Arielle, "I do not envy you at all, Abhorsen-in-Waiting."