The Unknown Legacy

The Legacy Scrolls

Hermione Granger was bent over a decrepit scroll covered in ancient writing, nibbling on the tip of her quill. This was only one scroll of three. She's been called into Rome two months ago when the scrolls were discovered embedded in a glacier during an Arctic expedition led by Muggles. No one could believe that they'd been perfectly preserved, except for the single wizard on the expedition, who was doing undercover research for a book he was writing called, "Stupid Things Muggles Do".

After lots of memory modifying, he'd taken the scrolls to Tweedbury's Archival Wizard Library, where scholars tried to translate them. No translation spells had worked on the scrolls, in fact, they seemed to repel any translating spell cast on them, by setting the caster on fire. No one had even known where to begin using non magical translation techniques, so that's when they'd contacted Hermione, who wasn't even out of Hogwarts at the time. Dumbledore signed for Hermione's Special Circumstances Underage Apparation Permit, and allowed her to go back and forth between Rome and Hogwarts, translating the scrolls word by agonizing word. She'd started by comparing them to the oldest chart of runic translations that was available in the world. Some of the symbols from the scrolls were on there, most were not, so it was very slow work. But she didn't mind it.

One might have thought it was a little odd that someone so young as she would know more then people with years of experience in dead languages. In all honesty, it wasn't a matter of Hermione knowing more as it was of her having more patience with Muggle ways of doing things. She was often amazed at how quickly some of the cleverest wizards were willing to give up on something if their magic didn't work.

In her sixth year, Hermione had helped the school librarian Madame Pince translate 12 scrolls that were in a previously unknown and undecipherable language. She could now read and write that language just as easily as she could breathe or scratch her forehead. She imagined when she was done with these scrolls it would be about the same. It all stemmed from her own passion for knowledge that she became so learned in language structures.

The origin of the scrolls appeared to be vaguely Druidic. The sentence structures appeared to be the same, but the glyphs were completely off from anything she'd seen before. There were several piles of balled up parchments on the floor behind Hermione, each one of them was covered front and back with odd variations of each glyph she was translating. She'd draw them differently every time, moving a line from one side to another, and cross referencing it with newer, known language charts. If the rearranged Glyph checked in tandem with the evolution of the 34 language charts she was using, it was translated properly. As with anything being translated, it got easier as you went along with it. This was simply because the further along you got, the more you had to cross reference with.

She stopped for a second to stretch her back. Her cat Crookshanks, who had remained unseen most of the day, now jumped up in her lap and demanded attention.

"Oh, there you are Crookshanks. I'm finally making headway on this translation! It sounds like some kind of prophecy," she said and scratched behind his ear before picking up the parchment with the translated text.

"Listen to this, There is only one weapon against true evil, and it is our legacy to the world. This legacy cannot be harmed by magic, for it is greater then magic. It absorbs spells cast upon it, and can absorb unlimited amounts of magic into itself. If misused, the legacy can extinguish all magic in the world, thus destroying it forever. The death of magic and all it embodies, living and not would soon ensue if the legacy was to ever be used improperly," Hermione read and set the paper down. Crookshanks looked at the balls of parchment on the floor, and then to her as if to say, 'that's it?'

"Yes, it's all I have so far. This is the most complicated translation I've ever had to do. It's taken me two months just to translate that much. And there's two more scrolls after that," she sighed and stretched again. "But now that I have a system, I think I can work it out a bit quicker," she said and pushed the parchment and scroll out of her way. Her eyes and brain needed a break.

She was sitting in a small work room, off the dead language corridor of the library. Among the stacks of books, charts, empty ink bottles and parchments littering the table, there was a framed picture of she and her two best friends. Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter and herself were all smiling and waving in the picture. It was a moving photo like all wizard photos. It had been taken only a month before, and they were all in their Hogwarts graduation robes. Hermione could see her eyes were slightly puffy from crying. Sometimes, she was crying and laughing in the picture, and others her eyes were just puffy. Even so, she loved the picture. She watched herself sniffle and rest her head on Ron's shoulder.

Her candle was burning low. She checked her watch and blinked.

"Seven hours?" Hermione gasped. Crookshanks meowed loudly. "I didn't know I was in here for that long, no wonder you're so cross," she said. She'd started working at 7 PM, and had only meant to work for a few hours. She stood up and grabbed the picture. After extinguishing the candle in the room, she left and locked the workroom door. Crookshanks stepped lively at her feet as she walked, finding the staircase to the guest suites on the other end of the building. When she opened the door to the room she was staying in, she immediately saw a tiny owl take flight from her bed board and blaze around the room, hooting excitedly. Hermione grinned and picked up the letter at her feet.

"No need to ask who you're from," she said to the tiny owl. It belonged to Ron and was named Pigwidgeon. She opened the envelope and sat on her bed.

Hey Hermione!

How are you doing? Harry and I are doing ok. We're both checking out all the job openings at the Ministry. Harry is still up in the air about the offers for the seeker position from Puddlemere United and The Wimbourne Wasps. I think the two teams are about to break out into a duel over him. Dad says that Perkins will be retiring soon and he would see about getting me his job, but I really don't want it, and I'm not sure how to tell him without hurting his feelings. I guess it wouldn't be so bad, I mean as long as I don't have Percy for a boss, right?

How is your work coming along? How much have you translated, and what is it all about?

Love,

Ron

P.S. Harry says hi.

"Wait around for a second ok?" she asked Pigwidgeon. He hooted happily as he orbited Crookshanks head. Crookshanks glared at the annoying little feather ball, showing much willpower not to pluck it out of the air for a midnight snack. He remembered only too well that this owl belonged to Hermione's red headed friend, Ron. Ron hadn't been pleased when he kept trying to eat his fake rat during that first year with Hermione. The boy eventually understood Crookshanks motives though, but he didn't want to get on the bad side of the Ron again.

Hermione got out a quill and used the back of Ron's parchment to write her reply.

Hi Ron,

I'm finally making some headway on the translations. It's taken forever. I've never seen glyphs like them before. I've translated a paragraph of it so far. It seems to be some kind of prophecy, because it keeps referring to something as a legacy, a gift to the world that's a weapon against evil. It's very interesting. It might also lead to the discovery of a new civilization of people! It's always possible when you find an old language that no one knows about, but I think this is just another language of a people the world already knows about. But then the question would be, why didn't we know about this language before?

I'm glad to hear that you and Harry are still being diligent in your job search. I think Harry should be looking at Puddlemere. Wimbourne reminds me too much of Ludo Bagman, I mean I know he's not the team, but still. Crookshanks is having fun in Rome. I think he's been charming the local food suppliers to give him free samples, because he's bigger then he was before. I might have to put him on a diet. I see that Pigwidgeon is doing well. Have you and Harry gotten any mail from Snuffles lately? Please give my warmest regards to Harry and your family.

With Love,

Hermione

P.S. You might want to think about your father's offer for the position. It'd be a perfect way to get your foot into the door at the Ministry.

Snuffles was the friends' code name for Harry's godfather, Siruis Black, who still hadn't been cleared of his wrongful murder charges. They needed Peter Pettigrew, the real murderer who'd cut off his own finger, then blew up an entire street corner full of Muggles after betraying Harry's parents to Voldemort, all to save his own skin. Almost everyone believed that Peter was dead, (believing the largest bit left of him was the finger) and his capture would be proof of Sirius's innocence. What was more aggravating, was that Peter had passed himself off as a fat, useless rat named Scabbers in the Weasley family for years. Hermione refolded the letter and spent a minute trying to catch Pigwidgeon to tie the note to his leg.

After the tiny owl shot out of the window, Hermione got ready for bed. She laid awake for a while, with Crookshanks curled up beside her head on the pillow thinking about what the beginning of the scroll could mean, and wondering what kind of object this legacy was. About ten minutes later she rolled over and fell asleep.

As she slept, a shadow fell across the window in the workroom. The candle stub, who's wax was still soft, ignited once again and cast light on a cold, stony, white face with red eyes. Voldemort sat down at the work table and made himself comfortable. He'd been watching the little mudblood working on these scrolls for two months now, and she'd only gotten this far? He picked up her parchment and read her neat, compact handwriting. He had to admit her brilliance though, being able to translate something for which no translation source exists. He doubted even he could have done it.

Voldemort picked up the second scroll and opened it carefully. It was longer then the first, because it was covered not only in the strange language, but also in pictures of hideous beasts and people worshipping them...or were they creating them? He'd have to wait for the girl to finish translating the scrolls. It seemed to be a prophecy, but he still felt it would be important to know the scrolls and it's words. The translation would take the girl a long while, but he had time. Voldemort stood up and vanished.

The candle stub flickered once and went out, with its trails of wispy smoke twining into the air like soft, gray vipers.