Hesperides' Apple
Chapter 6
Ginny walked down the completely dark corridor. When light from the outside no longer guided her footsteps, she whispered, "Lumos". She saw the perfectly straight walls of the passageway, engraved with spells she had never heard of in her life. As she progressed, the neat cursive gave way to sharper Gothic writing, which in turn veered toward the Greek, then Phoenician alphabet. By the time Ginny got to Hieroglyphs, she understood she was symbolically walking back in time, walking toward the origin of writing, spells, and wizardry. Pictograms so old they were half erased creased the walls when Ginny arrived to a cave. A pool of clear water illuminated the grotto with a soothing, blue light. Ginny kept walking straight until the water reached her thighs.
When her dress became peculiarly heavy, she took it off. She walked on, naked, the water now at her waist, now at her neck, until she had to swim altogether. The minute she put her head underwater, a chill sensation surged through her. When she emerged, however, she felt purged, though from what, she could not tell. Ginny continued, surprised at the warmth that emanated from the walls of the corridor. Passing her hand through her hair, she realized it curled richly. She checked its color and was extremely relieved to see it was still blonde. Apparently, the pool could only wash her from spells, but not from Muggle means of dissimulation. She arrived to a circular room where a huge fire was roaring. Her skin tingled from excitement.
***
Draco lazily flicked his wand. Everywhere around him, spells appeared, carved in the walls by generations of wizards before him. He quickened his pace, knowing what awaited him at the end of the tunnel. When he found himself facing a pool, he quickly unrobed himself. Lucius Malfoy had explained him that the clothes one wore to the wedding ceremony were the incarnation of one's past. Draco's past being particularly dark, he was certain that his clothes would become too heavy for him to even step into the pool without sinking. He admired the reflection of his lean, impeccably sculpted body in the pool before walking in. He quickly swam to the other side.
Draco braced himself for the upcoming room. As he walked down an increasingly warm corridor, he wasn't surprised to feel a hungry kiss on his torso, shortly followed by other lingering touches. Memories of the women he had been with coiled around him, their skin soft and cool against his, their hands clearly acquainted with his body. Draco breathed, trying to clear his mind. Then the memory of the few nights spent with Ginevra assailed him. He stopped, panting.
Damn it, I want her. I want her now. What is wrong with me, why did I wait? Draco willed himself to walk on. As he did so, his desire diminished and his skin cooled down. Rationality slowly regained control. Because I felt she was worth this… this irritating ceremony. With one last kiss, the memory of Ginny's body beneath his left him alone. He sighed, relieved. He finally reached a room with a low ceiling. In its center, a pyre was burning. Three young men walked up to him, each carrying a large bowl. Their bodies were extremely pale and their hair very dark. Though hesitant breasts peaked from their torsos, they were undeniably also male. They faces, soft and well-defined at the same time, were awkward to look at. Draco made it a point to stare at their neither male nor female figures, if only not to look down.
***
Ginny eyed the hermaphrodites uncertainly. Something in their almost reptilian demeanor made her uncomfortable. When they began anointing her with a golden paste, she was surprised by their soft, soothing touch. They drenched her hair in scented oil, and then motioned her to walk through the fire.
Don't worry about the fire, it isn't real. Well, it is real, but it won't hurt you. It's just another ritual of purification, Narcissa had said. So Ginny stepped in front of the brazier and, closing her eyes, stepped forward. The flames licked her hair, pulling it up in unctuous arabesques, coiling around her arms and legs. Not an inch of her skin was burnt when she reached the small circular room, the last one of her journey. The floor was of a malleable, blue soil. The walls appeared to be marble, but very quickly morphed into high, stained-glass windows that merged in a vertiginous peak. Below the colorful glass, in the center of the room, was a figure, draped from head to toe in a robe seemingly weaved from light.
Behind the figure, Draco walked into the room. Suddenly realizing she was naked, Ginny instinctively moved her hands to hide herself-somehow the fact that they had spent a number of nights in close proximity did not cross her mind at that point. Draco, however, saw her gesture. His body was still alert from his journey in the previous rooms; he could not help but think of those nights. He smirked and leered at her. She grinned and moved her hands away, having felt the hardened gold that was now like a second skin on her own. He licked his lips playfully. She stuck her tongue at him.
And we're getting married? Dear Merlin, Ginny thought, torn between amusement and resignation.
Hmmmmm, Draco thought narrow-mindedly.
"Draco, son of the sons of Lug Mal Foi," rang a crystal-clear voice. The robed figure gestured to Draco, and then, turning to Ginny, continued, "Ginevra, daughter of the daughters of Vegoia Vassili."
They both advanced to the center of the room until they found themselves facing each other, only separated by what both Narcissa and Lucius, for lack of better term, had called the Priestess.
"Flesh of man's flesh, fruit of wizards' blood, Draco, son of Lug Mal Foi, are you here conscious and willing?" the priestess chanted.
"Yes, I am," he said confidently.
"To share your roof and hearth, to bring nourishment and comfort, Draco, son of Lug Mal Foi, are you willing?"
"Yes, I am," Draco repeated.
"To protect and support her, to love her and her children, Draco, son of Lug Mal Foi, are you willing?"
"Yes, I am," he said again.
The Priestess then turned to Ginny and repeated her three questions. Ginny's answers were soft but firm. Yes, she was willing. The Priestess raised her arms, and from the stained glass above them, descended a rather long and ornamented dagger. It hovered in front of the Priestess, who gestured welcomingly to Draco and Ginny. Draco stepped forward, grabbing the dagger as Ginny presented her forearm. He took her hand in his, holding her by the wrist, and in one swift movement, he drew a superficial cut in her skin. Blood pearled along the cut. Giving her an unreadable look, Draco then handed Ginny the knife.
A flash of demented satisfaction whizzed in her eyes, her fingers wrapping knowingly around the dagger's handle.
She cut him quickly, expertly, infusing her movement with sufficient incertitude to justify the unnecessary pressure. Draco barely winced as the blade incised his skin and flesh, and Ginny had to admire his self-control; she had settled for the arm rather than the throat but delivered the blow in no delicate way. The knife began melting, forming as it did so a luminous rope. It tied around Ginny and Draco's arms, bringing them together until their blood had touched and mingled.
"Children of days older and darker than you could imagine, do you wish to be joined for life?"
"Yes," Draco and Ginny answered together, causing wiry tentacles of light to wrap around their arms up to the shoulder.
"Children of nights sweeter and clearer than you have seen, do you wish to be joined for hope?"
"Yes," they said, and the tentacles reached passed their chest, sinking into their hearts.
"Children of the seasons that come and go, of the flowers that wither and fruits that ripen, of the animals killed and born, of things much greater than you could conceive, do you wish to be joined for love?"
"Yes," Draco answered, willing himself not to snigger at the ever present notion of love. Immediately, the tentacles slid around his face and dug into his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he saw himself holding Ginny, her face contorted with fury and her hair a throbbing mass of red around it, his own traits the image of perfect composure he wore best when hurt.
"Y-es," Ginny repeated after a second's hesitation. All she could do now was pray that the promise would not bind her too much-but as tongues of light bore into her eyes, she saw a red-headed and round-bellied woman seated, facing her husband in silence. His gray eyes betrayed nothing, whereas hers, lost, wounded, spoke of failed attempts, unwanted pregnancy, and a spark of repressed love.
The flaming tentacles dimmed until Draco and Ginny could open their eyes. They looked at each other as if facing their future, aware that they had just bound themselves to each other-for life, supposedly. They stood up, hand in hand still, and walked out of the room, not turning back for fear of losing what they had just won. They emerged from the sunken galleries of hieroglyphs, turquoise pools, and pyres. The night, fresh and humid, caught them with a sprinkle of well-anchored stars. Ginny breathed in, looking up to see the tree's dark fingernails like lace against the sky. Draco slid his arm around her waist and, pulling her to him, kissed her fervently. She pressed against him instinctively. As their steps carried them away from the cave, the memory of their visions blurred. They Apparated to the Manor.
***
Darkness alone enveloped Draco and Ginny, the bed sheets having long relinquished that function. His body, humid and glistening with sweat, washed over her like a wave on the beach. She would smile, laugh, and moan as he fulfilled her. Her initial surprise at actually enjoying the feel of him inside her had quickly subsided, giving way to immoderate pleasure. He brought her to the brink again and again, nourishing the delight that churned in her body, until his senses exploded. After one last vigorous thrust, he stood still, rigid, feeling her around him, and then collapsed atop her. Ginny, her hands on his back, legs still wrapped around him, unsure of the contentment she was experiencing, did not move.
The final chills of pleasures slithered from his skin to hers, binding them tighter than Ginny could ever have imagined. Eventually, he slid out of her and pulled her into his arms. She kissed him tenderly. She fell asleep, leaving him to savor this new piece of magic. A small smile crept on his lips.
I don't know who was your first, he thought, but you were a virgin of pleasure and no longer are.
And that, as he well knew, had been sufficient to solidly link two people long before Christianity and its idealization of virginity had made the first time the only one that mattered.
***
Ginny took Hadrien Prewett's hand, cursing Fate for making him the Malfoys' closest, living, male relative. She knew that behind her veil she was unrecognizable, particularly since he had never seen her in person, but she couldn't quell her unease. They walked down the aisle, slowly, her dress trailing behind her. Behind the altar stood Frollo Yaxley, Minister of Blood Purity, clad in dark-red robes. To his left, Draco, his imposing features softened by the look of surprise and happiness Ginny's arrival had caused, was eyeing his bride greedily.
Midday light was dimmed by the thick foliage that rose high above Rivendell, so that everything was bathed in a white half-shadow. Ginny, relying on the protection given by her veil, glanced about her as she neared Draco. She knew very few of the richly dressed witches and wizards, though she was neither surprised nor glad to recognize a few. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, their once savage and emaciated features made plump by a year of respectable existence, stood next to their daughter Cecilia and little Leo. At Cecilia's side were Vivian Silverspring, three men who looked like her brothers, and their parents, all so tall and blond they could have been elves. Narcissa Malfoy, regal and calmly delighted, couldn't tear her eyes from her son's figure. The love and pride she bore him were limpid, visible to all.
On the other side of the aisle, Blaise Zabini stood next to Catalina, his mother, a startlingly gorgeous woman of dark skin and fair eyes. Next to them were a young woman whose milk-toffee skin looked delicious, emerging as it did from her beige dress, and a man whose arm was thrown paternally around her shoulders. Ginny guessed that they were Serafina and Mister Zabini, and she immediately conceived great dislike and jealousy for the former when she noticed the longing look she was giving Draco. Pansy Parkinson, flanked by her clearly unhappy parents, had dark circles around her eyes and a pale-green dress, both of which made her look unhealthily pale.
Behind them, right and left, were scattered the Goyles, Flints, Crabbes, Davies, Goldstein, and few others whose resemblance to Hogwarts students was striking. Of the two hundred or so present, Ginny could call none friend or family, except for, unfortunately-
Hadrien Prewett, his gray hair still streaked with pale orange, kissed Ginny's hand and handed her over to Draco Malfoy. The groom pressed four little kisses on her fingers, and then guided her to the altar where they kneeled before Frollo Yaxley. The Minister peered at them from above his crooked nose, his icy eyes squinting in a way that made his entire face appear demented.
"Welcome, wizards and witches, to the celebration of the union between Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Vassil," Frollo Yaxley began, his voice like a blunt razor. "This man, descendant of a most noble pure-blooded family, is an examp-"
Ginny promptly stopped listening to the old man's eugenic sermon, feeling her temper rise when he started lauding the purity of both their bloods and how that was precisely what the future of wizard kind needed. Beside her, Draco was playing idly with her fingers; more than once he repressed a sigh, knowing that the assembly of their guests scrutinized them eagerly to find a flaw, and that appearing bored on one's wedding would be a major blunder.
"-do you wish to take Ginevra Vassil as your wife?"
"I do," Draco answered just in time.
"And Ginevra Vassil, do you wish to take Draco Malfoy as your husband?"
"I do," she said, having been brought back to reality by the sound of Draco's voice.
Yaxley made their wands hover above the altar then murmured "Nuptaligo". A bubble formed around the wands, deflating until they were coated with its silver wall.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Yaxley announced as the silver shimmer disappeared from the wands.
Thunderous applause arose. Draco helped Ginny up and lifted the veil off her face. He peered into her golden eyes and sealed her uncertain smile with a kiss. She responded passionately. As the clapping subsided, they turned to the guests and smiled. More than one person was startled to note the resemblance they bore to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy at that moment. Showers of flowers sprinkled everyone with white. Draco and Ginevra Malfoy walked up the aisle, Ginny nestled in his arms, Draco's eyes filled with contentment. Flashes crackled, illuminating the happy couple with lightning-like flares.
Narcissa seized Draco and Ginny's hands, beaming.
"You make me so happy," she said softly, the truth in her words revealed by the sparkle in her eyes.
Draco kissed her hand deferentially, but Ginny, overwhelmed by the happenings, embraced her mother-in-law in a warm hug. At first it felt like holding a doll made of wooden sticks, so thin, fragile, and rigid Narcissa seemed, but when she relaxed into the hug, Ginny felt like she had achieved something. Draco watched them, imperceptibly touched. He was then monopolized by Blaise Zabini, who slapped him in the back and congratulated him about marrying such a fine witch.
"You don't know her," Draco growled, half-amused, half-irritated.
"No, I don't," Blaise answered absently, as if precisely he did but didn't feel like sharing his thoughts. "I don't…"
Draco accepted the congratulations of Horst, Catalina, and Serafina Zabini, the latter of which kept throwing languorous looks at the groom. Blaise murmured, "Vixen," in her ear but laughed pleasantly at his little sister's infatuation. The Parkinsons were next, distinctively warmer with Draco than they were with Ginny. When the four of them began talking of the good old times, Pansy's complexion brightening as she saw Ginny ignored, the new Mrs. Malfoy looked about and grinned calmly to all the bystanders. Suddenly, the air was knocked out of her by a little body.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Leo Lestrange said, his arms around her hips, his face on her stomach.
"Hello there," Ginny said, her smile now genuine. "What's up, little Leo?"
"I managed to make Bluebell Flames," he whispered. "Of course, they weren't blue, they were actually pink, but that doesn't matter much, does it?"
"No, of course not. Congratulations," Ginny said, bending to ruffle his hair.
"Actually, he should be the one congratulating you," a rich, grave voice said.
Ginny looked up and found herself peering into Bellatrix Lestrange's dark, heavy-lidded eyes. The woman was dressed in somber prune, her thick and glossy hair hanging down her back. Next to her, Rodolphus Lestrange eyed her leeringly, and Ginny understood who Leo had inherited his clear blue eyes from. Something in Rodolphus' gnarled features, in his aquiline nose, hollow cheeks, and aggressive lips made Ginny feel uncomfortable, and she turned to greet Cecilia Lestrange.
"Congratulations," Cecilia said, her hair sliding from her thin shoulders to partially dissimulate her face. It formed a dark brown curtain, behind which her shady eyes and voluptuous lips often hid. Ginny could not tell how similar to her parents Cecilia was, since despite her usually distant and effaced manners, she sometimes displayed bursts of violence that reminded Ginny of Bellatrix.
"Thank you," Ginny said, repeating her thanks as Bellatrix and Rodolphus added their congratulations to their daughter's.
They moved on to Draco, Bellatrix exasperatedly shoving Leo ahead of her. The Bullstrodes and Goyles followed shortly, congratulating Ginny as if they had known her all their life. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Goyle and Romilda Nott pounced on Ginny like unsatisfied Erinyes.
"Congratulations, my dear," Romilda purred, effusively kissing Ginny.
"Yes," Millicent engulfed Ginny in her rather bulky arms, her heavy jaw kissing more of Ginny's cheeks than her lips did.
Pansy had stayed a little behind, eyeing Ginny, as usual, with a mix of resentment and defeat. She walked up to the bride and took her hands in hers. Parkinson's violet gaze plunged in Ginny's amber eyes.
"You know I am not happy about you and Draco getting married," she said slowly, speaking her dislike for the first time since they had met, "as he was supposed to become my husband. I can't bring myself to wish you a happy marriage, and I won't. But know that if I do resent you for this, I will get over it, and that the only congratulations you will get for me are congratulations for managing to tie Draco down."
Ginny stood there, shocked by her soft bluntness, almost touched by it. She thought of how she would have felt if a mysterious girl had emerged out of nowhere and swept Harry off his feet and away from her, despite everyone's wish that Ginny became Ginevra Potter, and she understood. She hugged Pansy, who tensed immediately, but returned the gesture, awkwardly.
Vivian Silverspring congratulated Ginny, her manners smooth, her speech sounding rehearsed, as she then introduced her brothers, Gawain, Gaheris, and Garet. They bowed to her and threw her a winsome smile, the same plastered grin on their three handsome faces. She returned it, superficial and bright, and with it she greeted other guests until her maxillaries ached. Eventually, the flow of guests diminished as they were ushered toward the dining pavilion. Draco, who had been overwhelmed with his father's old friends and wives, pulled himself from all the inconsequential chatter to find Ginny. She was busy blowing kisses at Lorelei Prewett, her unsuspecting cousin, who had had the misfortune of being, according to her family, a Squib. Lorelei was one of the children Ginny often visited when she went to the MCCD.
"Save those kisses for someone who needs them, woman," Draco growled.
"Like who?" Ginny asked innocently, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He kissed her, and the crystalline noise that she made when happy emanated from her throat. She pressed herself against him urgently. He ended the kiss when he realized he had begun tugging on her dress.
"Come on," he said, his voice husky, "the dinner won't start without us."
"I'm not hungry," she pouted, "for food, at least."
His eyes, dark with desire, begged her to say no more. So Ginny grinned, caressed his cheek, and, taking his hand, dragged him to the dinner pavilion.
They joined their guests under the cascades of cloth that formed the pavilion. Draco and Ginevra sat next to each other at the major table. Next to Draco sat Narcissa, and next to Ginny, Blaise. She was beginning to understand the extent of the Gryffindors' misconceptions regarding the relation between Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle; they had completely miscalculated, as it was becoming clear to her that Blaise Zabini had truly been Malfoy's second-if anyone's second at all.
The appetizers were being served when Blaise ended the conversation he was having with Pansy and stood up. He tapped his wand against his wine-glass, a loud, clear tinkle ringing as he did so.
"Witches and wizards, welcome to the wedding of Draco and Ginevra Malfoy!" Blaise began, accompanying his speech with a heart-melting smile and large gestures. "It gives me great pleasure to be here, in your company, in their company, and to celebrate a union which promises to bring much happiness to the entire Wizarding community." His words sounded oddly like Frollo Yaxley's, though he managed to add a hint of derision in his tone that made Ginny wonder. "I met Ginevra a few weeks ago, and I have to say, Draco, you made the right choice. Has anyone ever met a more charming woman? Look at her, please, and tell me. Have you ever, in your life, run into a witch whose beauty is more startling, whose wit is more tantalizing, whose natural grace-"
Narcissa coughed.
"Oh yes, that's right… I am Draco's best man, not Ginevra's… So, as I was saying, Draco and I have been friends since we were born. Well, since he was born at least, as I am the oldest-and, as such, smarter, nicer, much more handsome, though that didn't prevent him from stealing most of my girlfriends during and after Hogwarts. In any case, we were raised together; we learned how to walk together, how to play Quidditch together, how to do magic and yield a wand together-remember, Draco, how those games ended?"
Narcissa and Catalina Zabini exchanged amused glances, knowing full well that. at the time, they hadn't been particularly pleased to find a wand emerging from Blaise's nose or Draco's ear.
"We discovered girls at about the same time, too. Cecilia, I must say, we are both dreadfully sorry for those pigtails of yours we cut that one time. And Pansy, we truly didn't mean for you to fall from the tree house, though you have to admit, you were asking for it, trying to bully us around… But that's beside the point now, as we quickly became paragons of maturity and virtue. Our years at Hogwarts were, ah… more controlled, shall we say, though they prepared us well for our entry into the world."
That's a nice euphemism, saying that bullying students in the year below prepared you to become Death Eaters. Couldn't have put it better myself, Ginny thought.
"But when we got out, oh man," Blaise continued impudently, "those were the days. You were at the head of the Malfoy empire, I began understanding the complexity of my father's job, and we would meet at the end of the week to moan about our work and get trashed in pubs all over the world."
Few were those who chuckled, but they were the ones who had either followed the young men there or seen their faces and read of their doings in the press the next morning.
"But that also taught us something." Incredulous grins met that statement. "No, no, I mean it. We learned that, first, work, no matter what you may think, is never as painful as a hangover; second, real friends will stay with you no matter what. Pansy, Cecilia, Vivian, thank you for stupefying us that time when we thought running around naked in Muggle London could be fun. And third, listen to your elders, particularly when they say that mixing Firewhiskey with Pepperup Potion is not a good idea."
A faintly green tinge appeared on Draco's face as he remembered what the aftermath of that mixture had been. Vivian and Millicent couldn't repress a snigger.
"And then Lucius passed away," Blaise continued abruptly, dampening the mood, "and Draco stopped going out with us. In fact, he stopped going out, period. No more dinners, dances, crazy parties… He did his work dutifully, but would then disappear. Coincidentally, that was also the time when I managed to keep a girlfriend for more than a month. But even that wasn't worth the look of somber sadness that followed Draco like a shadow. It took Ginevra here-did I already say what a superb young woman she is?-it took Ginevra to bring back the Draco we knew."
Ginny glanced sharply at Draco. Was it possible that she, of all people, could actually have changed such an imperturbable and cold person? Draco, his lips stretched in a small smile, looked straight at Blaise, neither agreeing nor denying. Narcissa was glad to see that her efforts hadn't been unnoticed.
"Since he met you, Ginevra, he's been to Pansy's reception, he went to Rodolphus' birthday, and he was seen at a few Quidditch games. Hell! He even held his own party! Two, actually, if you include the wedding. So, of course, some will say he still hasn't gotten drunk in the past few weeks or stolen my girlfriend, but we're working on the first problem, and I've fended off the second by not having a girlfriend. That being said, I do hope he will stop cavorting and stick to his lovely wife, because if he doesn't, I most certainly will."
People laughed and clapped, and Draco gruffly hugged Blaise. Ginny wondered which of her friends would have given a speech about her. Luna? People would have been unnerved. Or maybe Nefer Amon, though Ginny wasn't sure her family would have appreciated what Nefer had to say about their few years at Hogwarts… In the end, it would probably have been Hermione, whose maturity would have depicted an acceptable portrait, and her insight, a realistic one. Said insight had helped them more than once, for better or for worse…
***
Ginny has returned to Durmstrang, haggard, drained by a day of sobbing herself to hoarseness. Hermione, nestled in the couch, is looking at a picture of the Weasley family, Harry, and herself, taken around the time when she and Ron had discovered they might be more than friends. She stares long and hard at it. She is incapable of believing that most of them have been reaped in a single night. She doesn't even think of Harry and Ginny's feelings right now, convinced that their pain is like hers, bottomless and exclusive, shunning commiseration.
A quick, sharp knock on Hermione's door.
She drags herself to the door. Right now, she really, really doesn't care who it is. It could be them, coming to get her like they got the man she loved and his family, but it doesn't matter to her. Nothing does. So she opens the door and finds herself face to face with Percy Weasley.
How did he survive? is the first angry question she asks herself.
But because of the gaunt desolation that has carved the flesh out of his face, and his imploring, "Please," she lets him in. She allows him to sit on her couch, if only to better kill him afterwards. His eyes are buried in his already emaciated face, a lugubrious glint running through them occasionally. Percy twists his hands. Percy's lips twitch. Percy has guilt inscribed in every inch of his skin, and Hermione knows it.
"I did it," he croaks.
Only then does she find herself unable to believe him. She needs to know more, however, so, calculatingly, she says what he wants her to say.
"Why?"
"Scrimgeour," he says, his voice as hollow as the rest of him.
"But the Dark Ma-"
"Don't you get it?" Percy hisses. "I was their Secret-Keeper. That medallion you wear around you neck, with the paper in it, the paper you read "The Burrow" from and that allows you to go there, it has my handwriting on it. You can't not believe me. See for yourself."
Percy inserts two fingers in his mouth and pulls out a black, pulsating string. He hands it to Hermione, who knows that only grief allows Wizards to pull out such memories from their throats. She knows that, and also that these are not tampered with. They are such a part of one's being that depriving one of these is like plucking one's eyes out. Almost gratefully, Hermione takes the beating memory between her fingers. She goes to her bedroom and bends over her Pensieve, sent to her by Minerva McGonagall after the school had closed. The snake-like reminiscence falls in the Pensieve's whirling mists. A loud crash rings throughout the apartment.
Hermione runs to the living room, sees the broken window and few shards of glass on the floor, runs to the window. January's biting wind rushes into the room. Eight floors down, on the frozen pavement, rests a dark figure, looking very much like a broken jumping-jack.
"Pack!" Hermione shrieks, running back into the bedroom as clothes begin folding on their own and the furniture shrinks.
(1) Lug was, according to the Tuatha De Danann, a god of warrior magic.
(2) Vegoia was, in Etruscan mythology, one of the primordial goddesses, linked to fertility.
(3)"Nuptaligo" comes from nupta, marriage, and ligo, to bind.
(4) Erinyes are, in Greek mythology, the avengers of wrong. They nagged criminals until they became crazy or died.
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