Author's Note
Hi everyone!! Better late than never, right? I hope so! *grins winningly* My very dear friend Kirsti, who usually does me the honour of being my beta, wasn't able to do so for this chapter for very good reasons so, if you notice anything amiss - it's all my fault! I truly hope you enjoy this chapter - I'm really looking forward to your thoughts and reactions…
Janie xoxo
SORCERERS' NOOK
By JanieB
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In which Harry and Hermione unearth more questions than answers…
Harry and Hermione found they were easily able to keep the cloaked rider in sight due to his horse's slow, careful stepping along the rough dirt road. Harry wasn't sure whether he was glad or not when the thick cloud that had returned to dull the moon's light drifted on, leaving an almost full moon to cast its transparent, silvery beams down through the trees. He was grateful, though, that it enabled them to see well enough not to trip over exposed rocks and ruts in the road. It also allowed them to keep well back from the rider, both of them still uncertain about the possibility of being discovered.
They weren't sure how long they walked, hand in hand, neither speaking for fear of being heard, but after what Harry swore later was well over half an hour, they came to a fork in the road with no signpost to indicate where they were, or where they were going. The rider veered left onto a road that was slightly narrower than the one on which they'd been travelling. As they walked, a light breeze rustled through crops in planted fields to their left, while they could hear the nervous, muffled bleating of a flock of sheep behind a low hedge to their right, no doubt disturbed by the sound of the passing horse and rider.
Ahead of them, Harry and Hermione could see towering elm trees flanking the road, their leaves moving very gently with the soft breeze, although they made hardly any sound. The rider disappeared into the wavering shadows of the trees and as he did so, the soft clopping of his horse's hooves gave way to a crunching sound and Harry and Hermione quickened their pace. When they reached the first of the elms, they both glanced down to see that the rough road had been replaced with a reasonably level surface covered in what appeared to be light-coloured gravel. They stepped forwards gingerly onto the loose stone, expecting to hear the same crunching sound caused by the horse's hooves; when they heard nothing, they looked at each other, puzzled.
`We'll have to figure it out later,' said Harry. Then, with a slight jerk of his head in the direction taken by the rider, he added, `C'mon, we don't want to lose him.' Hermione nodded in agreement and they set off at a smart pace to catch up with the rider.
After walking barely ten steps on, they heard the faint crunch of footsteps behind them and immediately froze. With their hands still clasped, their heads whipped around in unison and looking back, they could see the outline of a tall, cloaked figure moving slowly towards them, obviously endeavouring to be as quiet as possible, for after the noise of his initial step onto the gravel, he made almost no sound at all. When he was almost upon them, it became evident that he was oblivious to their presence, for he walked straight towards them and they found themselves moving instinctively aside.
`Harry,' whispered Hermione as close to his ear as she could reach, `perhaps it was him back in the clearing that Voldemort's look-alike heard, not us, and -'
Harry nodded, pulling urgently on Hermione's hand, relief in his voice as he said quietly, `Must've been - and that makes more sense. It'll also be a lot easier if we can't be seen or heard. C'mon, let's keep moving - we don't want to miss anything.'
They hurried on, stopping once more when they reached the end of the avenue of elms, moving to their left to stand behind the last old tree; ahead of them was a large circular area, also covered with gravel. They looked across at the front of a large manor house, gleaming whitely in the moonlight. They could see the now dismounted rider standing beside his horse near the entry porch, speaking quietly to a stooped figure that was holding the horse's reins. The stooped figure nodded vigorously before leading the horse away, the rider turning and walking lightly up the two low steps into the porch, his black cloak making an almost sibilant sound on the stone. One of the tall wooden front doors was standing open, held by a very fat, bald man in a brown cloak, the hood puddled around his short, thick neck; he reminded Harry of Horace Slughorn, minus the former potions master's moustache. He was holding a candelabrum aloft, the flames of the candles it held flickering in the night breeze.
Although they could see that the two men were talking by the wavering candlelight, Harry and Hermione were too far away to be able to hear what they were saying. Just then, the hooded figure that had been behind them reappeared, stopping as he drew level with them although he kept back far enough to ensure he remained well within the shadows of the trees. As they watched him, a low bang signalled the closing of the manor door and they turned just in time to see the thin sliver of candlelight beneath the door disappear as the two men inside moved away. As the light vanished, the hooded figure stepped forward out of the shadows and crossed the circular courtyard area, clearly visible in the moonlight. This meant they were able to see his cloak and that it was a deep, dark red colour with silver stitching of some sort on the back, although it was difficult to see what form the stitching took as the cloak swirled and rippled with its wearer's movement.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, nonplussed.
`How are we going to get inside?' whispered Hermione.
Harry grinned. `Alohomora should do it, don't you think?'
Hermione grinned back, knowing Harry was also remembering the very first time she'd used that very same spell. `Will our magic work here? I mean, we can't be seen or heard - it's as though we're not really here - so perhaps we can't use magic, either.'
`Only one way to find out,' said Harry, once again tugging gently on Hermione's hand as they moved forward and away from the cover of the shadows.
As they reached the low steps of the porch, they could hear the red-cloaked figure muttering to himself as he stood at the door; Hermione gasped as he lifted a wand into view. Harry's hand tightened around hers as they watched the thick, wooden door swing open silently. The figure entered swiftly, the door closing behind him so quickly the hem of his cloak barely made it through.
Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then Hermione drew her own wand out, pointing it at the door.
`Alohomora!'
To their dismay, nothing happened.
`I thought so,' said Hermione, sounding disheartened.
`I don't get it,' said Harry. `In a Pensieve you're just always with the person whose memory you're in. So far this is similar in that we can't be seen or heard, so we should just be able to follow the memory.'
`But whose memory is this?'
Harry shrugged, frowning. `We should still just be able to go wherever the memory does,' he insisted.
`I think you're right, Harry,' said Hermione and she grinned at him and pulled on his hand, leading him up the shallow stairs.
`What are you -?' began Harry, but before he could finish, he found himself being drawn towards the door - and then they were through it - then they were inside, and Hermione was smiling triumphantly up at him.
Harry shook his head, chuckling. `Seems rather obvious, doesn't it?' he said wryly.
`It does now,' said Hermione. `Come on, let's find Lord Lookalike.'
*
As the door closed behind him, the red-cloaked stalker stood, unmoving as a statue, listening intently. His eyes moved swiftly around the silent Hall, its tapestry-draped walls wreathed in flickering shadows cast by the few wall sconces left burning. He moved to his left where a wooden armour cabinet was placed beneath a row of high, narrow, arched windows. Removing something from inside his cloak, he slid it beneath the cabinet, pushing it back as far as possible. The object made a scraping noise, that of stone on stone and as he straightened, the stalker turned to look around instinctively, afraid he may have been heard.
Where are you, accursed one, thief of righteous souls?
Flickering light caught his eye - it came from a doorway to his right, in the back wall of the Hall. He crept forward, crossing the Hall almost noiselessly, the faint swish of his cloak on the stone floor the only sound. As he reached the door, he turned so that he stood with his back against the wall, the door now to his left; he could hear voices from within the chamber.
`Your Grace, you risk exposure with these nocturnal excursions!'
`Hold your tongue, Wharton, and keep your place.' The voice made the stalker shudder; it was as cold as a winter wind and lacked humanity.
`I am sorry, your Grace, but you must know that your countenance, if seen, would -'
`Would mean death for the one by whom it was seen.'
`Of course, your Grace.'
`Bestir yourself, Wharton, I am hungry.'
The stalker's suspicions were confirmed; he was outside the manor's kitchen room. He pushed himself away from the wall, crossing swiftly to the other side of the door; it was hinged on the right and stood partially open so that he was now able to see into the room. He managed to prevent a shocked gasp from escaping his lips as his eyes came to rest on the back of the head of the man he'd followed; it was deathly white and completely hairless; he could see only indentations where there should have been ears. Despite finding the sight of his now-unhooded quarry rather unnerving, the red-cloaked figure nevertheless watched, and listened, waiting for the opportune moment…
*
Harry and Hermione hesitated, looking around the large Hall. It was Harry who spotted the red-cloaked figure standing across the other side of the room next to a half open door, his back against the wall. He nudged Hermione gently with his shoulder, pointing. Hermione immediately saw the watching figure then she and Harry turned and looked at each other. With the slightest of nods, they began to make their way across the room.
They were halfway across the hall when the cloaked wizard suddenly moved to the other side of the door, turning as he did, so that they were looking at his back. As the dark red cloak settled around the now perfectly still figure, Hermione's fingers tightened convulsively around Harry's hand. He looked down at her with a questioning frown.
`That insignia! Harry, I've seen it somewhere before!' Hermione whispered urgently, pointing to the silver stitching on the back of the stalker's cloak; it glinted richly as it caught the little light available in the dim hall.
`You can't remember where?' asked Harry.
Hermione shook her head, frustrated.
`It'll come to you,' Harry assured her. `Come on,' he continued, tugging her hand, `let's keep moving.'
As they reached the door through which the stalker was looking, Harry and Hermione got their first glimpse beneath the red hood, both gasping when they saw that the cloaked wizard was wearing some sort of pale mask that covered his whole face.
`Do you think perhaps he's disfigured in some way?' asked Hermione.
Harry shrugged. `Maybe. Hermione, I think - '
But Harry didn't finish saying what he thought because he was interrupted by the sound of something smashing within the kitchen. He looked down and saw the masked wizard pointing his wand through the partially open door.
`You thrice-cursed fool!' Harry and Hermione felt the hairs rise on the back of their necks at the sound of that chillingly familiar voice as it rang out from within the kitchen.
Still holding hands, Harry and Hermione closed their eyes - despite knowing it wasn't really necessary - and stepped forward. When they opened their eyes a second later, they were standing in the kitchen, now facing the door from across the room; through the partially open door they could just discern the pale mask of the stalker. They knew from the flickering shadows thrown around the room that there was a fireplace at their backs while they could see three candelabra, each holding a dozen or so candles, standing in a row down the centre of a long, rough wooden table. At the head of the table, facing them, was seated the Voldemort look-alike. He was glaring at the fat man they'd seen at the front door; the now terrified looking man was still wearing his brown cloak. Although Harry and Hermione couldn't see it as he had his back towards them, the petrified man's face was glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration from his cooking efforts - which now lay spattered on the floor at his feet amongst the shattered shards of a brown platter.
`That masked wizard caused that,' said Harry firmly.
`For what purpose, I wonder,' murmured Hermione.
They watched in horror as the Voldemort look-alike pulled a dark wand from his robes and pointed it at the quivering fat man.
`Please, your Grace,' he whimpered, `my Lord Edmar, I beg you -' His words were cut off abruptly by a long, piercing shriek as he fell to the floor, writhing, blood mixing with the mess on the stone floor from cuts inflicted by the sharp pieces of the broken platter as he thrashed about.
Revolted by the sight, Hermione turned her head and buried her face in Harry's shoulder. Harry instinctively let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her against his chest.
`Hermione, he's coming in!' Harry whispered urgently a few seconds later as he saw the door to the kitchen open a little further. The masked wizard was gently pushing on it and once it was open enough, he moved slowly and soundlessly into the room, his wand held at the ready. Watching from across the room, Harry realised out of the blue that there appeared to be no protective charms in place around or within the manor house. He could only wonder at the arrogance of this Voldemort doppelganger and his obvious belief in his own infallibility - so similar to that of Voldemort-who-had-been-Riddle.
The wizard that the fat man had called "Lord Edmar" rose to his feet, his black cloak whispering as it brushed the stone floor. Harry was certain he saw enjoyment in Edmar's red gleaming eyes as they rested on the writhing, piteously screaming figure on the floor. Edmar was holding his wand pointed at his victim in an almost nonchalant manner, his thin mouth twisted in a macabre smile of pleasure at the torture he was inflicting.
What happened next happened so quickly it took their breath away. Hermione had lifted her head when Harry had spoken and was watching the masked wizard while Harry, despite being sickened by the sight, was glaring at Edmar, wishing desperately he could put a stop to the ghastly torture he was inflicting.
Still unnoticed, the masked wizard lifted his wand arm, obviously ready to strike - but somehow Edmar sensed his presence, perhaps his hearing was preternatural, and he turned with frightful speed, casting what had to be a shield charm because the spell thrown by the masked wizard appeared to bounce off an invisible wall in front of its intended target.
The blood-and-food smeared figure on the floor had fallen still, unconsciousness claiming him the second his torturer's wand was no longer pointed at him.
The masked wizard had leapt awkwardly to one side to avoid his own spell as it rebounded and while he attempted to regain his balance, Edmar swung his wand around so that it pointed at the stumbling wizard's heart, the words of the killing curse falling harshly from the thin, repulsive lips. The masked wizard twisted violently to avoid the spell, throwing himself to the floor as the green light of the death curse blasted into the stone wall above him, showering him with dust and rubble.
Harry and Hermione looked on in horror as the masked wizard's wand left his hand, flying through the air to be caught deftly by Edmar.
`Rise!' roared Edmar, his eyes flashing an even darker red with fury. `I wish to know the fool who would think it possible to kill me before he himself dies!'
The masked wizard lifted himself up slowly, creating a small avalanche as the rubble that covered him fell to the stone floor; dust was drifting in the air making it appear as though he was standing in a strange, powdery mist, the dark red of his cloak dulled by a layer of the grey dust.
`A mask?' sneered Edmar. `What is it you hide? Remove it at once!'
Standing straight, his shoulders thrown back, the masked wizard reached up and pushed his hood off his head, revealing shoulder length, tightly curled black hair. A strange hissing sound issued from Edmar at the sight.
`Who are you?' he demanded, his voice cold and harsh.
`I am Cynric, of Riley Hall,' said the black-haired wizard, his voice deep and powerful. `You, vile creature, I know to be Sivis Edmar, defiled servant of the Realm of Evil.'
Because Edmar had his back to them, Harry and Hermione were unable to see the expression of pure loathing and disgust on his face as Cynric announced himself.
`You!' spat Edmar. `The black filth who has no right to the noble blood of Wizardkind!'
`Speak not to me with your evil tongue!' shouted Cynric as he reached up and removed his mask, throwing it down, his brown eyes blazing from a clean-shaven face that was as black as velvet. `It is I who belong to a truly noble line. It is you, Edmar, that is reviled filth! It is you that has debased the name of Wizardkind with your cowardly submission to darkness and evil! With your murder and torture of innocents!'
Edmar stared at Cynric through narrowed eyes and when he spoke, his voice held a deadly, sinister silkiness. `Innocents you say? Surely you cannot mean those two meanly-statured males from your litter of filthy brats?'
Cynric growled - and there was fury and anguish and sorrow in the sound. Then he raised his arms, his fists clenched; loathing and revulsion blazed in his eyes as he looked at Edmar, his voice filling the room as he roared: `They were my sons!'
Edmar through back his head and laughed. Yet strangely, instead of increasing Cynric's rage, Edmar's harsh, cruel laughter seemed to calm him down and he spoke softly and lovingly.
`Edgardo was but thirteen in years and Farrell only eleven. They had greater valour and honour in one of each of their young fingers than you could ever possess in a hundred lifetimes, Edmar. They were loved and cherished.'
`Valour? Honour?' Edmar sneered. His voice sounded almost bored as he continued, `You know nothing of which you speak, fool. You know nothing of power, of immortality. These are things of importance. You, Cynric, and your wretched tribe are as nothing in the face of such things.'
Edlyn, my beloved wife, you were right! He spurns the values and virtues that are precious to us and all those like us! His soul can only be lost and he will be unable to continue without it. I must place the Just Curse upon him to ensure that there will no more deaths or tortures - I must not fail, for your sake and the sake of our remaining children and in honour and memory of our lost sons!
`Those things that are significant,' said Cynric sombrely, splitting his concentration between what he would say aloud and the silent words of an oft-rehearsed curse…
I call on the great Strength held within the Righteous Magic of Noble Wizards.
I draw together that Strength and that Magic to this Place and Time.
`to such as you,'
In the name of all Noble and Righteous Wizards,
I use that Strength and Magic to belay the Evil here present,
`are not the true tools of power.'
To choke and remove the breath and life from this Vessel of Evil.
And I name the Vessel: Sivis Edmar, Duke of Dorset!
`Such belong to one being only,'
The Tablet has been carved and placed,
And so now justly cursed is Sivis Edmar,
Lord of Evil, servant of the Overlord of the Dark Realm.
`a being that could not ever be known by such as you,'
The Manner of the Just Curse is entrusted to the Stone.
`for He counts as important,'
The Stone has been laid,
The Just Curse is now cast.
`those values you eschew in your foolish evil.'
And so now shall Evil perish,
And from its ruins shall nothing rise.
Perfectus. Ilicet.
`And so I am gone from here, at your hand, knowing where I go, and who will greet me. And also knowing where you will find yourself, come your time, and knowing also that you will truly deserve your fate -'
`Silence!' roared Edmar. `I am done with your foolish ramblings! Avada Kedavra!'
And with a flash of green, the tall, strong figure of Cynric collapsed, his eyes wide and staring as he sank to the floor, the shadow of a smile on his lips…
*
Harry and Hermione would never know that during their sojourn from the night-shrouded clearing to the manor house of the Lord of Evil, a tall, willowy woman was standing in the kitchen garden of her home some distance away, staring up at the almost full moon, a large, leather bound book clasped to her breast. She had been there for some time, silent and still; her maid watched from the small window beside the kitchen door, worried for her mistress.
A young girl, aged about four years, entered the room and crossed to where the maid was standing. Standing on tiptoes, she could just see through the window, her eyes sad as they came to rest on the statuesque woman standing in the moonlight. She reached over and tugged on the maid's skirts.
`Is Maman well, Yedda? Is she casting a spell?' she asked in a trembling voice.
The maid looked down at the young girl. `Sweet Maitane, you should be abed. You can see for yourself that your mother is well.'
`Then why is she watching the moon in the garden?'
Yedda gave the little girl a sad smile. `She is worried for your father, little one, as do all good wives of brave and courageous men. She would worry more would she to know you were awake at such an hour. Come, I'll walk with you to your room.'
As she took the little girl's hand, the maid glanced over her shoulder one last time and what she saw through the window caused her hands to fly to her face, an inarticulate cry escaping her. All thoughts of her young charge fled her mind as she dropped the little girl's hand and pulled open the door with such force it slammed back against the wall. She ran as fast as she could towards the prostrate figure of her mistress while Maitane, momentarily forgotten, followed as quickly as her young legs would allow.
`Mistress! Mistress Edlyn!' cried Yedda as she fell to her knees beside the still figure, her hands grasping the shawl-clad shoulders and shaking them.
`Maman!' cried the little girl breathlessly in her piping voice as she reached the two women; there was also fear and terror in her tone at the sight of her unconscious mother.
`Maitane!' cried Yedda, distressed that she had forgotten the child. `You must return to your room, please!'
`No! I want to stay with Maman!'
Yedda barely heard her - she was once more trying to rouse her mistress, but to no avail. The now crying maid wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on her knees, forgetting about sending the child away.
`He is gone! Master Cynric has been taken!' she cried desolately, scaring the young girl even more.
`Maman!' screamed the child, kneeling beside her mother, her small hands clutching at her mother's arm. `Please wake, Maman!'
At the sound of the child's terrified voice, the woman stirred. Yedda sobbed with relief, pulling her own shawl from her shoulders and placing it beneath her mistress's head, berating herself for not having done so earlier.
`Mistress!' she repeated softly, prising the woman's hands from the book they'd clutched, even as she'd fallen; the sobbing maid took her mistress's hands in her own and, finding them cold, began to rub them.
`Yedda?' The woman's voice was soft and hesitant.
`Yes, Mistress, it is I!'
`And…Maitane?'
`Oh, Maman!' The terrified little girl could speak no more and dissolved into heartbreaking sobs, tears streaming down her face.
The woman struggled to push herself into a sitting position, the book falling aside, unnoticed, as she reached out for her daughter, pulling her into her arms; she glared at her maid over the small head resting under her chin.
`I am so sorry, Mistress! She caught me unawares in the kitchen! I was watching, waiting for you!'
The little girl's sobs had subsided at her mother's familiar, loving touch as she curled up in her lap; she seemed to become oblivious to anything but the embrace of her mother's arms and the comfort she was deriving from them.
Dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her daughter's head, Edlyn looked across at Yedda, her eyes filled with an awful, empty sadness.
Silent tears fell from the maid's eyes. `He is gone, is he not?' she whispered.
Edlyn nodded, her grief so profound she was unable to speak.
`Did he finish it? Is the Tablet in place?' asked Yedda, reaching out to absentmindedly stroke the little girl's back in an automatic gesture of comfort.
Edlyn nodded once more, her own tears, against which she had fought, now running silently down her cheeks. She thought her heart was breaking into so many tiny little pieces inside her, the pain was so great…
`My Cynric, my brave, wondrous Cynric completed his self-appointed task,' she sobbed, `the Tablet was secreted and the Just Curse was put in full upon the Lord of Evil.'
`Then all will be well.'
Edlyn looked across at her maid - her friend and her ally - and smiled a wan smile she didn't feel.
I believe so and hope so, dear Yedda, she thought, and I will pray so, every day! But…we will never know for certain… not in our lifetime. I pray that my beloved Cynric is not gone from us in vain…
*
As Cynric sank to the stone floor, dead, Harry and Hermione found themselves enveloped by the same swirling cloud of darkness that had earlier brought them into this memory.
After feeling the jolt of "landing", they opened their eyes and found themselves once more in the reading alcove, standing as they had in the kitchen where Cynric had died - Harry's arm around Hermione's shoulders; they looked at each other, speechless, horrified by what they had just witnessed.
It was Hermione who first found her voice.
`Harry, I remember now where I've seen that insignia before.'
Harry looked a little dumbstruck. `What?' he asked, deliberately keeping his arm around Hermione's shoulders, wanting to keep her close for as long as possible.
`The insignia on Cynric's cloak - I've seen it at Dean's.'
Harry shook his head slightly; it was buzzing uncomfortably with images of what they'd just seen.
`Hermione, now you remember this?'
Hermione gave a small shrug. `I don't know why, but it just came to me.'
Harry finally, reluctantly, dropped his arm and putting his hand on Hermione's waist guided her gently towards their seats. `Come on, let's sit down.'
Once seated, Harry turned to her, wishing he could take her hand but deciding it wouldn't be wise.
`So, you saw it at Dean's? That does makes sense, though, doesn't it?' he said.
Hermione nodded. `Since the Book belongs to the Rileys and Dean is the latest descendant.'
`So where at Dean's did you see it?' asked Harry.
`You've seen that cloth that Dean has over that old trunk he uses for a coffee table? It has a pattern of that same insignia woven into it.'
`Well,' said Harry with a lopsided grin, `I can't say I have. I don't think it's the sort of thing blokes notice.'
Hermione chuckled. `Now that's so very true!' she cried, while Harry good-humouredly rolled his eyes.
`So, what next?' asked Harry, looking down at the book, still open at the first contents page.
Hermione sighed. `Do you know, I'm positive we're missing something - some sort of key to the best way to use this book instead of this hit and miss method.'
`Isn't it more likely that the entries were made by each Riley as it was handed down and we have to just keep going through them?'
Hermione leant forward and propped her chin in the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on the table beside the book which she gazed down at thoughtfully as she answered, `That is possible, but I think it's also possible that one of those Rileys organised the contents somewhere along the line.'
`How on earth would they do that?' asked Harry, raising his eyebrows. `Look at how much is in there!'
`Well,' replied Hermione, `since this is not just a book, it's actually a magical object, so the magic it contains can be modified, added to. As long as no one used a spell to prevent that.'
`Maybe, but Hermione, I don't want to ruin your fun. Aside from having to go home and no doubt face more demands from Esmerelda and Verity about returning the book, shouldn't we -'
Hermione sat up abruptly. `Oh no!' she cried, scandalised. `We can't return it before we know more!'
`Hermione, that book rightfully belongs to Dean. I think we need to speak to him and ask his permission to keep it so that we can keep searching it.'
Hermione looked crushed, but she nodded. `I know you're right,' she said, her voice tinged with regret, `I just wish we could - well, go for it!'
`Why doesn't that surprise me?' laughed Harry.
`Harry, it's still early - not even lunch time - we have time to look at more in the book.'
Harry sighed. `Do you think that's wise, Hermione? I was going to say, shouldn't we work on what we're going to tell everyone tonight?'
`We'd still have time to do that if we looked at just one more chapter,' said Hermione, her tone earnest, her gaze entreating.
Harry sighed again. `Well, I can't say I'm not just as curious as you are, Hermione.' And as if I'd be able to say no to you when you look at me like that, Hermione Granger…
Hermione tucked her arm through Harry's and smiled up at him. `Good,' she said, `then let's get on with it.'
*
Elsewhere, while Harry and Hermione were sequestered with the Book of Records, the thoughts of some of those who would be attending the meeting at Hogwarts that evening were centred on that night and what was involved in being there…
Ron, for instance, was rather pleased the meeting had been brought forward from Friday to Wednesday. This was because on the day the meeting had been originally scheduled, he, Seamus, Colin and Luna had been invited to have dinner with most of the Kenmare Kestrels. This was something Seamus in particular was highly excited about being Irish, and didn't want to miss. As it was, they were due to leave Anglesey for Kenmare tomorrow - Thursday - morning. In Ron's mind, it had all worked out rather well; they now knew they would be leaving for Hogwarts late that afternoon to attend the meeting, after which they'd stay overnight and then head off to Ireland the next morning. And Luna would be with him the whole time.
Ron found it highly amusing that since the beginning of their working journey, he'd been looking forward to their stay with the Holyhead Harpies, all of whom were quite attractive and for the most part, unattached, witches. That was, of course, before Luna had come along. After that, Ron had looked on happily as Seamus and Colin had revelled in the attention of the all-witch team. Luna had been quite composed about a number of the team members' attempts to "catch his eye" as she'd commented to Ron - after all, aside from being the next best thing to Harry Potter as a member of the Trio, he was also a celebrity in his own right in the world of Quidditch. The Harpies' collective disappointment that he was "taken" had simply made Luna look quite proud as he stayed by her side, smiling rather smugly at the disappointed Harpies all the while…
Ginny, on the other hand, wasn't so thrilled about the meeting being brought forward as it would mean seeing Harry even sooner. She wasn't sure how she'd feel seeing him again so soon after breaking up with him, although she was relieved that there would be a large group of people attending. This would mean, hopefully, that the situation would be less awkward.
Aside from the pain of losing Harry, Ginny was also hurting from the lingering sadness in her heart for the loss of her closeness with Hermione - and the fact that she wasn't at liberty to even explain any changes to her best friend. Whilst all this was foremost in her mind, she was aware that the reason for this meeting would have to take the upper hand on the night.
Minerva McGonagall was kept busy all that Wednesday afternoon with the necessary arrangements for overseeing the arrival of those attending the meeting, ensuring those staying the night in the castle would be catered for as well as making certain that simple things, such as food and drink, would be plentiful.
The headmistress didn't regret for an instant her offer to hold the meeting at Hogwarts, despite the fact that it involved quite a lot of work, what with the Minister for Magic attending together with various other heads of department. As she sat back with a much-needed cup of tea, the headmistress thought of how she was relieved that the current Minister was taking this threat seriously. She remembered with great disapproval and chagrin the reactions - and lack of action - of some of his predecessors, who had ignored even the most obvious signs, to the detriment of Wizardkind...
Meanwhile, the scattered Weasley family, while all concerned about this new danger and still somewhat "battle-weary" from the war with Voldemort, hardly gave a thought to any hardships involved in attending the meeting or what would be required of them to fight this new threat - they would just simply be there and do what had to be done - Gryffindors all, indeed.
And so, as the day drew to a close and the various officials arrived and were seen to, it was Minerva McGonagall who was left waiting in her office for the two people without whom the evening couldn't proceed: Harry and Hermione.
*
It was a little after three o'clock in the afternoon when Harry and Hermione once more found themselves in the secured reading alcove. having returned from viewing yet another memory in the Book of Records.
Horrified, they gazed at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then Hermione said, `Harry, we must get Dean alone tonight and talk to him. We must make sure we can come back tomorrow and continue our research! We can't stop now!'
Harry looked steadily at her. `Of course we will Hermione, but we've already discussed this - right now we need to think about what we're going to say at the meeting tonight, or had you forgotten about that?'
Hermione looked crestfallen. `Yes. No. Not really, but I'm so excited about the history we're uncovering, horrible as some of it is -'
`That everything else pales into comparison,' finished Harry, doing his best not to smile indulgently.
Hermione stood up abruptly. `I just feel so frustrated, Harry! Look at what else we've found out today! I feel as though I want to just stay here and keep searching the memories of this book! I don't want to waste time sleeping or eating, I don't want to - well, I feel as though I don't want to leave - I don't want to have to go to Hogwarts - I just want to -'
`Find out,' said Harry as he stood up also. `Hermione, I know what you're feeling, I know you, remember? But -'
`We have to go to Hogwarts tonight,' finished Hermione resignedly.
Harry nodded.
Hermione gave him a weary smile. `I know we do. Of course we do.' She sighed. `And we will.'
`And we'll speak to Dean,' said Harry. `I'm sure he'll let us continue searching the history in the book. And I agree with you totally - it's very important we keep going. I'm sure there's a lot more information in there that will somehow help with the Dark One.'
`I'm convinced it will,' said Hermione, taking out her wand and stepping across to where the alcove entrance was blocked by the blue "door", tapping the six blue tiles in the reverse order she'd done so previously, while Harry returned the book to its storage box.
`Let's just hope we have time to find out everything we need to know before someone is hurt,' said Harry, worried, as the opening to the alcove reappeared.
`If I have anything to do with it, we will,' said Hermione determinedly as she walked out of the alcove, Harry on her heels, carrying the box.
`I don't doubt that for a second,' murmured Harry under his breath as he followed her, greatly enjoying the view he had of Hermione as she walked ahead of him…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author's Note
Fingers crossed, I'll "see" you in about a week with the next chapter dear readers! I'll certainly be working hard at doing just that, believe me! Janie xoxo
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