A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

Chapter 61- The Ties That Bind


“My Lord, I have solved the riddle of the scroll.” The old man trembled, bowed on ragged knees before Lucius Malfoy.

“How is it that you, a lowly servant of a Ministry lackey, have solved what others cannot? Are you not but a Mudblood?” Lucius spat contemptuously on the old man’s bald head.

“Yes My Lord! I am not worthy to be in your presence!”

“Then answer the question you old fool, before I lose patience with you!”

“My Lord, I was a servant for the master you had working on the scroll before he passed on. He taught me many things, including the decoding of ancient texts and the equations he used. I am not versed in theory, but enough information stayed with me to muddle through.”

Lucius lifted the small, scrawny man by the nape of his neck, holding him over his head. “You will tell me the exact location of the next part of the Prophecy or I will disembowel you and let my pets have you!”

“Snape Manor My Lord!”

Lucius tightened his grip on the man’s neck, slowly cutting off his airway. “You lie! I am the owner of that estate. If there were an ancient piece of magic there, I would have been aware of it by now!”

“My…. Lord…. the….scroll…ah, ah,” the old man’s eyes started rolling back into his head as the blood supply lessened dramatically.

Lucius sighed and dropped the man unceremoniously to the floor, suppressing an enraged urge to viciously kick the man below him.

“Speak!”

The squib rubbed his throat, groaning where he lay. “My Lord, the scroll gave numbers at the bottom which were misinterpreted to be in Scotland. They were, in fact, latitude and longitude. I took the liberty of consulting a map and narrowed it down to the neighborhood. When I did an exact GPS location, it revealed Snape Manor to be the exact spot on the scroll.”

“What is this GPS?” Malfoy muttered, robes sashaying elegantly as he spun on heel to pace.

“GPS is a Muggle technology My Lord. I brought the old master’s Muggle technology with me. It was quite useful in obtaining this information.”

Lucius knelt suddenly, dragging the squib up by his shirt front. “You will be my new interpreter for the scrolls. You will stay here, in the lowest chambers of the residence. I will have all of your… Muggle devices relocated here. My servant Rabastan Lestrange will be your contact. Give him all of this information when he arrives. I will make the necessary arrangements for the next piece of the Prophecy to be found.”

The eyes of a madman glinted dangerously behind a lock of silver-blonde hair that strayed past his nose. “If you fail me, old man, you know what the consequences are.”

“Yes My Lord!” he cowered, even still in Malfoy’s grasp.

“Do you know what this means?” Lucius shouted. “There will be no stopping my ascension to power above Mudbloods, so-called inbred Purebloods, indeed, the wizards and witches of old will bow down before me!” he screeched, practically rattling the window pane with the cacophony of insanity that issued from his throat as he shook the old man violently.

“Do you want to know a little secret?” he whispered, pulling the poor shaking man closer. Not waiting for an answer he replied, “Before the demise of the Dark Lord, I discovered a little trinket.” Lucius pulled out a chain from around his neck, a slender silver rope that held a ring unlike any other.

Malfoy grasped the ring between his thumb and forefinger, shoving it under the nose of the man he held suspended yet by the front of his shirt. “This, my polluted friend, is not just any ring. Oh, no. It has been passed down over millennia, its origin lost in time. The Dark Lord had a fondness for hardscrabble antiques, anything that dripped with age or power.” He snorted derisively. “The fool never did anything with half of it. Mores the pity for him, and the advantage for me,” came the haughty sniff and wrinkled nose, as if smelling the trash he held in one hand while speaking. He dropped the old man again but ignored him this time, continuing to pace.

“I stumbled upon a text as old as the ring. It was magic-kept, very fragile and in an arcane language. Your old master translated part of it for the Dark Lord, but he never made the connection between it and the ring before the final battle. Do you know what that connection was?”

“No, My Lord,” answered the man, unsure as to why his Lord was telling him all this.

“This was the great magician Merlin’s ring!” Lucius exploded into a frenzy, gesticulating madly at the squib. “I escaped with this precious treasure and the Prophecy! They were bound together, but only when the book was revealed to me did I make the connection!”

He rushed forward again, pressing his hands firmly against the sides of the other man’s head, forehead to forehead. “Don’t you see!” he hissed. “The book was destroyed along with the Dark Lord, but I am now master of the ring! It ties the Prophecy together with the final piece, the chosen one and the spell that will give eternal life to the line of Malfoy! We will be Gods among men!”

Lucius was panting heavily, drunk on his own illusions of grandeur and power. The vulnerable old form in front of him was shivering uncontrollably, a vein in his temple throbbing erratically.

“You are weak old man! Pah!” A fresh logy of mucus and spittle rained into the squibs’ face once more. “It’s a pity I can’t trust even my closest servants with this knowledge, it would be my undoing!” he grated, frustrated at being unable to show off the true extent of his power.

Malfoy’s countenance glowered when he turned one last time to the old man. “Such a pity my only audience is a freak of nature who can’t even comprehend a fraction of my glory. Obliviate!”

A stunned old man was given new instructions regarding the meeting and his orders, and then sent down to the bowels of the Shacklebolt Estate. Lucius Malfoy, now temporarily content at having expounded his selfish grandeur on another breathing entity, settled himself in for a tumbler of fine French wine and an eight ball of cocaine.

--

On a steep, craggy ledge overlooking the sea, a babe wailed ceaselessly in the arms of his beautiful mother. She shushed the infant, rocking him rhythmically until he quieted. The ginger beauty hummed under her breath, an old aimless English lullaby. The cracked, weathered hand of an older man clapped her on the shoulder. There was no need to respond, for she knew what he was going to say. They stood unerringly before the sea-spray of the North Atlantic, letting the moisture soak into their woolen clothing and crude footwear.

“The time is coming, Elaine. You cannot look to the sea to take away your visions.”

“Yes Father, I am aware of the coming of the chosen one,” she answered bitterly. “After hundreds of years, our people have faithfully watched over Tintagel Castle and raised their families in peace. No one has been blessed with the sight since the day of your great-grandmother. Why must I be cursed?”

“Hush, child. The sight is not a curse, it is a blessing. You must not speak ill of our ancestors.”

“Why is it a blessing when you see the blood of your loved ones spilled into the very rocks they toil over?” Her sobbing woke the child who had fallen into a light slumber. The restless infant nuzzled at his mother’s breast and squawked its protest when a nipple was not forthcoming.

“Elaine, we cannot control the vision, but we can prepare for its foretelling. We do not know of the danger that is on our heads, only that it will come in the night and the blood of many will be spilled over the perceived treasure of King Arthur. Many have sought the legend only to find that which has been open to them all of the time.”

“Why must men kill for glory, Father?” She turned and buried her head into the older man’s tunic, letting the wind sting her tears into cold spots that brought a bright pink tinge to her cheeks.

“Men kill because they are blind and ignorant,” he gruffly intoned, gazing at the head of his only grandson. “They have but to ask and it shall be theirs. Blood, lust and power blind them all. It is seen as the path to wisdom and salvation, but the low road travelled leads to nothing but destruction.”

“Must Agravaine also perish?” It was a rhetorical question. The infant in her arms was the last of her family’s line, and she could bear no more children.

“We will protect him with the power of the ancients my young one,” her father said gravely, pulling the two against him. “And we will stand united against those that come with harmful intent to our peaceful village.”

The father, Lord Andret, placed his palm firmly into the small of his daughter’s back, guiding her away from the cliff and back to the path that led to Tintagel village. They strode in a broody silence, neither wanting to break the uneasy peace of the steep climb.

He spoke first after using much forethought as to what he would say. “My dear, I know your wits are ill-met to speak of the visions, but have you seen anything regarding the tales my great grandmother? Her regaling of the sight was scoffed at by many, when danger seemed a distant thing,” he mused, stroking his short red beard. “It would be most helpful if we knew more about the men and women she spoke of in her visions. The tales have been watered down over the generations. I am unsure we can trust what has been passed on to us.”

The infant mewled softly, now nestled within his mother’s loose-flowing shirt, wrapped up in her shawl and cloak for a mid-day snack. Elaine did not speak for some time. Her father was used to letting her collect her thoughts and knew better than to push her. It was a trait she had gotten from him. The family’s notorious flashes of anger were not something to be trifled with, even among kin.

“I have seen men in a dream, but not what I would call a vision,” she began carefully, revealing the tale for the first time. “I don’t want you to look too much into it because it may be nothing.”
“Anything more you can tell me now child, will aid in the defense of our village in the event we will need such a thing.”
She nodded. “There is a man with hair like the sun, long and flowing like wizards of old. He is a terrible angel come from the sky, but I cannot be sure whether he is for the cause of good or evil.”

“Sometimes a man can be both, like the visions, both a blessing and a curse.”

Her father was very wise. Of course, that made sense. She continued, “There is another man I fear more, hair black as night that shines like a raven’s wing. He hides in the shadows, striking from behind and whispering words I cannot quite hear. That one frightens me.”

“Just remember that all is not as it seems. We will be alert for signs of these strangers. I will invoke the Order of Merlin to be on high alert.”

“Do you really think the time has come?” she gasped in wondrous surprise, grabbing her father’s arm to still his descent.

He nodded gravely. “Yes, from what you have told me the time is upon us. It is not like the darkness that had fallen and lifted last summer. This is a greater threat and your dreams are more prophetic than you realize. It is exactly as was prophesied by my great grandmother.”

“Father, you never told me anything about her having visions of men like I described!”

“I am sorry to have deceived you.” His eyes truly did look sorrowful. “It was necessary to retain the information that would be critical to the validation of the coming fulfillment of the Prophecy.”

“So it is true,” she breathed, stumbling on a loose stone.

Andret grabbed his daughter with reflexes born from many years of hard work and honest labor in on an unforgiving island. “Watch your step, many of the stones are crumbling after the rains.”

“Thank you.” She regained her step once more, thankful to have him by her side.

“I thought the Order of Merlin was just a bedtime story.”

“Oh no, it is very real. We simply do not burden the young ones with the details until we are ready to pass on. It’s old hat really. No one takes it seriously anymore except a select few. I am afraid the Order of Merlin has become a dying breed. The mindset of this new century is changing. It is best it all comes to a close. If we are to fight on the side of good, than it is opportune there are some of us left that understand the consequences of failure in this affair.”

“Tell me everything Father, I want to understand.”

He sat her down on a small stone bench just outside Tintagel village. It was midday, and everyone was either in their homes resting or already back to work from a quick meal.

“You must not repeat this to anyone my child. The village knows of your visions, and while they are loyal to each other and their heritage, not all would know the far reaching consequences their actions could have if they were, persuaded, to reveal any of the information to someone willing to pay for or give comforts.”

“Surely no one would betray us Father!”

“It is better to be safe than sorry when it comes to the greater good of the world.” His hand came up to stroke his daughter’s brow. She was a beautiful girl and he longed for her to marry. It had been most unfortunate to lose the child’s father at sea. He had been one of the finest young men in the village.

“I promise, Father. What must I do?”

“You must keep my grandson safe and focus on your visions. It is imperative you come to me at once if you see anything new or feel anything different. The Order of Merlin goes back to the time of the great King Arthur himself. The Prophecy was created at the behest of Merlin, whose counterpart lived underneath the very rocks we live upon. It was foreseen that a great power would come to pass but great evil stood in the way. The altar of Merlin was bestowed with great power, and each item imbued with a piece of the spell necessary to invoke the end result.”

“Father, what’s the matter?” Andret had clasped his chest, bending down on one knee. “Father!”

“Elaine!” he gasped, holding his hands over his heart before falling to the earth.

“Father!” she screamed, waking her child who began to wail. “Someone help us! Help, please my father has fallen!”

“Elaine, Elaine,” he whispered, one shaking hand clutching her dress.

“Yes, yes, I am here, I have called for help. I am getting help.”

“No, it is too late for me. Please listen, I haven’t much time.” Andret gasped, clutching his heart again.

“What is it Father? I’m listening!”

“Elaine, in the caves under the castle, submerged in a chest. Take the key from around my neck. The treasure the men in your vision seek is there, but do not relinquish it to the one who means harm. You must be sure of each man’s intent!”

Six villagers rushed to her side, fretting over the fallen man.

“Elaine…” He struggled to tell her one last thing as she leaned in close to listen, but the words were lost on his dying lips.

The young girl sobbed, clutching her father’s breast as his hands fell from her dress to the ground. Gently, she reached down to kiss him softly on the cheek and furtively slipped the chain from about his neck, placing it into the folds of her child’s blanket.

Now, she was alone in the world, and she wondered how she would cope with the coming danger, when the only man who knew the whole truth had died at her feet before he was able to impart the information.

The cool sea wind blew down from the cliff, and she turned away to find the only other person who might be able to tell her what she needed to know.