Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Triangle Ritual
A/N: Many thanks to my beta-reader Anna aka Dweo.
Latin phrases: Liber de Causis, thirteenth century translation from early Arabic sources
Chapter One: Sealing a Friendship
The trio was slowly ascending the stony path from the harbour to the surveying fortress. The steepest part of the path small steps were carved into the rock long ago, worn out by uncountable feet of gunners and musketeers over the centuries. It was a shortcut; the official and paved road winded several times on their course to the top of the rock.
He looked upwards. The fortress stood guard over the bay with its natural harbour. Over the centuries the former citadel had been extended and rebuilt several times. Today it was an impressive bastion, equipped with long rows of heavy guns to fend off any assault of hostile vessels.
They walked in silence, every one of them lost in his own thoughts. Like he himself, the others were probably musing about their part in the rite. They had discussed the whole thing for half a year. The evening, Mujahid and he had arrived on the isle, Ra'id had started a slowly, but steady process to convince them both of his idea.
They both had been Ra'id's apprentice decades ago; the elder himself had still been a young man, when he had taken them under his wing. And now the elder had made this offer, to him, visibly a stranger in the Islamic world. Even worse, he was one of the European invaders, which had suppressed the Ottomans for nearly a century now.
On the other hand, he wasn't - he had never been - one of those men, even if he had needed several years until he had realised his true nature. The isle was still in the hands of the Turks, who mostly eyed him suspiciously, but the crew complement of the bastion had accepted him as companion of Ra'id, the official mage of the fortress.
They reached the main gates, where the watchmen saluted at the appearance of their mage and his guests. The number of wizards in official duty for the Ottoman Empire decreased steadily. Ra'id was one of the last and he believed most members of the naval high command didn't even know anymore that there were mages protecting some of their bases, or even that there were wizards at all.
Ra'id taught him branches of magic nearly forgotten by European wizards, if they had ever known them. The Turks knew how to use wands and staffs, but they were specialised in performing rituals, rituals with long lasting effects, like enhancing structures and warding large areas, skills not entirely useful during fast-paced battles, but invaluable in securing established dominance. Once, this knowledge had been an important basis of the Ottoman Empire, but now it declined as steadily as the number of mages decreased.
Ironically though, the ritual they would perform was an Ancient Roman rite, the incantations spoken in Latin, passed on by Christian monks. Ra'id would have to secure the ritual chamber. The musketeers trusted their mage, but it would raise the suspicion of the watchmen if Latin chants were overheard.
The trio crossed the courtyard and entered the north-eastern tower, the tower with the best overview of the harbour. They needed several minutes to climb the hundred-and-forty-five steps of the spiral staircase to the top platform, where one of the guards handed them a brass long glass. At the horizon they could barely descry a heavy armed vessel, probably Royal Navy, patrolling the waters around the isles. Down in the harbour a 74 was tied to the pier - the 74-gun ship-of-the-line which would take him back to Europe.
He noticed the elder discussing with the guard, or more likely commanding. Eventually Ra'id turned towards his former apprentices and with his left hand he motioned them to approach. In his other hand he held out a white marble orb, his Transphere. They touched it and in the blink of an eye, they were whisk into a dungeon deep below the fortress. Today was the last chance to perform the ritual; in two days he would board the ship and leave the continent for at least several years, not knowing if he would ever return.
He blinked. Moments before they had stood in bright sunlight and now they were in a dimly lit room. They had entered a Romanesque vault, perhaps a former ancient catacomb. It was lightened by six blue flames, which hovered over six stone columns placed on the six corners of a hexagon. He blinked again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark. He noticed several figures painted on the stone floor, small and large circles, triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, runes and symbols of unknown languages and cultures.
"Shall we begin?"
He nodded. Ra'id, the eldest of the three men, stepped forward and with his staff he touched a hexagon, marked out by the six flamed columns, a triangle, specified by every second pillar, and a circle, surrounding the other two figures. With Ra'id reciting an incantation, the three geographic figures started to gleam like moulded in gold. In the centre of the figures stood a triangular, pointed stone pillar Ra'id had prepared some days ago. The three wizards positioned themselves around the column, each man facing one of its sides.
He was by far the youngest of the three. Nevertheless his companions had chosen him to join in their friendship and to participate in the ceremony. He knew witches and wizards all over the world; he had many acquaintances of different kind, but the friendship of these two men, their friendship, was special. These two had opened his eyes for their world - for his world - a long time ago. He was a sixty year old wizard; he had experienced a lot, had seen even more while travelling all over the world. In his life there had been many remarkable moments, but this was special.
Ra'id started to murmur. "Omnis anima nobilis tres habet operationes ..."
He surveyed his side of the column. One symbol was engraved, the T'hoy - a vertical line, halved by two horizontal bars, which were connected by a vertical half-line on the left. The symbol represented the eager traveller, who had seen and studied various and strange forms of magic. They each had chosen their symbols themselves. The runes represented their strength; the aspects of their soul they would share with their friends and his companions had chosen the Kharr - the symbol for the elder mentor, who instructs and leads his friends - and the Arji - the symbol of the combatant.
"... omnium quaedam sunt in quibusdam per modum quo licet ut sit unum eorum in alio ..."
He placed the palm of his left hand on the symbol. It tingled. He had learned to sense magic long ago and had perfected his perceptivity over the years. His magic aura had just connected with the column - or rather, with the symbol. Ra'id had explained the effects of the ritual some weeks ago; during the ceremony they would exchange a part of their magical sphere.
"... omnis virtus unita plus est infinita quam virtus multiplicata ..."
A dark green flame ignited over the peak of the column and was hovering there, while six golden lines appeared on the ground, connecting the centred column with the edges of the surrounding geographic figures. The sensed tingling increased; it was as if someone tapped his magical aura - as if the ancient symbol aspirated his magic.
"... virtus prima regit res creatas omnes ..."
The tingling changed into a tickling and crawled along his forearm. Even if he would have tried he would have been unable to withdraw his arm... the tickling reached his upper arm... another voice infiltrated his perceptions... the vision became blurred... a female voice was whispering something into his left ear...
"Wake up, sleepyhead and come in. Dinner's ready."
Ronald Weasley opened his eyes and blinked. He laid spread-eagled on the meadow behind the Burrow, his red hair glowing in the sunset. Ginny, his broadly grinning, little sister, was kneeling at his side, caressing his left arm with a blade of grass. Ron's freckled forearms were scarred with welts, some barely visible anymore, others still deeply engraved, mementoes of their adventure in the Department of Mysteries a month ago. A human brain had entangled him with tentacles of thoughts and had left not only the scars but had also implanted strange dreams and memories into his mind.
By now Ron tried to discover these new memories inside his head. Hitherto they had appeared at random, as flashes or visions and frequently as dreams and nightmares. This must have been memories of a Muggle-born wizard, born at the dawn of the nineteenth century. The man had travelled around the world since the age of ten, initially as stowaway, then ship boy, sailor and finally as full trained wizard. He had never attended Hogwarts or another wizarding school, but had learned magic from Arabian and African medicos and sorcerers, a different kind of magic than that wand waving they taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"I'm coming."
He was glad his family didn't spend another summer at Grimmauld Place, the former London mansion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Instead they would stay at the Burrow their whole vacations. De-gnoming the garden was way better than fighting against jinxed objects of a lunatic household. Two days a week he and Ginny were even working at the joke-shop of their brothers, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which earned both some extra money for the rest of the year. Ron stood up and both redheads went inside.
Life at the Weasleys' had become much quieter since the twins moved in a flat over their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill, the eldest child, had moved in a flat in London, together with his French girlfriend Fleur Delacour. Both were working for Gringotts and Bill was an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, so they seldom visited the Burrow. Mostly only Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny joined the dinner, sometimes together with their father. Only on weekends most members of the family were together and a few times also Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks attended, or even Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Percy Weasley, on the other hand, was never seen at the Burrow, but no one spoke about him anymore. He still had a hand on the family clock, changing between 'home', 'travelling', 'work', an indication or even proof that Percy didn't call the Burrow 'home' anymore.
The magical protections around the Weasleys' home had been reinforced by Albus Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody and later tested by Bill, an experienced curse breaker. None of these protections would completely ward off an attack of Dementors or Death Eaters but they would stop any aggressor in their tracks long enough for the inhabitants of the Burrow to flee either by Floo Powder or by Portkey. Now the Burrow was save enough for Dumbledore to allow Harry Potter to stay there for the rest of the summer and they would pick him up beginning of August.
"There is a letter from Hermione, dear," said Molly Weasley, when Ron entered the kitchen. His face lighted up when he took the envelope and recognised the handwriting of his friend. He was surprised by how thick the letter was, so he carefully felt the envelope - ah, a book. What else? Probably transfiguration or charms or even potions.
"Did Hermione send you her homework for copying?"
Noticing the nosy face of his sister he reluctantly decided to open it later, in his room, without ruffle. Hermione's letters were mostly quite long, often partly boring, but always special. Their relation had become much closer during the last year, during the summer at Grimmauld Place and later at Hogwarts, particularly when Harry had been on the warpath against everyone and everything.
By contrast, Harry's letters were mostly short notes, containing not much more than 'I'm fine,' especially this summer, after the death of his godfather Sirius Black. The notes proved the contrary, their author was definitely not 'fine'. But how could Ron help his friend other than by writing letters? Dumbledore had insisted that Harry stayed at his awful relatives, at least until the beginning of August.
"What were you doing outside?" Ginny asked, while setting the table.
"Nothing," replied Ron absent-minded.
Expectedly his sister wasn't satisfied by the answer. "Another vision?" she demanded curious.
"Mmmh," mumbled Ron shortly, and this answer caused his mother to fuss about him. During the first week at home he had told about his dreams or visions, but considering the reaction of his family, and especially of his mother, he kept things private. Now the only person he talked to - actually wrote to - about his mental adventures was Hermione. The girl had advised him not to inform Harry, as it would upset him even further.
Ginny whispered smirking "Mum fears you'll gradually go insane."
Ron knew that already. She had wanted him to visit St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries when she had learned about his visions. "Mum, I'm not going insane."
"How do you know?" answered Mrs. Weasley anxiously. "For all we know, you have strange memories implanted in your brain. How will you cope with them? We should consult a professional healer." She started to clean the dishes, her way to cope with worrying events.
Ginny grinned broadly. "You might even share a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart, assisting in signing his autographs."
"Shut up," Ron answered and in response his sister showed him her tongue.
Just when they were going to eat, the family clock chimed once and then twice, when Arthur Weasley's hand switched to travelling and moments later to 'at home'. Soon he entered the kitchen, greeting his family while settling himself at the head of the table.
"You're late, dear."
"Fudge still denies the seriousness of the situation," Mr. Weasley reported, "but at the same time he requests a guard of at least ten Aurors for himself and his family."
"But what about Malfoy and the lot?" Ron asked. "Aren't they questioned? With Veritaserum?"
"Fudge delays everything," his father responded. "I assume he fears their testimony. Imagine, Lucius Malfoy admitting he'd bribed the Minister for years!"
He paused, while chewing on his stew.
"Some department heads are fed up with this stuff and started a campaign. Tomorrow there is a big article in the Daily Prophet, calling for a vote of no confidence."
"Any bad news?" Ginny asked innocently.
"There had been another nasty attack on Muggles," her father answered, "without the Dark Mark..."
"Arthur!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "The children!"
Ron sighed. His mother tried everything to keep the war away from them, while ignoring the fact that her children had just captured more Death Eaters and faced more very dangerous situations than most Aurors during a lifetime. Since their first year at Hogwarts, they had confronted teachers possessed by You-Know-Who, Death-Eaters impersonating teachers, convicted criminals chasing other criminals, various dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, Acromantulas, ...
Later that evening Ron lay on his back in his bed a paperback on his chest and Hermione's letter in his hands.
Dear Ron,
As you expected, I haven't heard anything else from Harry, but that 'he's fine'. He's definitely not. Please write him as often as possible. It is easier for you with your own owl than for me. I want to send him some postcards during our vacation, but I am not entirely sure if a happy family's holidays wouldn't unsettle him further. Besides I don't know if his relatives are intercepting his mail.
They could buy her an owl for her next birthday, Ron mused. All three together, Harry, Ginny - and he himself, of course. With his job at the joke-shop they should be able to afford one.
During the last two weeks, I read a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder; there are several Muggle books covering the subject. I should have done this a year ago. We would have been able to understand Harry and even help him to handle his memories of Cedric's death and the encounter with You-Know-Who. The book I sent you covers several aspects and can aid you too, to cope with the events in the Department of Mysteries. Even if you don't understand everything, you'll read it, won't you? You might be able to help yourself and Harry too.
He shook his head. The first thing which came to her mind to sort out everything: Books.
We will leave for Austria in three days. If during the next two weeks you intend to send Pigwidgeon, you have to instruct him neither to wait at the reception, nor to deliver your mail during mealtime. Your owl IS cute but quite disturbing sometimes. Instead he shall deliver all mail directly to my hotel room. I will take care that a window of my room will remain open as long as we will stay there. But perhaps you should not send Pigwidgeon at all. The distance is much too far for your tiny owl.
I have thought much about your visions. You should record your visions and dreams, like the dream diary you once had to keep for Trelawney.
Ron snorted. To practice something suggested by that old fraud was downright weird.
You also should contact an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries; they know more about the wizard whose brain affected you. Perhaps they will even appreciate your co-operation. When I'm back home, I will do some research on brains and transferring memories or personalities for you, if you like.
I hope you have already begun with your homework? I have just finished my Arithmancy essay on the significance of the number seven.
I doubt that Mum and Dad will allow me to come over to the Burrow this summer, they already complained about not seeing me often enough. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting in Diagon Alley later this summer? Mid August?
Please take care of Harry.
I miss you. Both.
Love,
Hermione
To contact an Unspeakable? His Mum would indeed place him in a cell with Lockhart. And homework: They hadn't even received their O.W.L.s yet. How should he know which essays he had to write, if he didn't know which classes he would attend? Fred and George had only achieved three O.W.L.s each - Ron doubted that he himself had passed more exams than the twins. Naturally Hermione would have passed all O.W.L. tests as best of their age-group.
Sighing loudly Ron took the small book and read the title. "Posttraumatic Stress Disorder"
Latin phrases: Liber de Causis, thirteenth century translation from early Arabic sources
Chapter One: Sealing a Friendship
The trio was slowly ascending the stony path from the harbour to the surveying fortress. The steepest part of the path small steps were carved into the rock long ago, worn out by uncountable feet of gunners and musketeers over the centuries. It was a shortcut; the official and paved road winded several times on their course to the top of the rock.
He looked upwards. The fortress stood guard over the bay with its natural harbour. Over the centuries the former citadel had been extended and rebuilt several times. Today it was an impressive bastion, equipped with long rows of heavy guns to fend off any assault of hostile vessels.
They walked in silence, every one of them lost in his own thoughts. Like he himself, the others were probably musing about their part in the rite. They had discussed the whole thing for half a year. The evening, Mujahid and he had arrived on the isle, Ra'id had started a slowly, but steady process to convince them both of his idea.
They both had been Ra'id's apprentice decades ago; the elder himself had still been a young man, when he had taken them under his wing. And now the elder had made this offer, to him, visibly a stranger in the Islamic world. Even worse, he was one of the European invaders, which had suppressed the Ottomans for nearly a century now.
On the other hand, he wasn't - he had never been - one of those men, even if he had needed several years until he had realised his true nature. The isle was still in the hands of the Turks, who mostly eyed him suspiciously, but the crew complement of the bastion had accepted him as companion of Ra'id, the official mage of the fortress.
They reached the main gates, where the watchmen saluted at the appearance of their mage and his guests. The number of wizards in official duty for the Ottoman Empire decreased steadily. Ra'id was one of the last and he believed most members of the naval high command didn't even know anymore that there were mages protecting some of their bases, or even that there were wizards at all.
Ra'id taught him branches of magic nearly forgotten by European wizards, if they had ever known them. The Turks knew how to use wands and staffs, but they were specialised in performing rituals, rituals with long lasting effects, like enhancing structures and warding large areas, skills not entirely useful during fast-paced battles, but invaluable in securing established dominance. Once, this knowledge had been an important basis of the Ottoman Empire, but now it declined as steadily as the number of mages decreased.
Ironically though, the ritual they would perform was an Ancient Roman rite, the incantations spoken in Latin, passed on by Christian monks. Ra'id would have to secure the ritual chamber. The musketeers trusted their mage, but it would raise the suspicion of the watchmen if Latin chants were overheard.
The trio crossed the courtyard and entered the north-eastern tower, the tower with the best overview of the harbour. They needed several minutes to climb the hundred-and-forty-five steps of the spiral staircase to the top platform, where one of the guards handed them a brass long glass. At the horizon they could barely descry a heavy armed vessel, probably Royal Navy, patrolling the waters around the isles. Down in the harbour a 74 was tied to the pier - the 74-gun ship-of-the-line which would take him back to Europe.
He noticed the elder discussing with the guard, or more likely commanding. Eventually Ra'id turned towards his former apprentices and with his left hand he motioned them to approach. In his other hand he held out a white marble orb, his Transphere. They touched it and in the blink of an eye, they were whisk into a dungeon deep below the fortress. Today was the last chance to perform the ritual; in two days he would board the ship and leave the continent for at least several years, not knowing if he would ever return.
He blinked. Moments before they had stood in bright sunlight and now they were in a dimly lit room. They had entered a Romanesque vault, perhaps a former ancient catacomb. It was lightened by six blue flames, which hovered over six stone columns placed on the six corners of a hexagon. He blinked again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark. He noticed several figures painted on the stone floor, small and large circles, triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, runes and symbols of unknown languages and cultures.
"Shall we begin?"
He nodded. Ra'id, the eldest of the three men, stepped forward and with his staff he touched a hexagon, marked out by the six flamed columns, a triangle, specified by every second pillar, and a circle, surrounding the other two figures. With Ra'id reciting an incantation, the three geographic figures started to gleam like moulded in gold. In the centre of the figures stood a triangular, pointed stone pillar Ra'id had prepared some days ago. The three wizards positioned themselves around the column, each man facing one of its sides.
He was by far the youngest of the three. Nevertheless his companions had chosen him to join in their friendship and to participate in the ceremony. He knew witches and wizards all over the world; he had many acquaintances of different kind, but the friendship of these two men, their friendship, was special. These two had opened his eyes for their world - for his world - a long time ago. He was a sixty year old wizard; he had experienced a lot, had seen even more while travelling all over the world. In his life there had been many remarkable moments, but this was special.
Ra'id started to murmur. "Omnis anima nobilis tres habet operationes ..."
He surveyed his side of the column. One symbol was engraved, the T'hoy - a vertical line, halved by two horizontal bars, which were connected by a vertical half-line on the left. The symbol represented the eager traveller, who had seen and studied various and strange forms of magic. They each had chosen their symbols themselves. The runes represented their strength; the aspects of their soul they would share with their friends and his companions had chosen the Kharr - the symbol for the elder mentor, who instructs and leads his friends - and the Arji - the symbol of the combatant.
"... omnium quaedam sunt in quibusdam per modum quo licet ut sit unum eorum in alio ..."
He placed the palm of his left hand on the symbol. It tingled. He had learned to sense magic long ago and had perfected his perceptivity over the years. His magic aura had just connected with the column - or rather, with the symbol. Ra'id had explained the effects of the ritual some weeks ago; during the ceremony they would exchange a part of their magical sphere.
"... omnis virtus unita plus est infinita quam virtus multiplicata ..."
A dark green flame ignited over the peak of the column and was hovering there, while six golden lines appeared on the ground, connecting the centred column with the edges of the surrounding geographic figures. The sensed tingling increased; it was as if someone tapped his magical aura - as if the ancient symbol aspirated his magic.
"... virtus prima regit res creatas omnes ..."
The tingling changed into a tickling and crawled along his forearm. Even if he would have tried he would have been unable to withdraw his arm... the tickling reached his upper arm... another voice infiltrated his perceptions... the vision became blurred... a female voice was whispering something into his left ear...
"Wake up, sleepyhead and come in. Dinner's ready."
Ronald Weasley opened his eyes and blinked. He laid spread-eagled on the meadow behind the Burrow, his red hair glowing in the sunset. Ginny, his broadly grinning, little sister, was kneeling at his side, caressing his left arm with a blade of grass. Ron's freckled forearms were scarred with welts, some barely visible anymore, others still deeply engraved, mementoes of their adventure in the Department of Mysteries a month ago. A human brain had entangled him with tentacles of thoughts and had left not only the scars but had also implanted strange dreams and memories into his mind.
By now Ron tried to discover these new memories inside his head. Hitherto they had appeared at random, as flashes or visions and frequently as dreams and nightmares. This must have been memories of a Muggle-born wizard, born at the dawn of the nineteenth century. The man had travelled around the world since the age of ten, initially as stowaway, then ship boy, sailor and finally as full trained wizard. He had never attended Hogwarts or another wizarding school, but had learned magic from Arabian and African medicos and sorcerers, a different kind of magic than that wand waving they taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"I'm coming."
He was glad his family didn't spend another summer at Grimmauld Place, the former London mansion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Instead they would stay at the Burrow their whole vacations. De-gnoming the garden was way better than fighting against jinxed objects of a lunatic household. Two days a week he and Ginny were even working at the joke-shop of their brothers, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which earned both some extra money for the rest of the year. Ron stood up and both redheads went inside.
Life at the Weasleys' had become much quieter since the twins moved in a flat over their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill, the eldest child, had moved in a flat in London, together with his French girlfriend Fleur Delacour. Both were working for Gringotts and Bill was an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, so they seldom visited the Burrow. Mostly only Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny joined the dinner, sometimes together with their father. Only on weekends most members of the family were together and a few times also Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks attended, or even Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Percy Weasley, on the other hand, was never seen at the Burrow, but no one spoke about him anymore. He still had a hand on the family clock, changing between 'home', 'travelling', 'work', an indication or even proof that Percy didn't call the Burrow 'home' anymore.
The magical protections around the Weasleys' home had been reinforced by Albus Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody and later tested by Bill, an experienced curse breaker. None of these protections would completely ward off an attack of Dementors or Death Eaters but they would stop any aggressor in their tracks long enough for the inhabitants of the Burrow to flee either by Floo Powder or by Portkey. Now the Burrow was save enough for Dumbledore to allow Harry Potter to stay there for the rest of the summer and they would pick him up beginning of August.
"There is a letter from Hermione, dear," said Molly Weasley, when Ron entered the kitchen. His face lighted up when he took the envelope and recognised the handwriting of his friend. He was surprised by how thick the letter was, so he carefully felt the envelope - ah, a book. What else? Probably transfiguration or charms or even potions.
"Did Hermione send you her homework for copying?"
Noticing the nosy face of his sister he reluctantly decided to open it later, in his room, without ruffle. Hermione's letters were mostly quite long, often partly boring, but always special. Their relation had become much closer during the last year, during the summer at Grimmauld Place and later at Hogwarts, particularly when Harry had been on the warpath against everyone and everything.
By contrast, Harry's letters were mostly short notes, containing not much more than 'I'm fine,' especially this summer, after the death of his godfather Sirius Black. The notes proved the contrary, their author was definitely not 'fine'. But how could Ron help his friend other than by writing letters? Dumbledore had insisted that Harry stayed at his awful relatives, at least until the beginning of August.
"What were you doing outside?" Ginny asked, while setting the table.
"Nothing," replied Ron absent-minded.
Expectedly his sister wasn't satisfied by the answer. "Another vision?" she demanded curious.
"Mmmh," mumbled Ron shortly, and this answer caused his mother to fuss about him. During the first week at home he had told about his dreams or visions, but considering the reaction of his family, and especially of his mother, he kept things private. Now the only person he talked to - actually wrote to - about his mental adventures was Hermione. The girl had advised him not to inform Harry, as it would upset him even further.
Ginny whispered smirking "Mum fears you'll gradually go insane."
Ron knew that already. She had wanted him to visit St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries when she had learned about his visions. "Mum, I'm not going insane."
"How do you know?" answered Mrs. Weasley anxiously. "For all we know, you have strange memories implanted in your brain. How will you cope with them? We should consult a professional healer." She started to clean the dishes, her way to cope with worrying events.
Ginny grinned broadly. "You might even share a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart, assisting in signing his autographs."
"Shut up," Ron answered and in response his sister showed him her tongue.
Just when they were going to eat, the family clock chimed once and then twice, when Arthur Weasley's hand switched to travelling and moments later to 'at home'. Soon he entered the kitchen, greeting his family while settling himself at the head of the table.
"You're late, dear."
"Fudge still denies the seriousness of the situation," Mr. Weasley reported, "but at the same time he requests a guard of at least ten Aurors for himself and his family."
"But what about Malfoy and the lot?" Ron asked. "Aren't they questioned? With Veritaserum?"
"Fudge delays everything," his father responded. "I assume he fears their testimony. Imagine, Lucius Malfoy admitting he'd bribed the Minister for years!"
He paused, while chewing on his stew.
"Some department heads are fed up with this stuff and started a campaign. Tomorrow there is a big article in the Daily Prophet, calling for a vote of no confidence."
"Any bad news?" Ginny asked innocently.
"There had been another nasty attack on Muggles," her father answered, "without the Dark Mark..."
"Arthur!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "The children!"
Ron sighed. His mother tried everything to keep the war away from them, while ignoring the fact that her children had just captured more Death Eaters and faced more very dangerous situations than most Aurors during a lifetime. Since their first year at Hogwarts, they had confronted teachers possessed by You-Know-Who, Death-Eaters impersonating teachers, convicted criminals chasing other criminals, various dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, Acromantulas, ...
Later that evening Ron lay on his back in his bed a paperback on his chest and Hermione's letter in his hands.
Dear Ron,
As you expected, I haven't heard anything else from Harry, but that 'he's fine'. He's definitely not. Please write him as often as possible. It is easier for you with your own owl than for me. I want to send him some postcards during our vacation, but I am not entirely sure if a happy family's holidays wouldn't unsettle him further. Besides I don't know if his relatives are intercepting his mail.
They could buy her an owl for her next birthday, Ron mused. All three together, Harry, Ginny - and he himself, of course. With his job at the joke-shop they should be able to afford one.
During the last two weeks, I read a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder; there are several Muggle books covering the subject. I should have done this a year ago. We would have been able to understand Harry and even help him to handle his memories of Cedric's death and the encounter with You-Know-Who. The book I sent you covers several aspects and can aid you too, to cope with the events in the Department of Mysteries. Even if you don't understand everything, you'll read it, won't you? You might be able to help yourself and Harry too.
He shook his head. The first thing which came to her mind to sort out everything: Books.
We will leave for Austria in three days. If during the next two weeks you intend to send Pigwidgeon, you have to instruct him neither to wait at the reception, nor to deliver your mail during mealtime. Your owl IS cute but quite disturbing sometimes. Instead he shall deliver all mail directly to my hotel room. I will take care that a window of my room will remain open as long as we will stay there. But perhaps you should not send Pigwidgeon at all. The distance is much too far for your tiny owl.
I have thought much about your visions. You should record your visions and dreams, like the dream diary you once had to keep for Trelawney.
Ron snorted. To practice something suggested by that old fraud was downright weird.
You also should contact an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries; they know more about the wizard whose brain affected you. Perhaps they will even appreciate your co-operation. When I'm back home, I will do some research on brains and transferring memories or personalities for you, if you like.
I hope you have already begun with your homework? I have just finished my Arithmancy essay on the significance of the number seven.
I doubt that Mum and Dad will allow me to come over to the Burrow this summer, they already complained about not seeing me often enough. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting in Diagon Alley later this summer? Mid August?
Please take care of Harry.
I miss you. Both.
Love,
Hermione
To contact an Unspeakable? His Mum would indeed place him in a cell with Lockhart. And homework: They hadn't even received their O.W.L.s yet. How should he know which essays he had to write, if he didn't know which classes he would attend? Fred and George had only achieved three O.W.L.s each - Ron doubted that he himself had passed more exams than the twins. Naturally Hermione would have passed all O.W.L. tests as best of their age-group.
Sighing loudly Ron took the small book and read the title. "Posttraumatic Stress Disorder"
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