Chapter Seven: An Offering of Sand

Chapter Seven: An Offering of Sand

The towering cliffs of Da Kame take little notice of the doings of men and have only a passing interest in the business of wizards. They have guarded the edge of the world far too long for such concerns to be of consequence. Eons before fierce warriors in their proud ships braved the endless heaving seas, long before robed magi cast their enchantments in shadowed echoing caverns, the cliffs had marked the place where time drops away, and dreams are the greater reality. Men have trembled there in awe-struck wonder while the fey called forth the blessings, and the curses, to bring them to their knees, but Da Kame has long since ceased to care who kneels or who conjures. It matters little, since in the end, all things, even they, will fall as dust into the eternal seething waters below.

Even so, the presence of magic still summons a sigh of recognition from deep within the earth, and when the portent of a powerful casting is whispered by this wind, attention is paid, even by Da Kame. The waves, flinging themselves in constant challenge before the cliffs' indifferent feet, will curb their fury for a time while the raucous skuas and kittiwakes fall silent in anticipation and the great sea beasts venture from their depthless haunts to draw nearer to the shore. Even the stars seem to slow their wheeling through the reaches of heaven.

On this night, coins of moonlight are strewn as payment on the pathway of a calmed sea, and the moors beyond the cliffs stand yearning for a breath of sharp salt air. At the far side of Foula, those few crofters dwelling there are fallen heavily into their beds, foundering in a dreamless mist of sleep. No harm is meant to them, but the eyes of even those most eager must be closed to what they would not understand. While they drift in their sweet oblivion, there will be Magick... a promise... a bonding of secret to soul... a Making.

~~ /// ~~

"... intentions are clear... to take your hand... if you would..."

Something shifting silently, grainy, yielding under her feet... dirt... sand? The uneasiness of a great void stretching away on all sides, the air heavy and damp, smelling of the sea rather than the loch... No stars overhead and no visible sky... Departed from Hogwarts, certainly, but arrived elsewhere or still caught in the currents of passage? Difficult to be sure...

Portkeys had never been Minerva's particular choice as a means of transport, being too much like Side-Along travel to suit her. Not burdened with a delicate constitution, she'd always preferred the sharp clarity of any singular Apparation she initiated herself, or at least the surety of a stout broom. It wasn't a question of landing cleanly on her feet - she'd mastered that skill ages ago, but there was always the gut-wrenching speed and the daze of confusion when first coming round, with distant echoes still adrift in your head and the acrid taste of copper, like a residue of blood, harsh and cloying on your tongue. It was a touch easier if you knew at least where you were headed before you journeyed, but Albus hadn't seen fit to share their destination when he'd requested she and Hagrid take hold of his ponderous portrait frame.

Hagrid... sweet Circe... Where was Hagrid? Peering about in the darkness, she was highly relieved when her upraised wand, lit by a hasty "Lumos", revealed him close beside her, swaying slightly, but with his feet well-planted. He was thumping his chest soundly with his fists, gulping in great draughts of air, and even in the half-light, Minerva could see that much of the ruddy glow had drained from his face. It was a matter for considerable concern, having someone of his size so decidedly short of breath. 'Gods above,' she thought, 'don't let him faint.'

"Bloody bones," Hagrid scowled, snorting and huffing like a winded Ironbelly. "Always takes some gettin' used to, that does... Not a thing I've ever liked doin', jumpin' from one place ter the other all sudden like that... Makes it 'ard ter get yerself straight again."

Leaning down, he braced his hands against his knees and appeared not at all inclined to move from the spot where he'd landed, but his only concern, as he looked up, seemed to be for her.

"What about yerself, Minerva? Are yeh feelin' up ter snuff with all this bein' yanked through the keyholes?"

"None the worse for wear, all in all, thank you," she replied, settling her robes squarely on her shoulders while keeping her wand hand high to push the light deeper into the gloom. "But I would agree with you. Not a great favorite of mine, either."

Whatever commiseration Hagrid was about to make was cut short as Dumbledore's voice, laced with an indulgent mirth, interjected from somewhere in the shadowed expanse in front of them.

"Ah, there you are, and both looking well enough, I see. That was indeed an interesting change of pace for me - being part of the conveyance instead of being the passenger - much less of an assault on the stomach, certainly. A distinct advantage, I suppose, to no longer being mortal. Forgive me for going off without you. I have been re-acquainting myself with our surroundings, getting the lay of the land, if you will. It has been more than a few years since I visited here."

Moving by wand-light in the direction of his voice, Minerva saw the old wizard's portrait only a dozen or so paces away, hovering several inches off the ground. Twining a small strand of his beard between his fingers, Dumbledore stood peering at them over his spectacles, beaming with obvious satisfaction.

"I find it most reassuring that all the wards appear to have stayed firmly affixed. The place does seem as undisturbed as always, however long it may have been since that last..."

"And the place would be, Albus?" Minerva interrupted, halting what she feared might erode into a long and sentimental meander through his memories. Normally that could be quite useful, and often entertaining, but now that he literally had all the time in the world at his disposal, keeping Dumbledore on track might well become an issue she didn't care to address in these fleeting hours before midnight. There simply was no time to humor him, and she was desperate to know where they'd ended up, given that the moon was not even visible.

All she could surmise from her hasty appraisal of their destination was what she'd already suspected. They were in a vaulting cavern, an arching chamber of rock gouging deep into the earth. The walls were frescoed in striations of carmine and yellow, the floor carpeted by shell-sand and pebbles, with massive boulders crouching like misshapen beasts just outside the enclave of her light and gnarled fingers of rock beckoning from above and beneath. From the bite of the air and the rhythmic chant of water, advancing and retreating far below, it would seem they were elevated somewhere well above the sea.

Dumbledore's jovial smile faded into a sterner guise as he gestured for her to turn and look again more closely.

"As an owl would fly, Minerva, we have come not all that far from Hogwarts. This is Foula, high on Da Kame in your own dear Shetlands. Recall the summoning-stories that Forbia would have told when you were just a girl... Do you remember her telling tales of the Elfame and their Island of Birds with its sea-caves sheltering the old magic?"

The Island of Birds... In an instant, it was as though the years had fallen away, and Minerva was still an eager child, sitting among the standing stones on Rousay. She could see her wand-mother's shining dark eyes, full of secrets, and hear her voice, softened with the Orcadian burr. How patiently Forbia had instructed her on the importance of holding the Light and the Darkness in respectful balance, urging an understanding and acceptance of the natural tides of life and death, and instilling reverence for the elements which bind all things together.

'If you are invoking the power of the sea, count the waves carefully, child, and always seek the ninth, the one which swells higher and stronger than all others. You have no reason to dread Cliodna Faire, and if you are granted an opportunity to hear her birds singing, pay close attention and receive that gift willingly. Should you ever have need, Minerva, She and the blessed moon will always stand waiting, even at the very Edge of the World.'

"Dumbledore, I'll ask yeh, what's this place an' what's it to do with Minerva an' our makin' the Fidelius?"

Hagrid's anxious voice pulled her back from her memories to the fact that she was trembling, not from cold or fear, but from a thrill of eager recognition.

"Cliodna's Circle, where the Cup of Essence is offered by the Sea's white hands..."

The words came to her lips as familiar as if she were still a child, curled within the shelter of Forbia's arms, gazing up into that beloved face, listening to the poetry of age-old faery wisdoms.

"The Place of Blessed Salt, from whence all life is sprung, and to which it will return..." Dumbledore's eyes were pensieve as he intoned more of the epic tale.

"An' Earth, 'er brother Sun in slumber, awaits the kiss of Moon, 'er sister."

Minerva turned in astonishment, hearing the words of ancient lore spoken by Hagrid as readily as though they were a daily greeting.

"Me dad would tell the old stories of the Far Away Folk, is all," he shrugged, "whenever I was feelin' lonely fer my mother an' couldn't sleep. I hadn't remembered until yeh said that first part."

"I see you both hold some memory of this place. That may perhaps make our task a bit easier. You must put away your wand, Minerva, and Hagrid, do not regret that you lack one that is worthy of you," Dumbledore advised as he motioned them closer to his frame. "Here, our meager tools are not so important. The magic of Foula is far older and has no need of such things to draw upon its power.

"It has become tradition," he continued, "for only one person to be the Keeper of a Giver's secrets, but that belief came out of fear in the Dark Times when so many of us practiced our magic alone, so as not to be discovered by zealous Muggles. While I have found no evidence of any wizarding law forbidding an alliance of Secret Keepers, I am determined to keep your actions, and my inquiries into the Abandonment, hidden from the over-eager ears of the Ministry. No sense piquing their interest over something that need no longer concern them. I fear they would not all have our Giver's well-being at heart."

A frown darkened Dumbledore's eyes, and the lines of his face drooped into deeper furrows. With a great sigh, he sank into his portrait chair, as though suddenly overcome with the weight of what lay ahead.

"Riddle's curse was pulled from whatever primal pit birthed the Dark Arts, and this Charm of Fidelius is only a first step against it. To summon the power of these caves, you must cast in the old manner, in tandem, with only your hands to serve you, employing the elements and the strength of your common purpose. Once the Third Keeper is located, you must agree to unite in triad against the curse. Understand, we are moving forward largely on instinct rather than prescribed practice. I believe we will be guided, but we must remain willing to demonstrate both trust and patience."

With a firm "Nox", Minerva immediately extinguished her light. The darkness enveloped them, and there was the whisper of cloth as she tucked her wand away. For a moment, the only sound was the water far below, advancing and retreating, calling... calling... calling...

"Yes, I shall come to you... No, I must leave you... Yes... No...", the lament of the waves, bereft of the shore.

A needle of moonlight, piercing the dark from some unseen fissure far above their heads, began to move across the floor, and in the wake of its fragile illumination came a breeze, spiced with the heady scent of gorse and thyme. Gathered by the wind, the sand in the space between Minerva, Hagrid, and the portrait frame began to swirl and rise, shaping itself into a slender, translucent column enclosing something not quite visible. Compelled by its fragile beauty, Minerva reached out, but was reluctant to touch the glowing pillar, lest it shatter. The bright clear notes of birdsong began to ascend as the breeze shivered the grains of sand apart, revealing a living agate of russet brown... one tiny wren. Lifted on the fragrant air, the bird began to dart and weave, spiraling her dance around the shaft of moonlight, her song filling the cavern in a lyric rejoicing. So light and quick they were almost unaware of it, she perched on Minerva's shoulder and again on Hagrid's, kissing the face of each with a brush of her wing before coming to rest atop Dumbledore's frame.

"I believe we are now welcome and are being invited to proceed. Perhaps it would be best for you to hold on to me again." Dumbledore chuckled. Shaking his head at their hesitation, he reassured them, "I can promise you, we will remain close to one another, now, until all has been accomplished. No more squeezing through the keyholes, Hagrid. Shall we do what is asked and follow where we are led?"

Taking their places, as before, on either side of the frame, Minerva and Hagrid both looked to the wren, expecting that, taking flight again, she would be their guide, but she remained perched, still singing softly. Instead it was the shaft of moon-glow which they followed as it began to inch slowly across the floor of the cavern, halting at last to brighten a looming wall of stone. Glancing at Dumbledore for instruction, Minerva was gently advised. "You already know what to do. You have always known, even before you were born into this world. Forbia simply helped you to remember."

Feeling somewhat out of place without the familiar anchor of her wand, she stood for a moment, questioning what was expected, searching her past for the answer. Albus had said the only tools at their disposal would be their hands and hearts. Forbia had taught her to speak openly, with humility but without fear. As though moving of their own accord, her hands lifted into the same shape she had offered to Gareth days ago in the Valley, the right cupped within the left in entreaty, as she spoke clearly, "All those who wish to hear, I am Minerva, woman of the Clan McGonagall, witch of the Orcadian blood. The needs of our hands and hearts are open to your sight, but there's a Making required, and we must be the ones to cast it. Blessed Moon, if you accept this as a worthy purpose, I ask that we be granted passage into Cliodna's Circle."

Keeping her hands lifted, she looked to Hagrid, and a memory of long-neglected ritual stirred within her as she saw him offer his own great hands to the wren, speaking so gently, he could scarcely be heard.

"Little one, will yeh show us how ter pass through ter the Circle? It's Rubeus Hagrid that's askin'. All sorts o' creatures... the birds, too... they know me, an' I know them. There's a man in a terrible way, and I'd ask yeh to help us if yeh would, so 'e's not left ter wander with none ter fight fer 'im. I'm hopin' fer a bit of kindness fer all of us, if yeh can see yer way to it."

One note from the wren, long and sweet and pure, began to tremble in the air, and as it grew ever louder, stronger, the wall of stone before them began to shiver and grow ever thinner until only a rippling curtain of sand stood suspended between them and the faintly-visible chamber beyond.

"Together, then, Hagrid?" Minverva asked without the slightest hesitation, and he nodded his willing. "Yes."

"Together, Albu..." And here she froze, her heart drumming with apprehension. The portrait still hovered behind them, as before, but the wren was vanished... and so was Dumbledore.

Circling the empty frame in a search she already knew was futile, Minerva wanted nothing in that moment quite so much as to draw her wand against whatever might be waiting one step through the grainy, moon-struck veil before them. What had separated Albus from them, when he'd said they would remain close until the Charm was completed, and where was their tiny harbinger of consent, the wren? Her hand strayed closer to her wand-pocket, but it was Hagrid's which gripped her arm with gentle restraint.

"I know it's a hard thing fer yeh, Minerva, not ter have yer wand in yer hand, but Dumbledore said we're ter show trust an' patience... so maybe that's what the magic o' this place is waitin' ter see from us..."

"Well reasoned and wisely spoken, brave Guardian of all that Terra loves," a woman's voice, rich with music, issued from the chamber just beyond, "and Hecate's Bow, you may be assured that all is well with our Bright Wizard, Dumbledore. If you doubt me, come and see."

An invitation or a challenge? Either way, no debate was necessary.

"Well, Terra's Guardian, shall we follow Albus through the looking glass, as Wizard Carroll used to say?" Minerva motioned with a wry tilt of her head, and Hagrid nodded yet again, chuckling deep in his chest.

"It's what's needed, so that we will, good Bow... an' back again, soon enough, we'll hope."

~~ /// ~~

Hagrid had, of course, expected to venture alone through the curtain of sand, to be the first to fall under attack if all was not as it seemed. Minerva would have none of it and insisted they cross together, side by side, with their eyes narrowed against the stinging of the tiny grains that swirled around them, hissing softly in a faint whisper, evoking voices not quite heard. For a moment, anticipation of some slyly-summoned "Ecce," haunted their hearts, but opening their eyes in the muted light on the other side, they were assured at once that all was indeed as it should be, since there before them stood Albus, awash in his usual benevolence.

The frame that housed him was no longer the massive oaken one, laden with gilded carving, which had graced the walls of Hogwarts, but something far different. Dumbledore's image was encircled now by the North Sea's treasures - an abundance of polished shells - whelks, mussels, cowries and seastars - frosted jewels of sea glass - driftwood bleached and smooth as ivory - all twined together into an intricate design by leathery strands of kelp - and rather than the high-backed chair of a Headmaster, he was seated on a massive boulder, weathered by the winds of time into a wide and comfortable seat that offered a view of verdant pastures sloping down to a wide beach of pristine sand and arching waves.

"Dear friends," he said, smiling in melancholy, when he saw that their expressions spoke clearly of relief mingled with an uneasy doubt, "did you think I was taken, or that I had left you here alone?" He rose from his seat to stand in silent contemplation for a moment, looking towards the portrait sea, his snowy beard and hair tumbled by the wind. As though having come to a decision, he turned to face them. "Apparently, my assurances carry far less weight with you these days. You have good reason for suspicions. There are losses between us I must try to reconcile, but the Fidelius is of greater concern now. The time is lessening and we should begin."

"Indeed you should, Bright Wizard. The hour of the wave approaches."

The musical voice that spoke was the same they had heard moments before. The woman who appeared before them was the glory and wonder of the sea, taken shape to stand upon dry land. Her fair hair, floating about her shoulders like a mist, was adorned with a ferroniere of chitons, graced by a teardrop pearl, and her skin was as translucent as conch shell. An ocean dwelled within her eyes, alluring and powerful. Celadon-tinted robes, edged with silver, fell from her pale shoulders to sandaled feet so small they seemed to make no impression in the sand beneath them. Standing as her attendants were three birds with brilliant plumage of crimson, blue, and green, tipped with gold, and each carrying a branch of apple-wood, heavy with white blossoms and golden fruit.

Leaving the company of her birds, she approached the spot where Minerva and Hagrid stood transfixed and, looking from one to the other, took the hand of each, laughing with the same music as when she'd spoken.

"Dumbledore's companions, are you so amazed to see me? No more than I am to see you. I do find you both most beautiful. Minerva, Witch of the Orcadia, you are truly Hecate's Bow, and Hagrid, who knows all beasts, I believe Terra will bless you always."

Her face grew wistful as she sighed. "There are so few people, even among the wizarding, who call upon the Elfame any more. Most have forgotten us, I fear, or no longer believe we might still live."

Moving closer to the ornate frame, she smiled up at Dumbledore as she continued.

"This Bright Wizard Become has explained the purpose of your coming. My heart is torn by your request. I am pleased that a Fidelius is to be sworn in community, as was always the custom in the Long Past, but I am grieved that this powerful Making must be used for battle against such a curse of the Darkenss. I had hoped the Abandonment was lost forever. It is a sorrow that the Faery Realm did not rise up against this Dark One, but we rarely interfere in the ways of wizards anymore. We should have. Perhaps we might have prevented some of what has happened. Your young wizard Potter, who is Bright Becoming, is his heart lifted now?"

"As much as it can be, given what path was put before him by circumstance... and by me," Dumbledore answered quietly from his frame. "There are many prepared to claim him now, but that is not what he needs. The love of family and true friends - that he has in full measure, and that is what will lift him. But dear Cliodna, it is another boy who needs us."

"A boy, Dumbledore?" Cliodna's eyes were suddenly tempest-tossed, and her demeanor was no longer serene as she began to pace in front of his frame. "Surely you mean a man who swore allegiance to this Dark Lord and bore his Mark willingly?"

She turned to confront Hagrid. "Is such a man worthy of your resolve to keep his secrets safe?"

Her cold fury was leveled towards Minerva. "This curse was cast on him in cruel vengeance, but did he not draw that to himself? Perhaps his fate is just, and he suffers simply what is his due for having been Dark Becoming?"

"No more than any of us if we're held in the balance against our sins," Minerva snapped in answer. "If the only payment for forgiveness is worthiness, there's few of us able to meet that price. Leave us to our business, then, if you've only pitiless judgments to give. I would have hoped for better from you." She knew she risked Cliodna's anger, but she was dismayed by the injustice of the faery's words, particularly since they mirrored her own not-so-distant perceptions far too clearly.

"Good Faery... little one, I understand yeh know nothing of us," Hagrid abruptly spoke, his boldness tempered by respect, "but it was trust an' patience we were ter show yeh in order to be allowed 'ere. The trust we've shown, just by comin' through, but our patience might be wearin' thin with all 'o this, yeh see. Dumbledore's told yeh the truth of it, I'd say, so I'd ask yeh ter tell us whether we're to have yer help."

Her ageless face softened by an approving smile, Cliodna clapped her hands and summoned her birds around her with a laugh that was a balm of compassion.

"Ah, dearest Bow and Guardian, very well done, indeed. I am satisfied that your lost wizard truly has strong weapons to do battle for him. I have watched him from the Otherworld, and I already know that he is worthy, but the greater sorrow is that he does not. With companions such as you, perhaps he will come to see his own truth one day. If you are willing to be his Secret Keepers, then follow on and let us be about this Making."

~~ /// ~~

The true elements of magic number only four, and yet they are the All. Nothing exists and no living thing takes form if they are not present. Fire, which rules the Southern Realm and Water, whose domain is the West, Earth, deep-rooted in the North and Air, abiding in the East. To call upon them, they must be honored within a Circle, and guarding the boundaries of that Circle, there must be evidence of the four directions.

Cliodna's Circle was marked by standing obelisks of quartz, red, yellow, green, and blue, each with an inner glow ignited by the moonlight streaming down upon them. Between the pillars were bronze torches forged into the guise of supplicant hands, each one lifting its own bright flame. At the center of the Circle, the moon directly above, stood a great block of salt crystal deposited over a thousand lifetimes by endless cresting waves, crafted into a deep basin over still more lifetimes by tides long since dropped away. This was the storied Cup of Essence, standing ready to be filled and offered by the Sea's white hands.

With Albus positioned in his portrait facing them, and Minerva and Hagrid ushered into the Circle to flank the Cup, Cliodna took her own place as Guardian and Guide of the Making.

"The Lady Moon is soon to reach Her full ascension in the heavens," she prompted firmly," and as She does, the tide is called upon to fill this Cup. Eight waves will come, each leaving a token of itself behind, and when the ninth wave comes, that which is mine, the passage of time will hover for the space of one hour. The Charm of Fidelius will be spoken and the Making will be sealed. Stand with quiet patience, as you have been told, and have no fear for the passing of this hour, for the moon and I will hold it in our hands."

As the moon climbed to her pinnacle, no one spoke, even their breathing dropping into measured softness. Far distant, the approaching march of water could be heard, advancing in a tumultuous rush, its voice roaring through the channels in the rock, until with a great gasp it came surging up into the Cup, lingering but an instant before plunging back into the depths, leaving behind a layer of gleaming white sand, pristine and smooth. Minerva found herself counting in expectation, just as Forbia had taught her. Seven more times the waves came, each leaving its offering of sand atop the last.

Cliodna's voice, strong and clarion, echoed through the chamber, in a shout.

"Now comes the Ninth, which is mine."

The wave that came was ten-fold the size of all the others, frothing and foaming, a fountain of green and silver that pushed itself to reach the roof of the cavern before dropping away, leaving behind its own layer of sand, black as obsidian.

Her birds close around her, the faery advanced to stand beside the Cup. Looking over to Dumbledore, she inclined her head in formal greeting and inquired, "Bright Wizard Become, will you be Witness to what is said and done this night and keep the knowledge of these matters hidden in your memory until all things which are of Heaven and Earth have ceased and only the Blessed Ones remain to hear?"

"I am Witness and my pledge is given, upon my true name, upon my soul," he responded, his voice so strong and full of power that even Minerva and Hagrid, who had known him so long, had seen and heard him in so many aspects, took respectful notice.

Bending down, Cliodna plucked a feather from each of her birds before turning her attention to Minerva.

"Bright Witch Become, within every Beginning, there is a Knowing, and within that Knowing, there is a Beginning. Such is the un-ending Circle. Your life as Keeper was begun when you first acquired the knowledge of your Giver's secrets. Will you remain forever faithful to this Knowing and bind these secrets to your soul until your mortal life shall end and those who are Blessed take them from you?"

"I swear it. So long as breath and blood remain within my body, I will be Keeper of this Knowing. If I should break this Trust, may there be no honor accorded to my life and may I know only my soul's shame, even at the time of my death," Minerva answered, never taking her eyes from Cliodna's as the faery extended her slender hand towards the Cup.

"As you have said, so shall it be. In the manner that is the oldest, write these secrets in the sand and as you write, speak them aloud as well. Summon your Giver's face and voice, call his memory to you."

The manner oldest? Before brush or quill or pen, there was the hand, moving and tracing images with the tip of a finger into the dust of the earth, and this, Minerva knew, was what was required, but she hesitated.

"Why do you falter, Keeper? Do you have doubts?" Cliodna asked.

"No, but to write his secrets, to give them voice, I must say his name," Minerva whispered. "I don't wish to speak his name. He will suffer for it if I do."

"Yes, he will," Cliodna nodded, "that is so, but it is necessary, and you are able to counter that a little. As you make the Charm, also write within the Cup a memory of him that is precious to you. It will ease him in the moment that you speak his name."

Whispering a silent, "Forgive me," Minerva leaned over the rim of the Cup and began to write in the black sand, seeing her runes appear from the white sand beneath. 'Black and white,' she thought, 'how ironic that nothing about him was ever set so plainly. The sand should be grey instead.'

"Severus Tobias Snape, Bright Wizard Become, my fierce colleague, my lonely, angry friend, still lives," she began to speak, unwavering, as she wrote. "I have hidden him in Gwaun, with the Healer Gareth Islwyn, and have chosen the name Neirin Maldwyn to protect him. He is cursed by Tom Riddle into the Darkness of Abandonment and is meant to wander there always. His sight is taken and his mind is clouded. There are wrongs between us, and I'll not rest until they are amended and he is whole again. I am sworn to be his Secret Keeper until the end of my days."

Her final words, the ones to counter suffering with something precious, were small, tucked under the rest in tiny runes, and whispered so softly, even the faery did not hear: "Tea, vile and insipid."

Beside her, Cliodna took one of the three feathers and placed it in Minerva's hand.

"Give the breath of your body to this feather and scatter all that you have written to the four directions, so that your words may never again be read."

In an instant, the runes she had written were vanished, but she felt a weight around her heart, and had she been alone, she would have wept. Cliodna smiled, and placing her hands on either shoulder, drew Minerva close to kiss her gently on her brow, on each eye, and lastly, softly, on her mouth.

"Dear Bow, do not grieve. The weight will lessen as time goes by. Now our Guardian must come and make the Charm as well."

Other than the ritual vow, Hagrid's words, and his runes, were few, for there was little more to be said. Watching and listening, Minerva was both proud and saddened - proud that at last he was able to take a proper wizardly action, but saddened that it was for such a purpose. But what could even conceivably be precious to him concerning Severus, she wondered. They scarcely even spoke with one another in the Great Hall. She could recall no particular incident between them as she saw him rub his thumb over an old scar and mutter, "For your hand." She knew it must be important to him, though, when she saw him smile as he breathed on the second feather and scattered his writing before bending to receive Cliodna's blessing.

"The Charm of Fidelius, as prescribed, is finished, and I am Witness to its purpose and to the willingness of these Secret Keepers," Dumbledore quietly affirmed from behind them, and Minerva startled, having almost forgotten he was there. "However, Cliodna, we are battling for a soul, and I have further need of the Cup of Essence. You have kept something safe for me for a little while. May I have it now?"

With a nod, the faery beckoned her birds nearer, and from the branch that each carried, she took three apples. Cutting the fruits open with a small silver sickle that hung at her waist, she revealed a tiny crystal vial hidden inside each one, all of them containing one minute drop of fluid, two of which were clear and one, deep crimson.

Puzzled, Minerva looked to Dumbledore.

"Albus, what are these?"

"The oldest secrets of a man, the essence of his mortal life," he answered.

Paling at what she suspected, Minerva pressed on.

"What man, Albus?"

"They are his," the answer came.

"How do you come to have them, Albus, these essences?" she whispered, gently touching each vial with the tip of the same finger with which she had consigned secrets to the sands.

"You forget, Minerva, who tended him all these years when Riddle had done his worst and there was no other place he could seek help. His sweat, his tears, his life's blood... All have fallen on my hands more times than can be counted."

"Hidden here, with Cliodna, for how long?"

"When I knew I would soon die, and by his hand, I sent them here."

"That's why yeh chose this place fer the Charm, then, because it was the place 'o Blessed Salt? Sweat, tears, blood... All carryin' the Sea, that's what yeh meant?" Hagrid asked.

"For what purpose, Albus? What did you intend?" Minerva carefully asked, wondering what other fragile revelations were about to come to light.

"It was my hope to direct him here, once the War was over. If he could be persuaded to willingly surrender his own life essences back to the Cup, his body and spirit might be whole again."

"Which cannot happen now, so long as Riddle's curse has hold of him." Minerva frowned. "So, what's to be done in the meantime?"

"There is powerful magic in sacrifice. We've seen the strength of that in Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Keepers live with sacrifice, guarding their Giver's secrets. If what I believe is true, if you are willing to protect his mortal essences also, we may forge another weapon against Riddle's curse. Will you consider it?"

Minerva turned to Hagrid, questioning, and was surprised to see his eyes light with laughter.

"I'd think if we're already keepin' 'is secrets, the least we could do is carry a drop or two o' saltwater fer 'im as well."

"It seems Hagrid and I are in agreement, once again, Albus, so what's to be done?" Minerva asked, watching warily as Cliodna approached the Cup, holding the three vials with great delicacy.

"Other hands than ours will attend to this, Minerva. We are only watchers now," Dumbledore replied, returning to his seat upon the portrait boulder.

Lifting her eyes to the moon, Cliodna began to sing in the sweet, clear voice of the wren. One by one, her beautiful birds joined her, until the cavern was filled with a glorious sound. To hear their hymn was to feel every care and sorrow slip away, every pain and illness soothed, to be flooded with an abundant sense of absolute joy and peace. Gently, the faery released each drop, fragile and trembling, into the sand of the Cup. In a fountain of mist and foam, the Sea's white hands soon came to cover them, slowly withdrawing to reveal three beautiful crystals, two as clear as rain, one as red as claret, each on a long braided chain of silver.

With careful hands, Cliodna lifted the amulets from the Cup and turned to the portrait.

"Bright Wizard Become, which Essence is to be given to each Keeper?"

Dumbledore came to the front of the portrait frame and looked first to Hagrid.

"Because you remember and honor the gift which healed you, I will ask you to guard the salt of the sweat he has shed in his labors over the cauldron."

At Dumbledore's nod, Cliodna slipped the chain with one of the clear crystals over Hagrid's bowed head and smiled to see him close his hand around it.

"Minerva, I have seen the tears you hide so carefully from view. I have witnessed his as well, guarded with an even greater ferocity. Because you love him, as though he were a brother, the salt of his tears I will entrust to you."

When Cliodna slipped the silver chain around her neck, Minerva felt a shiver pass through her, and unbidden came the memory of a pale and empty countenance. Silently, she slipped the crystal inside her robes to lie heavy against her heart.

"The third, Bright Wizard, who shall wear it?" Cliodna gravely asked, cradling the blood-red crystal in the palm of her hand.

"His life's blood carries the greatest magic, the power of the Sea. For now, I will ask Minerva to keep it safe at Hogwarts, under her protection," Dumbledore answered. "If he lives, his Third Keeper will choose to wear it out of love for him, or for the sake of a debt owed. Only time will determine which."

"So shall it be. Earth has attended, Sea and Moon have given blessing, and all is well," Cliodna's voice rang through the cavern. "Let protection surround all here, and may they rejoice in the magic of all things. Live in honor, and dwell in peace. The Making is complete."

~~ /// ~~

The dawn was dancing on the hills around Hogwarts Castle as the moon was sinking into the arms of the west, to sleep until the earth turned to greet her once again. Albus Dumbledore, Bright Wizard Become, sat dozing in his more accustomed portrait frame, his hands folded neatly over a single pearlescent whelk shell, a knowing smile teasing at the corners of his mouth as he kept company in his dreams with the Elfame.

~~ /// ~~

Having paced the circumference of the loch since his return from Foula, Rubeus Hagrid, Guardian of all that Terra loves, entered his tumble-down hut with a sigh, hanging his fine new cloak behind the door before dropping, with a grunt of weariness, onto his battered settee. It was another hour before he stirred enough to fall into his bed, still cupping a shining crystal carefully in his hand.

~~ /// ~~

Turning from the window that looked out, always, to the Astronomy Tower, Minerva McGonagall, Keeper of Secrets, having bid the descending moon good night, settled into the Morris chair that faced a cold hearth. Reaching deep into the pocket of her familiar tartan robes, she pulled out the battered biscuit tin she kept hidden there, and opening it, softly placed a small silk-wrapped packet inside. Tucking the little box away again, she sat motionless for a time, her hand on her heart where a crystal lay heavy. It was a little while before she left the silent room, raising the wards once again when she departed.

~~ /// ~~

The dawn danced in Gwaun as well as Delyth Morgan woke from a dream already lost to memory, her face wet with tears for which she knew no reason. All she could remember from her dream was the plaintive echo of the sea, calling.....

"Yes, I shall come to you..."

~~ /// ~~

Gareth Islwyn was asleep, spent beyond reason from a week with little rest. The night had passed peacefully, and finally he had permitted himself to lie down on his cot. Exhaustion crept over him, rendering him as senseless as one of his medicines would have done. In an hour or so, the sun, streaming through the open window, would rouse him with its light, and he would send the owl to Minerva. His message was already written, waiting. Lost in the arms of Morpheus, he did not hear the other message he might have sent. Not even the vigilant Tess heard the faint exhalation of a single word from the fever-cracked lips of Neirin Maldwyn.

"Voice?"

~~ /// ~~

The young man who prowled the dew-soaked gardens, his arms folded across his chest in an oddly familiar pose, had not slept at all, nor would he, even though it would offer an escape from the desperately beseeching eyes of his mother and the brandy-sodden endearments of his father. A sorry escape, sleep, plagued as it was by frenzied dreams. At least in the gardens, not even a house-elf would disturb him so early in the morning and he could try to sort his thoughts. His pale hand clutched a tightly rolled parchment, its softness attesting to its having been read, over and over again. Shivering in the cool air, he wrapped his arms still tighter across his chest, and throwing his head back, moaned his anguished query to the brightening sky.

"I can't help you. They didn't even find your body. What is it you expect from me?"