XXV: The Draumar’s Secret

Chapter XXV: The Draumar's Secret

'Come here, Lily-sweetie. We have time for a cuddle.'

The little white cat jumped gracefully onto the sofa and settled in Charis' lap obediently. Within moments, the affectionate feline started to purr contentedly, and Charis enjoyed the rhythmic sound of the cat's purring thoroughly. It helped her to relax, and relaxation was exactly what she needed that Monday evening.

It had been a stressful day. There was still so much to do in the Hall of Prophecies, and the seemingly never-ending task was starting to take its toll on the Unspeakables. Many were stressed out, tired and snappy, and they all very much missed the encouraging words and pats on the shoulders the Keeper of the Hall used to give them whenever they needed it. They all missed their boss, and not knowing when he would return to work or even why he was absent made the staff uneasy. And when her colleagues talked about Grindling, Charis could not help but miss him immensely. The combination of Grindling's absence and tetchy colleagues had made an already taxing Monday even worse, and when Charis had left the Ministry that night, she had hoped to crawl up on the sofa with a good book and maybe a glass of wine. But when she had come home, she'd but had the time to kick off her sleet-covered boots when a phoenix Patronus had materialised right in front of her.

At first, Charis had been startled, but upon hearing the Patronus speak in the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore, she had calmed down and dutifully accepted the order to present herself at Headquarters at eleven thirty that night. That meant no wine, of course, since Charis didn't trust herself to stop after just one glass. Because judging by the bottle, the wine that Grindling had sent her was nothing else but delicious, and Charis had never been one to put away an open bottle.

Once more, Charis eyed the postcard that had arrived together with the wine on Sunday morning. It depicted a wonderful sandy beach, and the white houses that were clinging to the mountains in the background told Charis that Grindling must be in Greece. Most probably, he was visiting his family's summer house.

Charis turned the card around and read the short note for the umpteenth time. Grindling hadn't written much, just that he was doing his best to relax and that he was hoping to be able to return to work soon. And Charis certainly hoped he would. He had been gone for almost three weeks now.

He had never arrived in the Hall of Prophecies on the Tuesday after he had ended their relationship. Instead, he had spoken to his superior about taking some time off. And the old wizard had granted Grindling's wish. After all, the Keeper of the Hall had looked anything but healthy that morning. And so, Grindling Gibbons had disappeared from sight, not informing any of his staff about where he had gone off to. All the Unspeakables had been told was that their boss was taking some time off for "personal reasons".

When Charis had returned from work the next day, her stomach had been in a knot, of course. Surely, Grindling was keeping away from work because of her. He didn't want to see her, that much was clear. And in her desperation, Charis had almost tossed away the Draumar, which he had gifted her with the day before. How could he give her such a beautiful gift and then avoid her twenty-four hours later? It didn't make sense. But before she had been able to act on her impulse, a large brown owl had arrived at her window, carrying a letter from Grindling.

Dearest Charis,

Grindling

He had written to her two or three times a week since then, sending colourful postcards from all around Europe and his best wishes, and Charis had always sent back a little thank you note, talking about the grey London weather or what she'd had for lunch. Neither of them spoke any more of their feelings, and Charis thought it was better that way. Whenever they met again, they would both have had the time to think, and hopefully, they would be able to talk properly to each other then.

Shortly after nine o'clock, the flames in Charis' fireplace turned green, and moments later, Morgana stepped out onto the rug, carrying two white carton boxes.

'Silvy sends her love. And dinner!' the trainee Auror announced, ruffling her hair to get the last of the ash off. She was still wearing her red curls shoulder length, and Charis thought it suited her friend very well. As did the dark green robes she was wearing. They were neither tight nor low cut, but still they showed more of Morgana's well-shaped figure than any of her robes had done in months. And Charis could not help but wonder what or who was the reason for Morgana abandoning her black, shapeless robes and her boyish haircut. But she didn't ask. When Morgana was ready, she would certainly tell her.

Charis watched Morgana putting dinner onto two plates. Her friend had been around a couple of times over the last three weeks, and when she had been working late or otherwise engaged, she had sent Silvy over, both to cook dinner and to keep Charis company. And Charis had been immensely grateful. So grateful that she would have loved to hug her friend senseless every time they saw each other. But she knew the gesture wouldn't go down well with the prickly Slytherin.

'I guess you've been summoned as well?' Morgana wondered as she handed Charis her plate filled with rice and Szechuan beef.

'Yes, I had Albus' Patronus come through when I came home from work,' Charis confirmed. 'It sounded pretty serious. I wonder what's happened.'

'Guess it won't be about cake,' Morgana answered drily, scooping up a forkful of the beef. She had been given her order to present herself at Grimmauld Place by Mad-Eye Moody, but he had refused to tell her why she had been called. Instead, he had muttered something about her needing to start following orders without questioning them.

'Would you like some wine with dinner?' Charis asked, furtively glancing towards the bottle she'd been gifted. Certainly, with Morgana around, she could venture opening it. There were only three large glasses in a bottle anyway, and if Morgana had one... Surely, two glasses before the meeting would be acceptable.

'Since when do I drink wine with dinner?' Morgana asked, eyeing up the bottle that Charis had placed on the table and upon that changing her mind. Even she could tell that it wasn't a cheap one. 'Have you robbed Gringotts?' she asked jokingly.

'Ah, no,' Charis replied, at once feeling rather sheepish. 'It's from Grindling.'

'He has sent you wine?' her friend asked, slightly surprised. She knew Grindling had been in touch with Charis and sent her postcards, and she had given him credit for that. But sending expensive wine?

Charis blushed, realising it looked suspicious. A mere friend wouldn't send such an expensive gift, and a boss definitely wouldn't.

Morgana, however, looked pleased at the fact that Grindling was spoiling Charis. It was clear he cared for her friend, even if his heart still belonged to another witch. With some luck, he'd be free soon, she hoped, and Charis would get her Prince Charming.

'Do you miss him?' she asked.

At this, Charis nodded and swallowed, looking down. Morgana was her best friend, but she still didn't feel comfortable sharing her emotions about Grindling with her. Not now, when she herself wasn't sure what exactly she was feeling.

Morgana eyed the bottle again. 'I'd say he misses you, too.'

Charis said nothing to this, instead pulling out the Draumar from under her robes. She'd managed to attach it magically to a silver chain, where it hung around her neck alongside the star she wore habitually at her throat.

'I can't believe he gave me this,' she said after a moment. 'They're very rare. And this one is a family heirloom. It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Morgana studied the little object. She'd held it in her hand when Grindling had given it to her, but her thoughts had been anywhere but on the Draumar that day, and thus, she didn't remember much more about it than that it was engraved with stars and moons. It was a pretty little item, and even though it might not originally have been meant to be worn as a necklace, its flat form and the small size made the perfect jewellery out of it. In fact, it looked a bit as if Charis were wearing an ornamental Galleon.

'Figured out how it works yet?' Morgana asked.

'No,' Charis admitted, and the frustration was evident in her voice. 'I've tried prising it and using spells, but nothing seems to work. And before you say it, I'm not asking Grindling! My Ravenclaw pride is at stake.'

Charis looked indignant at the very thought, and Morgana couldn't help but snort.

'I guess I'll figure it out,' Charis continued. 'Otherwise, I might need to have a chat with Professor Trelawney.'

'You can't be that desperate!' Morgana exclaimed. She'd always done her very best to avoid the Hogwarts Divination teacher. The woman had given her the creeps. Surely, no one would want to talk to that hag voluntarily!

Charis merely smiled in response.

'I think you should ask Grindling... once he's back,' Morgana said and looked questioningly at her friend. 'Have you thought about how that will be?' she asked carefully. 'When he gets back, I mean?'

Charis gave a deep sigh. 'It's all I've been thinking about. I know he didn't mean to hurt me. And him being away has given us both time to think.'

'But?' Morgana prompted.

'I think we'll have to take things day by day.'

'Hm, guess so.' Morgana paused, playing with a bit of beef. 'Will you give him a second chance?' she asked hopefully. 'If he manages to rid himself of, you know, the other one?'

'I don't know, Morgana,' Charis replied earnestly. 'If she's held on to his heart for twenty years, I don't know if he can ever be free of her.'

'But if?' Morgana pushed. She really wanted this to work out for her friend and for Grindling. There weren't many decent men around these days, but from what she'd seen, Grindling was one of the best. Charis deserved a man like Grindling, one who would treat her like a princess and worship the ground she walked on.

'Time will tell,' Charis said. 'I can't risk being hurt again.'

'No, you can't,' Morgana agreed, looking at the postcards which Charis had placed neatly on the counter. She knew how it was to be hurt, and she certainly intended to do anything it took to never be hurt again.

'You can't deny that he's sweet, though.'

Charis smiled once more. 'Yes, he is a darling.'

'Maybe he can be a dear friend to you, if nothing else?' Morgana suggested.

'I'd hope so,' Charis admitted, taking one last scoop of rice. She'd given it a lot of thought, but so far, she had not figured out what would be worse: to have Grindling as a friend, knowing that there would never be anything more, or to not have him in her life at all.

* * *

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place looked slightly eerie at the best of times, but at night, it looked positively creepy. Charis had never been at the headquarters at such a late hour and kept her wand in a tight grip, prepared to hex anyone or anything that should pounce at them from the shadows. And Morgana wouldn't have been surprised to suddenly hear Snape's drawling voice and once more be chided like a little child. Thus, neither of the girls spoke as they crept down the dimly lit hallway to the door that reached the lounge.

'Trust Dumbledore to summon us in the middle of the night and not be here. Some of us actually have to get up early.'

Alastor Moody's unmistakable grumbling could clearly be heard through the door, and while Charis still found the man a bit intimidating, Morgana had grown used to his grumpiness and actually grinned.

'Guess I shouldn't suggest that he give us the morning off tomorrow,' she whispered. 'He'd have my head for it.'

The two friends entered the lounge to find Moody pacing the room impatiently with Tonks sitting on the sofa and looking miserable; Remus Lupin was sitting to her left, and the man to her right was most certainly a Weasley, judging by his ginger hair.

Tonks' face brightened slightly when she saw the girls. 'Wotcher!'

Morgana nodded a greeting and slunk off into the shadows of the room whilst Charis was a bit more social and said hello to the room at large, which was met by nothing more than a non-committal grunt from Moody. Lupin, however, beamed and the ginger-haired man introduced himself.

'Arthur Weasley. I don't believe we've had the pleasure?' He smiled kindly. 'Molly sends her apologies. One of our chickens has escaped, and she's been tearing around The Burrow for hours on the hunt for it. She sent a cake, though.'

Lupin, of course, looked happy at the prospect of cake. Moody, however, did not.

'How many of you are only here for the cake, I wonder,' he asked sourly, glaring at Lupin, who jokingly raised his hand.

Tonks giggled, earning herself a reproachful glare from the magical eye. It was clear that Moody wasn't at all pleased with the young Auror that night.

The sound of the front door closing made everyone look up, and only a few moments later,

Dumbledore entered the room. He looked tired but still managed to smile at the assembled group.

'Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming at such a late hour. I will be quick so you can all go to bed soon.'

He looked around before continuing, and his blue eyes rested on Moody for a moment. It almost seemed as if he had heard Mad-Eye's comment about him letting everyone wait.

'Severus will arrive shortly, but seeing that he is already informed of what has happened, I don't think he will mind if I start.'

He paused to push his half-moon spectacles up the bridge of his Roman nose.

'I summoned you tonight to inform you that there has been an attack on a Hogwarts student.'

Everyone gasped in horror, except Moody, who looked impassive, and Tonks, who made a whimpering noise.

'Nymphodora, this was not your fault,' Dumbledore went on, looking straight at the young Auror. 'Even though you were patrolling Hogsmeade last weekend, there was nothing you could have done.'

Tonks didn't seem to be reassured by this, and Lupin laid a comforting arm around her shoulder as Dumbledore continued.

'One of our students was given a package at the Three Broomsticks, a package which was to be delivered to me. It contained a rather beautiful necklace. Beautiful, but cursed. The pupil in question unfortunately opened the parcel and is now in St. Mungo's as a result. She's lucky to be alive.'

The assembled Order members gave each other shocked looks. An assassination attempt on the Headmaster of Hogwarts was unheard of, and that a student had come to harm was a downright tragedy.

Arthur Weasley was the first to speak.

'Do you have any suspicion who might have done this?'

'There are suspicions, yes,' the headmaster confirmed. 'However, they don't come from me.'

'And the student?' Lupin asked. 'Is she alright?'

'I am afraid Miss Bell will have to stay at St. Mungo's for quite some time,' Dumbledore replied gravely.

'Bell? Katie Bell? The Gryffindor chaser?' Charis asked fearfully.

Dumbledore nodded in the affirmative, and Charis gazed at the floor in shock. She and Katie had not socialized too much at Hogwarts, but the girl had always seemed very nice.

'What can we do about it, Albus?' Moody asked gruffly. 'Who's the culprit here?'

'As I have said, Alastor, there is at least one suspect whom I am already keeping an eye on,' the old wizard replied calmly. 'However, I will need to ask for the assistance of the Order to tighten security around the castle. I fear the Ministry will not be interested in helping.'

Once more, the creaking of the front door made everyone turn their head, and it was to no one's surprise that Snape entered the lounge shortly afterwards with a scowl so black that it matched his robes, which were as impeccable as ever.

'Fashionably late, as usual,' Moody muttered darkly.

'Some of us are actually concerned with matters of life and death, Moody, not just standing around, waiting for cake to be served,' Snape sneered in response, folding his arms across his chest in a manner which could only be described as hostile.

'Severus, thank you for being here,' Dumbledore cut in smoothly in order to avoid further confrontation. Snape and Moody had never liked each other, for several reasons, but since their fall-out during dinner in October, Dumbledore found it wise to not let the two get too agitated.

'I have just explained about the incident with Miss Bell,' he informed his Defence teacher.

'The jewellery was cursed with very dark magic,' Snape confirmed. 'Whoever wanted you to have it, certainly wanted to see you dead.'

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. 'And there are still those who refuse to believe that You-Know-Who is back!'

'Are you implying that a Death Eater managed to smuggle a cursed necklace into Hogsmeade? Right under my Aurors' noses?' Moody enquired.

'I'm afraid so, Alastor,' Dumbledore replied. 'Quite how they did it is anyone's guess.'

'We'll be undertaking a full investigation in Hogsmeade, of course,' the craggy Auror said gruffly.

Dumbledore nodded.

'I saw Katie at the Three Broomsticks,' Tonks admitted. 'I saw her leave. But I didn't see her talk to anyone.'

'Rosmerta knows everybody's business. We'll be speaking to her first thing,' Moody confirmed.

Whilst Moody started to devise a plan with Dumbledore about how to instigate the investigation, Charis began to play idly with the Draumar. Moody was speaking about what the Aurors would do, and while Morgana and Tonks listened carefully and Lupin and Arthur chipped in with ideas, Charis felt a bit left out, knowing very little of Auror business. She would have liked to at least stand with the others and maybe come up with a good idea or two herself, but she didn't dare move. She could feel the weight of Snape's black eyes on her, and they kept her petrified.

And indeed, the dark wizard was observing her intently as she fiddled with her necklace. He knew very well that the only jewellery she normally wore was the star necklace, the twin of the one Morgana owned. But now Charis was wearing a second one, which appeared to be a locket of some sort. It was silver and didn't look like something cheap bought at Tarnish & Sully. And the way Charis looked at it suggested that she was quite fond of the piece. Surely, it must have been a gift.

Snape's glare grew darker. That kind of trinket looked exactly like something a wizard like Grindling Gibbons would use to charm a witch.

Snape just considered making a snide remark when he saw Charis flinch and her eyes widen in surprise. And indeed, the blonde Ravenclaw did feel slightly puzzled. She had been stroking one of the star shapes carved on the Draumar, quite absent-mindedly, when she'd felt the object getting warmer in her hand. As she looked down, she noticed the star was glowing faintly. Then, after a few moments, there was a little click, and the Draumar sprung open, releasing a wisp of ethereal, smoky substance that formed the shape of... Grindling Gibbons!

Charis gazed in awe at the apparition. It certainly looked like Grindling, but his voice sounded strange and other-worldly as he began to speak. It boomed around the lounge, making everyone fall silent and take notice.

'The glowing Lion born into the House of Snakes

That will bring the answers to conquer the Dark.'

Everyone stared, mesmerised as the wispy smoke was sucked back into the Draumar and the item clicked shut again. And Charis looked at the silver object in her hand like it might explode at any second.

'That is a very unusual object, Charis. May I ask where you got it?' Dumbledore asked, not unkindly, breaking the rather awkward silence that had descended.

Charis looked up. She had almost forgotten that there were other people in the room. And she had certainly not been prepared for everyone looking at her. She blushed.

'Grindling...,' she started. 'He's my boss in the Hall of Prophecies. He gave it to me. He was the one who appeared. But he never told me he'd made a prophecy.'

Dumbledore nodded carefully.

'Arthur, would you mind taking everyone to the kitchen and letting them taste Molly's cake? I'd like to have a private word with Charis.'

'It's lemon drizzle cake,' Arthur told the room at large, a bit louder than he normally would, in order to get everyone's attention away from Charis. Certainly, the girl didn't need everyone staring at her. 'Remus, would you be so kind as to pop the kettle on?'

He led the way to the kitchen, closely followed by Lupin, Tonks and Moody. The two Slytherins, however, exited the lounge more slowly, Snape giving Charis a suspicious look, Morgana looking worried for her friend. She also felt slightly guilty. After all, it had been she who had agreed to deliver that Draumar.

Once the door had closed and she and Dumbledore were alone in the room, Charis started apologising for having disturbed the meeting.

'I'm so sorry, Albus. I didn't know how to work it; I was just fiddling with it. I didn't mean to interrupt the meeting.'

'Don't worry yourself, child,' the old wizard said kindly, looking at the little silver object in Charis' hand. 'It is a Draumar, is it not?'

Charis nodded.

'May I have a look at it?'

Charis handed it over, unsure of what might happen next. Would it open again? And if so, would they hear the same prophecy once more? But as Dumbledore stroked the Draumar with his thumb, nothing happened.

'Curious object, Draumars,' he said slowly. 'In many ways, they resemble the spheres you work with at the Hall of Prophecy. Those can only be retrieved by the ones who made the prophecies and by those whom they are about. And Draumars... they only reveal their secrets to the person who made the prophecy and those the prophecy involves.'

He looked at Charis over the rim of his glasses meaningfully, and she, in turn, looked bewildered.

'Grindling made the prophecy... about me?'

'Not necessarily about you, dear Charis. But yes, I think the prophecy has something to do with you.' He handed back the Draumar. 'Would you mind opening it once more?'

With shaking hands, Charis fiddled with the silver object until she found the star she'd been rubbing before. Again, it glowed and the Draumar sprang open, and once again, the booming prophecy filled the room.

'Does any of it make sense to you?' Dumbledore asked after they'd heard the prophecy for the second time.

'House of Snakes... must be Slytherin?' Charis reasoned, her analytical Ravenclaw brain kicking into action at once.

Dumbledore nodded, impressed.

'And the Lion... is that a Gryffindor? A Gryffindor who was sorted into Slytherin?'

To that, Dumbledore smiled.

'How many Gryffindors do we know that have been sorted into Slytherin?'

Charis could not help but giggle at this. 'None!'

'"Born into the House of Snakes...",' Dumbledore recited the prophecy. 'Could it be the other way around?'

'You mean, a Slytherin who became a Gryffindor?' Charis asked, looking puzzled.

'Precisely!' the old wizard replied, his blue eyes twinkling characteristically. He already seemed to know more than he let on but seemed not yet prepared to tell.

'Charis, I understand that this is a very private matter, and you are entitled to say no, but I'd like to consult our very own Slytherins on this.'

Charis agreed, but as Dumbledore went to the kitchen to fetch Morgana and Snape, she almost wished she hadn't. She didn't mind having Morgana by her side, but Snape... He had been staring at her ever since he'd arrived, and the look he'd given her when leaving the room had not exactly been a kind one. She was, therefore, more than grateful when Morgana sat down right beside her and Dumbledore handed her a cup of tea to which she could hold on to. She didn't dare look at Snape, who'd remained standing by the fireplace, his arms once more crossed.

'As you have already overheard the prophecy, I'll ask you straight out. "A lion born into the house of snakes..." Does that mean anything to either of you?' he asked the two Slytherins in front of him.

Morgana looked at Snape, shrugging. Snape, however, seemed more than a little irritated by the question.

'Are you questioning the Sorting Hat's competency?' he hissed. 'There are no Gryffindors in my house,' he answered flatly.

'Is there anyone in Gryffindor who was expected to be in Slytherin, then?' Albus asked pointedly, and the look on Snape's face went from dark to murderous.

'Sirius Black,' he breathed slowly, acid pouring from every single syllable.

Dumbledore nodded.

'The Blacks have always been in Slytherin...,' he agreed.

'But Sirius was absolved. He was innocent.' Morgana pointed out.

'The prophecy said he "Has repented for the error of his ways",' she clarified as the others, slightly puzzled, looked at her. 'Sirius never was a follower of the Da... of You-Know-Who. So, that part can't refer to him. Unless he did something bad that we don't know about, of course.'

Like bullying me every day for seven years? Snape thought to himself bitterly, fighting hard not to huff. Then again, to the day of his death, Black had seen nothing wrong with this. He certainly never repented for it. So, maybe Morgana was right.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

'Hm, well, the prophecy also mentions an ancient tree... and the Blacks are one of the most ancient families in the Wizarding world. "The raven that was hatched on the lowest branch..." Now who could that be, Charis?'

Once more, Dumbledore had asked a question to which he already knew the answer, and Charis looked up at him, wide eyed.

'M-me?'

'I think so, Charis,' Dumbledore replied. 'You are Muggle-born and yet a Black. Had your name ever been on the tapestry in the drawing room, it would certainly have been blasted off.'

'But there's still the part about the creature,' Charis blurted out, so overwhelmed by the fact that she'd been mentioned in Grindling's prophecy that she wasn't thinking straight. 'And if the prophecy is not about Sirius, then it could be about anyone! The Blacks go back centuries!'

'I think, I'd like to consult an expert on prophecies,' Dumbledore said slowly.

'Not Trelawney, I hope,' said Snape cuttingly.

Morgana snorted at this, and Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

'No, I think we need someone with more specific expertise than our Professors Trelawney and Firenze.'

He stroked his beard for a moment and then turned towards Charis once more.

'Tell me, Charis, where do you think I might get hold of Grindling Gibbons at this late hour?'