The Words Hung Above
Harry
Harry had had the most bizarre of dreams the night of the equinox, courtesy of the ivy leaves placed under his pillow. In them, he had been speaking with the Huntsman, before it transitioned to him reading through a thick, dusty tome, transitioning once more to him speaking with a regal looking woman, seated on a throne with eight other women seated either side of her, making a line of nine.
Waking up, he immediately took notes on the dreams in a notebook he kept on his bedside table before getting dressed and heading to the library. It was time for some research. Harry was used to libraries with card catalogues, and organizational systems that made sense. Neither of which were present in the library of Hogwarts, so the first port of call was the librarian, Irma Pince.
“Good Librarian?” Harry whispered as he stepped up to the desk.
“Mr. Potter. How might I assist you?” Madame Pince, a stern woman with a song like iron, asked.
“I was curious as to whether there were ledgers pertaining to the artifacts the school possesses? And, in the circumstance that there are such ledgers, whether I might be allowed access to them?”
“We do indeed possess such ledgers, Mr. Potter.” Madame Pince responded, her mouth a thin line. “However, I would require information on the purpose for your request before even considering allowing you access to such documents.”
“A research project that Professor Binns has assigned for me, Good Librarian.” Harry answered, quickly spinning his tale from the yarns of rumors that had abounded. “His brief lucidity reoccurred when I went to discuss a lesson with him, he believes his unfinished business may be related to an artifact in the castle.”
“A noble idea, Mr. Potter, helping one of the castle’s ghosts pass on.” Madame Pince replied as she bent underneath the desk and hefted out a heavy looking tome. “You shall have to peruse the contents within the library. I do not allow such tomes to be borrowed.”
“An understandable restriction, Good Madame.” Harry said, picking up the tome. “It shall not leave this room.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Harry had been paging through the ledger, taking notes every so often, for about an hour when he was suddenly interrupted.
“Hey songbird.” Cedric whispered. “Whatcha looking into?”
Diverting his attention from the ledger, Harry jotted down a note in his journal, turning it about and sliding it toward Cedric, before turning his attention back to the ledger, turning the page and finally finding what he had been looking for. Taking out another notebook, he copied out the relevant section and closed the book, returning the ledger to Madame Pince, before leading Cedric into an empty room.
“So, why’d you have to wait till we were alone to tell me what you’re researching?”
“Do you trust me? And I don’t mean it in the keeping mild secrets sense, do you trust me enough to take a secret to your grave?”
Looking at Cedric, Harry watched as his sole human companion’s gaze shifted, his expression becoming pensive. He watched as Cedric thought for what felt like an age, but was nearer to a minute, before the fair-faced magician squared his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
“Yes. You trusted me enough to bring me into a private tradition of yours, I'd have to be an asshole to not place at least the same amount in you.”
“Do you trust me enough to bear a tynged?” Harry asked, letting the concept hang in the air.
“If you think it’s necessary, then yes.”
Nodding, Harry dug a hand into the spectral fur of Artorius and gripped his staff with his other. Weaving threads of song and spell into his voice, he spoke.
“Of my goals, you shall reveal no knowledge to those who are unaware. Of this discussion, you shall reveal no knowledge to those who ask and those who do not. Of my research you shall reveal no knowledge to those who ask and those who do not.” Harry uttered, voice heavy with the flutes of a tynged, and heavy with the chimes of magic, and the humming of faeries.
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Cedric
“Okay then, I take it this is… really serious.” Cedric said, body shivering as he felt the tynghedau settle into his very being.
“What do you know about Elves, Cedric?”
“I think it’s gross and unthinkable how they’re treated.” He answered. “I mean, we got rid of slavery as an institution for humans, but somehow it’s fine for non-humans?”
“I’m going to free them.”
“Then I want to help.”
“No admonishments about how they like it? Or about the collapse of society?”
“You mean like people argued about human slaves? Cedric responded. “And no, if a society requires slavery, that isn’t a society that deserves to continue. And also, aren’t household spirits a thing? ”
“They are. An apt example of the disruption the enslaving of the Elves has created. But before I proceed, there are two questions you are to answer. The first, what reasoning have you for doing nothing when knowing of the elves’ plight?”
“Harry, I’m only a year older than you, and a single teenager who doesn’t know even a twenty-fourth of the information I’d need to do anything. If I had that information, and the means, though? If that was the case, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”
“Your reasoning is sound. The second, has your family ever owned an elf?”
“No.” Cedric replied, a hint of pride edging into his voice. “Mum wanted to get one but wound up not because I forced myself to throw up whenever she suggested it. She eventually dropped it, thought getting one might give me ‘an even more delicate constitution.’”
“Well then, in that case, I have something you can help me with.” Harry replied, handing over the notebook he had noted the entry in.
“’Centaurus’ Spear?’” Cedric read out. “Stored in Sublevel Two, Vault Room One?”
“An artifact that rightfully belongs to the centaur eminence in the Forest, that was demanded as payment to allow them territory within the woods.” Harry clarified. “The requested item in a barter made for information on planar entrances within the grounds.”
“I assume you’ll need help with getting the Spear?”
“Indeed. There are likely spells present that I would be unable to undo, given my relative inability to alter the State of something.”
“Well then, let’s get to finding this room.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
As it turned out, a location simply labelled ‘Vault Room One’ was rather hard to find. Sublevel Two was simple to decipher, seeing as there were only two floors in the castle that could be considered sublevels. The first, the floor with the kitchens and Hufflepuff common room. The second, the dungeons, where Potions classes took place. Naturally, that meant Harry and Cedric had to search through all of the abandoned classrooms, the storerooms, the broom closets and the various other disused rooms in the dungeons. Disturbingly, some of the rooms that looked as though they hadn’t been used in centuries had rust-brown stains on the floors.
Eventually, near the beginning of December, however, they found a door that Harry stopped short at.
“This is it.”
“You sure songbird?”
“Certain.” Harry replied. “There are… so many spells on that door.”
“And you know that how?” Cedric asked, tone filled with amusement.
“Bardic secret.” Harry replied, glancing over at his companion as he narrowed his eyes and looked at the door, seeming to strain with effort.
“Mostly apotropaic spells.” Cedric commented, gesturing to a bolt on the door. “They’re anchored into a rivet.”
“And you’ve determined this how?”
“Magician’s secret.” Cedric responded, grinning.
“I suppose turnabout is fair game.” Harry replied, strumming his lyre and changing the rivet, as dictated by Cedric, to the point the spells unraveled.
Stepping up to the door, Cedric looked at Harry, getting a nod, before opening the door with a dramatic flourish.
“After you, my good bard.” Cedric said, pretending to tip a hat.
Chuckling, Harry entered the room, whistling a sphere of light into the crevice of his staff, hearing Cedric close the door as he did so. Waiting for his companion, Harry looked around the room, seeing the sheer quantity of crates and podiums they would have to search through.
“Okay, just set up a slight alert charm…” Cedric said, trailing off. “That’s… a lot of places to keep a spear.”
“You take the right, I’ll take he left.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
They had been going for a few hours, with no true results, when, while Harry was sorting through a crate that he had opened, he heard Cedric call out.
“Hey songbird! I think I found it!”
Making his way through the mass of boxes, chests and podiums, Harry finally managed to find Cedric in the mass of artifacts. Standing in front of a chest, Cedric was looking critically at a spear that he was holding. Stepping closer, Harry examined the spearhead, moving his staff closer to let the light catch in the ridges of the knapped stone, seeing the divots in the shape of Phoenician glyphs.
“The carving’s seem to agree with your assessment.” Harry replied. “Now we just need to smuggle this out of here.”
Taking the spear from Cedric’s hands, Harry gently slid it into his bag, nearly dropping it when Cedric swore.
“Shit, it’s past curfew.” He said, looking at his watch. “I’m pretty sure the golems were reprogramed this year as well.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to rather quiet then.” Harry commented, stepping up to the door, whistling a charm onto his and Cedric’s shoes, dampening the sound that was caused by their footfall.
Sneaking around the dungeons was a difficult enough task, its labyrinthine layout making it hard to navigate even when all of the lanterns were lit, but combine the dark nature of the unlit halls, and carrying a staff with you as well, and it was rather more difficult than it might have been had Harry not been wielding his staff.
It was as they were nearing the staircase leading to the floor they needed to reach that they heard a set of footsteps that weren’t their own, approaching them from the front. Casting his gaze around himself wildly, Harry was distracted from finding a hiding place when Cedric yanked him into an alcove hidden by a tapestry. A rather small alcove.
“This is… quite the positioning.” Harry whispered, resolutely looking at the forest green shirt beneath Cedric’s cardigan.
“Yeah, well, it kind of works in our favor, songbird.” Cedric whispered back. “Would you rather the professors think we were making out, or stealing an artifact to return it to its rightful owners?”
“A salient point.”