Disclaimer: see chapter 1

What came of reading books

Chapter 5: The Feather of Ma'at

Severus Snape prowled the hall outside the library, examining the wall minutely. He was absolutely certain that he had found the Granger girl in a small windowed room off this corridor, but there was no sign of an entrance. The door had been open, and he had not looked carefully at it when he had left the dusty little place in such a turmoil of memory and emotion.

He had been so overwhelmed when the picture of Lily had spoken to him that he had not stayed long. Afterwards, he cursed himself for not taking his time, not enjoying such a miracle. This Lily was the Lily of his secret, happy memories: the Lily of the all-too-brief era of their friendship. The beginning of his sixth year had been the beginning of his best times at Hogwarts. After the horrors of his fifth year, he now had a wonderful, clever friend who shared his interests and listened to his dreams.

She had had dreams, too, in those days: dreams that did not include Potter and his entourage. She was as ambitious as a Slytherin, and was full of plans for expanding her study of the effect of Muggleborns on the wizarding world. No one since had ever attempted such a book—or even thought of it, as far as he knew. She was to be the author of a powerful, controversial work, one that would rivet the attention of not just British wizarding society, but of wizards and witches throughout the world. She would be a recognised authority, a force for educating and shaping public opinion.

And she was willing to go where her research took her. She was willing to accept the consequences. That was the Gryffindor in her: fearless and energetic, not bound by preconceived ideas.

He had spent the last few nights huddled miserably over a bottle of Ogdens Old, pretending that he was not longing to see her again. Last night, he had surrendered, and had begun his search for the marvelous picture. It's in yet another lair for the Gryffindors to use for their usual tricks, he told himself. As such, I owe it to the school to find it and render it off-limits. The thought of that arrogant chit Granger pawing about the place, looking with her commonplace eyes at the picture of his friend, and possibly bringing Potter and that dolt Weasley to goggle, raised the stakes considerably.

Snape considered the pictures on the wall. One of them must be the entrance to the secret room. He paused briefly in front of the wizard Waterhouse's picture of Circe poisoning the sea. The brilliant green potion poured endlessly into the waves at her feet. Circe glanced at him briefly, with a nasty smirk. "Ever tried this?" she asked.

He looked at the pretty, malicious face with no sign of the distaste he felt. "No, I cannot say I have ever had occasion, having no sea-going enemies. Is there a small room behind you by any chance?"

Circe gave a sharp laugh, and returned to poisoning the water. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Rebuffed, Snape moved further down the hall, and looked at the big canvas of Helga Hufflepuff doing something extraordinarily virtuous and dull. "Excuse me," he said, trying to attract the notice of Hufflepuff and the odious, squeaking creatures around her. They were oblivious to him, clamouring at the witch in the picture to rid them of what appeared to be an infestation of fungal chronolytes. The fungus itself was well depicted. Snape leaned forward, admiring the detail of the reddish-brown growths.

"Do you mind?" A furry-footed midget glared at him. "Hobbits are being healed here." The hobbit turned its green-clad back on him. Helga gave him a quick, harried look of reproof.

"I beg your pardon," Snape said with icy control, "I merely wished to ask if there is a small room behind you." He was ignored.

It was one of these two pictures, he was certain; but which one, and the necessary password to admit him, he knew not. Another option was to approach Granger, and ask (!) her how to find the entrance. After a long shudder, he devised a new plan….

-----

"Cripes, Hermione," whined Ron. "Now you want blood?"

"Don't be such a baby," Hermione chided. "It's only a little blood, and it's for a very important special project."

"Hermione's ‘I'm Getting 175% In All My Subjects Project,’" Ron muttered. "Will it hurt?"

"You can have my blood, Hermione," Harry interposed wearily. "Just leave a little for me."

Hermione smiled uncertainly, rather ashamed at how easily she had manipulated them. They and their books were comfortably spread out in the Common Room. She had made a point of spending the whole evening with them, to atone for a week's neglect. Harry looked idly at her pile of books.

"Most Potente Potions, Opera Praetorii, Malleus Maleficarum, and---Hermione, this is The Book of the Dead! Do you think you should be playing around with this?

"It's only a book," Hermione declared, distributing Flossing Mints. "No harm ever came from reading a book."

Ron and Harry exchanged a look of disbelief. "You're joking, right?" asked Harry.

Hermione huffed, and moved the stack of tomes away from Harry, over to her other side.

After a while, they headed off to their dormitories. At Hermione's request, Harry carefully washed his hands, came back, and let Hermione draw a small vial of blood off, using a Crudus charm. Ron turned green and pointedly faced the wall.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said earnestly. "This really means a lot to me." Impulsively, she hugged him. Harry seemed surprised, and gave her an embarrassed pat. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Come on, mate," he urged Harry. "Maybe Hermione has bled you enough that you'll be able to sleep tonight."

Harry managed a smile for both of them and went slowly up the stairs. Hermione watched them off, feeling like the lowest form of life.

-----

"It is odd that the charm is in The Book of the Dead," Lily observed. "I'm not dead. Never have been."

"Well," said Hermione, "the ancient Egyptians would have described you as Lily's ka, the embodiment of her spirit. As you know, the mummy was usually the home of the ka, but statues or pictures would do—the ka never died as long as an image of the person remained."

"Yes, yes, yes. Still, I don't think of myself as the image of anyone. I'm just myself."

"I suppose that's the way a good image is supposed to think."

Lily shrugged. "So the boy let you have the blood?"

"Please call him Harry," Hermione said. "It really bothers me when you call him ‘the boy.’"

"Sorry. I don't care much for the name Harry. I can't imagine naming a child of mine that. It must have been Potter's idea."

"I don't know." A shiver ran up Hermione's spine, a feeling that she was climbing a stairway leading to the empty sky. "Lily, if this works—if you step out of the picture and are all right---what do we do then?"

Lily's smile slipped. "Tell the Headmaster, I suppose. I wonder if he'll be much put out."

-----

It was quite an undertaking to fill the huge, number 30-sized cauldron with water. The Seba potion recipe was frustratingly vague in some of its details, but Hermione had a feeling that conjured water might not yield satisfactory results, and was reduced to smuggling the miniaturised containers into the secret room a few at a time. The soil had been casually scooped up; Parvati Patil had good quality myrrh amongst the confusion of her cosmetic preparations; Hermione sacrificed a gold chain bracelet that she rarely had occasion to wear; the scarab beetles eyes were out in easy reach in the potions classroom; and she had spotted some lotus flowers blooming in Professor Sprout's water garden. No doubt the good professor would be unhappy to find some of her prized flowers ruthlessly stripped of their cool, sweet petals, but no price was too high for success in this venture, Hermione decided.

The nearly impossible item, surprisingly, turned out to be the paintbrush. She was unsure if a transfigured item would be sufficiently a true cat-hair brush to meet the requirements of the ritual. Filch had some large, filthy brushes that he kept for daubing paint on scratched walls: these would unquestionably contaminate the potion. There were no art supplies per se at Hogwarts, so Hermione was compelled to fire off a request via owl to her mother to buy her a selection of artists' brushes. Once deposited before her (and they raised Ron and Harry's brows nearly to the ceiling), she borrowed a housemate's cat (Crookshanks she sadly rejected as part kneazle), and gave the lucky feline a long grooming. The sable hair of the brushes was removed and the cat hair charmed on. The resulting tools looked crude, but usable. The attaching charm could not be helped. The brushes were real wood and real cat hair. It was the best she could do.

Tonight she had decided to forgo dinner, so eager was she to see her enterprise through. She had conjured a worktable, laying out her books, equipment and ingredients with mathematical exactitude. The great cauldron was placed against the wall under the painting, and the water was beginning to heat. She had already determined the sun's path relative to the hidden room, so she would stir the potion in the opposite direction. Lily was pacing nervously around the library table, murmuring bits from the Sinuhe charm.

"Are you absolutely sure that this is what you want?" Hermione looked up at Lily, who did not seem to hear her at first.

Lily-in-the-picture swallowed, and said firmly, "Yes. Let's get on with it." She leaned back against the table, fingers drumming a quick, percussive rhythm. The painted library's copy of The Book of the Dead was open next to her.

The ingredients were added in the proper order, and the air became fragrant with myrrh and lotus. Hermione bent over the cauldron, blowing softly on the surface of the potion that she continually stirred with her wand. Lily watched her anxiously, mirroring Hermione's every breath. Steam began to rise in soft, white wisps, gradually obscuring the picture. Hermione's exquisite and extravagantly expensive magical thermometer was set to alert her when the perfect temperature had been reached. She had finally chosen the thickest of the brushes for the critical work, but the others were there in case something went wrong.

It was a slow process, even with a magical fire giving strong, evenly-distributed heat. The jewel-like colours of the Tree of Life window began to fade with the setting sun. Hermione's arm grew tired, but she dared not stop or even slow down. Lily, glimpsed through the steam, was pale and determined, her lips moving soundlessly.

A curious, low, vibrating hum, more felt than heard, drew Hermione's attention. The book had said nothing of this, but it was most likely a side-effect of such a powerful spell. It sounded a little like the whirring, deep-pitched sound of an Aboriginal bullroarer that she had heard once in a travel program. Lily's eyes were very wide. She knew her own must be, too.

Wearily, she made herself continue stirring, trying to maintain an even, unhurried motion. She began to feel light-headed from all the puffing, and from the perfumed air. Sweat trickled into her eyes, and she reminded herself to use only her left hand to wipe it away. The stirring must not be interrupted. The vibrating buzzed under the soles of her feet, and traveled through every bone in her body. Her teeth began to chatter. Unwillingly, she briefly wondered if she were doing something, very, very wrong.

The thermometer chimed sweetly, pronouncing the potion complete. Fumbling, Hermione picked up her brush, and dipped it into the potion. Not surprisingly, it was quite watery, but it also had a slick, iridescent sheen on it, as it dripped heavily from the brush.

Hermione nearly panicked, not sure that she knew how to draw a door. She remembered the symbol in The Book of the Dead, the heavy pillar-and-lintel gateway, and accomplished it in a few shaky strokes. As she painted the doorway around the motionless shape of Lily, curls of colour spiraled out of the picture, streaming around the edges of the door in a fantastic pattern. The humming grew louder.

Hermione stepped back. She and Lily looked at each other, drew breath, picked up their copies of The Book of the Dead, and began to read aloud:

“Hail, Lord Anubis, Opener of Roads---
Hail, Lord Anubis, Opener of Roads,
Hail, Lord Anubis, Opener of Roads,”


A grinning, jackal-headed shape formed out of the mist. It seemed interested in the proceedings, but was neutral, waiting on events.

“Hail to thee, the Twelve who wait in the Hall of Osiris,
O ye who open up the way, who act as gatekeepers between the worlds,
And hail to thee, Lord of the Dead, Osiris who is Pharaoh forever.
May there be no opposition to her,
May she be found light in the balance.
Let her be tested by the Feather of Ma'at, she who is Truth,
Let her not fall to the Eater of the Dead, to the Devourer of Amenta----“


The hidden room was transforming. The ceiling was higher, much higher, painted blue and spangled with golden stars. On either side of Hermione marched a row of huge stone columns, each topped with a carved lotus capital. Incense floated on the air. Lily was at the other end of the hall, standing by a radiant goddess in a diaphanous robe, who placed a feather on a great golden scale, weighing it against a human heart. Growling low, its rumble blending with the vibrations all around them, was a monstrous two-legged body with the head of a hippopotamus. Behind them, Hermione dimly saw the enthroned green mummy who was the pharaoh of the dead.

The vibrating was unendurable. No building could stand long against such an earthquake. Hermione felt tears filling her eyes, running unhindered down her face. Her nose was dripping. She did not dare move. She was afraid, so terribly afraid of the Judges. They were intent on Lily, but one inhuman, impassive face was turned briefly toward her, and she trembled. They must finish the incantation!

“Let her go forth, gatekeepers, let her return to the lands of Horus,
Let her go forth to the living lands,
Let her not be driven away,
Nor cast upon the wall of blazing fire,
Nor eaten by the Devourers,
But let the way be opened!
I have spoken in Truth,
I have spoken in Truth,
I have spoken in Truth,
Djedeni em Ma'at!”


The humming swelled suddenly to a roar, and climaxed in a distant, triumphant shout. The Halls of the Dead had vanished. They were in the secret room again; and Lily, with a wild look on her face, was staggering to the foreground of the picture. The doorway was a pulsing, glowing rectangle.

"It looks different," Lily called to her. "There's a light."

A shockwave blasted out of the picture, knocking Hermione flat on her back, cracking her head painfully against the stones of the floor. Dazed, she could only lie there helpless, while a twisting two-dimensional figure rushed crazily from the painting. Hermione screamed, and screams came from the distorting, fluttering shape. A wall of water crashed in all directions as it fell into the cauldron.

A wave surged up; and it was Lily, screaming and gasping, thrashing frantically, as she stretched and contorted into three dimensions. Hermione screamed again, and she realised at last that they must have help, now.

She ran to the door, smashing it open: smashing it open in the face of Severus Snape. Hermione could not form intelligible words. She grabbed his hand, and a fold of his robe, and pulled urgently. He flinched away reflexively in disgust, and then saw over her head, into the secret room.

Lily Evans was peering over the edge of a massive cauldron, her robes sodden, her hair in dripping, dark red elf locks around her white face. She feebly stretched a hand toward him.

"Severus," she whispered. "Help me."

----

The world had changed. Dumbledore, reading in his office, felt a quiver in the air and a crackle of ancient, dark magic. He got up deliberately, and began his investigations.

Harry Potter, sitting inattentively at the chessboard with Ron, felt a hot, wild rush of blood, and his eyes widened at an unexpected vision. Ron, asked him, alarmed, "What is it, mate? Was it---him?"

"No-----” said Harry, confused and oddly happy. "I saw my mum."

All over the castle, unusual events were noticed, or dismissed. Arithmantic tables shifted, well-known objects shimmered at their edges. The castle shook briefly and intensely, and then settled into quiet with a few creaks and groans. There was unusual activity among the ghosts, and after a long silent moment, the staircases, shocked into immobility, began moving again.

----

Snape thrust the irrelevant Granger aside, and rushed to Lily. She was twitching; trying to keep her head above the liquid in the cauldron, and falling back limply. Snape reached into the warm, perfumed potion, his subconscious professionally noting details that he could analyse at a later time. He lifted the soaked, shaking girl out, and pulling her closely to him, carried her out of the room and toward the Hospital Wing. He had been waiting, ever since dinner, for Granger to attempt to enter the secret room. He had been so focused on his plan that he had not noted her absence from the Great Hall. She must have been here for hours--what has she done this time?

Granger had recovered, unfortunately, her ability to speak; and was babbling at him, telling him some lunacy about a door and the Halls of the Dead. Snape ignored her; and saw only that it was indeed Lily, wonderful Lily, whom he was holding in his arms, carrying through the halls of Hogwarts. Lily looked up at him, squinting as she attempted to see him better. She clutched her wand in a white-knuckled grip.

"I was tired," she murmured thickly, "of being in the picture….." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes closed. Snape quickened his pace, barely hearing behind him the insufferable, pattering footsteps of the insufferable Granger.

-----

Notes: The Muggle version of Circe Invidiosa by Waterhouse is in the Art Museum of South Australia.

The incantation from The Book of the Dead is adapted from –well—The Book of the Dead. Yes, I have a copy.

Some of you will catch a film quote in this chapter. Thank you, Stephen Sommers.

Next chapter: The Headmaster's Office--- Dumbledore misplaces his twinkle.
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