Harry Potter : Chapter 68: Aftermath I

"Our Mind was proved better than the Mind of the one we felled, our Bodies overcame the battle while the Hydra's didn't, and our Magic clearly bested the creature's." Hagrid's voice was a cheerful rumble as he once more explained in the most concise and confusing way he could what exactly he had realized the previous day.

"So of course our superiority was enough to be set in stone, so to speak, and so, the venom of the Hydra and its lesser counterparts is no longer capable of overcoming us."

The sun shone with might unknown to the Englishmen settled on the beach: the greek sea shimmered under the light like a cloth made of diamonds, and the neverending coming and going of the waves was akin to the breathe of some colossal beast.

The Mediterranean breeze carried on it the salt of the water, and just a hint of the dry presence of the white sand.

All in all, it was a wonderful day, and Minerva had no reason whatsoever to be upset. Except that she was.

Sitting cross-legged in linen trousers that were cut mid-thigh, Hagrid seemed more imposing than ever, especially with his dark hair contrasting against the white of the sand.

His massive frame seemed a rock under a waterfall of sunlight, and irregular, silvery scars climbed over one shoulder and reached his clavicle as if the rays of the sun crashed more violently over the wrinkled patches of skin.

Hunched forward over the necessary project he had to complete, with the Black King piece that the three had been exchanging every time one achieved a notable result.

His hands moved with surety over the different pieces of bleached wood: the respectable trunk that they had found washed over during the night had immediately caught his interest, and since the dawn, he had been working on it with extreme care.

Feeling her wand eagerly thrum in her hand, Minerva almost gave in to the temptation of transfiguring him in an actual rock. At least mere stone had the good manners of being silent.

By Morgana, a rock would have at least made the same sound when struck in the same manner: Hagrid seemed instead to take great joy in changing his answer every time Minerva made the same question.

Worse for her mood, Tom looked like this time he had understood completely: "So it wasn't us subsuming the 'essence' of the Hydra."

Hagrid turned with an indulgent smile on his face while his hands kept working on the wood: where before there was only an irregular shape, now Minerva could recognize the much greater project she had helped design.

Sadly, changing the Shape of the wood would prove disastrous when it came time for the kind of enchantments it would require, and so she was stuck trying to come to terms with the obviously extremely illegal ritual her tallest friend had dragged her into.

Her eyes lowered to the back of her left hand, where a perfectly circular scar marked what had happened the day before: it stood slightly upraised against her fair skin, and a small, insignificant and ordinary part of her lamented the blemish's presence, only for her greater self to take pride in it. She had proven the better hunter.

She had survived a hunter's attack, and now her scar would show the world that she went from the hunter to the hunter herself, winning something that could hardly be measured. Immunity from any venom of equal or lesser potency.

She recalled the events of the previous day, of course, and she was aware of every detail, but that bone-deep understanding, that sky-bearing certainty that she had enjoyed during the ritual wasn't quite there.

Of, course, she knew that if a form of magic capable of teaching directly to the mind of the student actually existed, she'd have heard of it by now.

But as Professor Dumbledore had clarified during their very first lesson of Occlumency, not two minds were alike, and as such, no magic could be learned by memories: that was because each wizard or witch began every spell from their own perception and understanding of the reality that was about to change.

It didn't mean that with time Minerva would be unable to reach her own, personal understanding and mastery of the ritual, it simply meant what she had always known: there were no shortcuts for knowledge.

It was one of the reasons why Wit-Sharpening potions were forbidden only during tests and exams, but while regulated because of the rather dangerous side effects, they could be consumed for study.

She eyed quietly the Black King that hung on a leather string from Rubeus' neck: he had deserved it trice over, there was no doubt. I'll get it soon. She vowed, her hand clenching tightly around her wand as her attention snapped back to the present.

That would require us to completely understand what an 'essence', as you mean it, is." Rubeus returned his eyes to the delicate etchings he was carving into the wood, knowing that mistakes at this stage would cost much time to be corrected.

"You probably mean the 'soul'. But as you once said, the soul is a reflection of the three pillars that in their entirety make us us."

Under Tom's piercing gaze, Minerva wound herself instinctively adding: "While our souls are that which makes us ourselves."

The other two wizards contemplated in silence the words of the witch that sat on a transfigured chair in a conservative linen dress, only for both to nod thoughtfully, making her smile.

Hagrid's insight into the workings of the ritual was utterly alien to her mind: even now that she had lived through it, that particular memory was akin to an off-color painting of a blurred subject. She could say what the colors were, but she couldn't for the life of her describe the subject in the frame.

Riddle too was dressed in transfigured clothes, as the bandages wouldn't have allowed him his regular choices, while the heat forbade the use of the thick robes necessary for Hogwarts.

Hewas laid on chaise longue transfigured from the seafoam, courtesy of Minerva, and its cool presence soothed his aching body while sustaining his back enough for him to look at his companions.

Companions that had willingly stabbed themselves with a Hydra's fang to complete an experimental ritual meant to save his life.

Oh, Hagrid had explained, and what little of that experience remained in his mind agreed, that it was necessary for the other two 'hunters' to be equal before the presence of the hunted.

Any imbalance in the presentation of the victors upon the won would have clashed against the geometry of the ritual, potentially setting off unpredictable effects.

Which included but weren't limited to, dying horribly while their hearts cracked like eggs and gave life to three separate Hydras that would instead enjoy a human-level of intelligence, bodies capable of undergoing an Animagus transformation, and venom capable of eroding wards.

Maybe the last two points were a joke, sometimes it was hard to tell with Rubeus. In any case, it seemed that he was intent on keeping up his uncanny ability to defy whatever mental model Tom could build for him.

Sometimes his choices were predictable, but he could almost never guess how he'd accomplish something he set out to do.

Rubeus: the unnaturally tall student that had eyed Tom while he was dying as if he was an ingredient for a potion. The humongous wizard had coldly calculated exactly how much he stood to gain from saving him, and exactly how much he gained from the manner in which he saved him.

Frankly, the excuse of not having enough time to brew an antidote, considering his discovery of the 'mirroring' method that he had applied since his first year, didn't ring true at all.

"Besides, Mind, Body, and Magic that we call our own aren't meant to take pieces of others, never mind something as different under any point of view as a Hydra." the younger Slytherin student kept talking.

"Trying to take... I don't know, the regenerative ability of the Hydra for ourselves, besides requiring a completely different ritual that I can't even imagine, would dramatically change our Body.

How that would affect Mind and/or Magic is unpredictable, but the human brain goes off the rails with almost nothing, so insanity in some form, while the magic would likely take some... flavor, that'd affect everything we'd attempt to do permanently."

The section of white wood that Hagrid was working on was set aside only for another to take its place: several panels in different triangular shapes were slowly being shaped by the careful work of his wand, and under the attentive supervision of Minerva.

That pinned him in place with her predatory green eyes, he was content of answering any question about the current situation, and the prior's day chain of events.

With a few finishing touches, Rubeus rose to his feet and stepped back from the pile of white wood panels that he had crafted: his dark eyes scrutinizing them carefully as if seeking any imperfection.

While all of them had the same thickness and were as smooth as magic could make them, there were minute ridges along some of the edges, and hair-thin channels that went in straight lines across the natural grain of the wood.

"You're up, Minerva."

"How did you think of it?" satisfied of his understanding of the ritual that saved his life, Riddle pushed aside his more personal thoughts about his odd relationship with both Hagrid and McGonagall, focusing instead on the object that the two had been busy crafting since they had managed to return to the minute cottage they had built by the sea the day of their arrival in Greece.

"Uh, while reading up for those runes," the two wizards exchanged a meaningful glance while Minerva was busy, "I read about a ship, skipbladder or something along those lines, that in Norse Mythology was described as a vessel able to be folded and enter a pocket."

"Skíðblaðnir." Riddle corrected him while his mind already went in another direction: "And by any chance, did you begin planning how to make such a ship? Once we all learn how to Portkey, the return trips will be considerably easier, but to reach a new place..."

Minerva stood from her chair and rosed her wand: without any verbal incantation, the panels of wood started to rise and place themselves in a complex geometric pattern that only she was able to keep in mind.

Under her guide, the matching ridges on the pieces of wood held one next to the other clicked together, seamlessly joining each other in an ever-growing three-dimensional shape that soon cast a big shadow over the two wizards.

"I toyed with the idea of other applications of your remarkable ink, but I didn't have the time to actually plan anything.

As for the travels... I thought I'd be going ahead Apparating, then send you a portkey to my location." Hagrid's voice caught Riddle from his reverie, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Portkeys cannot be sent: they must be made where they are meant to take off from, also, we've only moved to and through muggle or inhabited locations, magical districts aren't quite that easy to reach... You'd know it if you actually managed to learn how to make them."

Riddle couldn't help but tease Hagrid now that he had found a piece of magic that was for the time beyond him: "Are you offering to Apparate ahead for each of our travels?"

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