Kite



There were many things said about the Malfoys. All of which were outdated at least ten years. They were no longer notorious, nor celebrated. The name was fast falling into obscurity, like an old silver candelabrum slowly blackening, blending into shadows where it stood unnoticed in an unused hallway alcove.

The most recent ‘news’ about them was the acquirement of Twilfitt and Tatting’s. And that was not anything at all.

Before this, there had been a soft hubbub when the name Malfoy appeared in an auction write-up. A Muggle auction of precious Egyptian knickknacks. Some bored clerk at the Ministry had been browsing foreign papers and there it was in Le Figaro: M & Mme Malfoy were highest bidders of a gold statuette of a bareheaded Isis, no throne or horns, called ‘the Great Lady of Magic’.

This had shortly followed a modest announcement in the Daily Prophet’s society pages more than a decade back:

Maisons
Selwyn & Greengrass, Black & Malfoy
welcome Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy

No one made any connection.

And now, Merlin knew what would be said when they saw the interesting little table in The Kiss of Juno.

But really, I didn’t care. There was something about lemonades and memories... and a vibrant, talented, kind witch that made mindless speculation of petty gossips even pettier. And I was remembering a tree I dreamed of once.

The candelabrum would one day be polished and admired again.



^*^*^*^*^



My Aunt Millinera Tatting had retired the previous year, and gave her half of the shop reins to me. Old Jocasta Twilfitt agreed wholeheartedly. Too wholeheartedly, in fact, that she stopped going to the store any longer and more or less retired without declaring so.

The upshot of it was I became quite well-known in Post-War society as — I quote from the Daily Prophet: ‘the poised and pleasant mistress of Twilfitt and Tatting’s, she who used to be the obscure Greengrass girl, gladly given away to the Malfoys while Daphne was married off to a ducal wizard in the Continent’.

Certainly the notoriety of the Malfoy name had its heartaches, but only such as those one forgot as soon as it was finished. Glares, dubious and mistrustful side glances, outright snubs — I learned to be used to them, the sting becoming a tickle over time. It was what Draco loved about me. He had told me so.

He said I had an outward look of hauteur but was inwardly laughing at everything and everyone.

Including him.

And Scorpius, when he came.

The fake hauteur was necessary. I had cultivated it out of a lifetime of watching my mother, aunts and sister. These women had survived with aplomb in our society of tight mores, bent scruples and hideous prejudices, so I emulated them, if only externally.

There was only one time in my life when I sincerely felt a modicum of real vindictiveness —

“Mum! You first. Quickly. Before we roast.�

Scorpius was jumping from foot to foot behind Draco, who stood in front of the blazing fireplace, beside me, eyeing me.

“Is anything the matter, Rea?�

“No, Draco.� I smiled. It was rarely he called me that. I reached for the marble jar on the mantel, seized a handful of Floo powder and threw it onto the flames.

Emerald green glittered and sparkled as the fire rose.

“Twillfitt and Tatting’s.�



^*^*^*^*^



“Young Madam Malfoy, that’s a lovely dress you’re wearing.�

I straightened up and donned my mask of loftiness as I did. The tiniest of smiles, the slightest tilt of the chin... My cashier and assistants bowed deferentially.

I noticed — for I had been watching for it — a gleam of approval and interest in the eyes of the old lady being waited on at the till.

“Aren’t they, Mrs Rossiter? They call it Grecian though it’s the Egyptians who first wore it. From the eve of the fifth century.�

The fire glowed green behind me and Scorpius disguised his stumble by jumping into my arms. The embrace lasted a fleeting couple of seconds before he walked staidly to the round table already holding his customary peach, chocolate and mint parfait. I gave my customary grimace as my son attacked it with a spoon. The layers blended and clashed.

Draco arrived next, looked around, and inclined his head in a general direction to Mrs Rossiter and the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Are you ready to proceed?� he asked me.

“Excuse us, and good morning, Mrs Rossiter,� I said to the old lady. To my employees, I only raised my eyebrows as directive. They all bowed and nodded in response.

I ushered Scorpius after Draco out to the show room, where round wardrobes were concealed behind swag upon swag of sage green silk damask. Here, two more assistants and quite a number of witches and wizards bowed and stared as we passed. I gave the smile.

In the reception area, the doorman sprang erect, threw out his chest almost comically and then bowed us out.

Only then and there, away from prying eyes, did I feel Draco reach for my hand.

“I don’t like the way that old bat looks at us,� he whispered.

I elbowed him. “We owe her a lot.�

“I acknowledge that. You acknowledge that. She has an unlimited credit account with the shop. She doesn’t have to look so smug. She reminds me of... of Granger! Merlin, I just had the perfect picture of what Granger will look like when she’s a crone.�

“She’s Granger Weasley. No hyphen,� I said, rolling my eyes at Draco’s puerile behaviour.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Look what I did. I conjured her.�

I looked to where he’d tilted his head. Hermione Granger Weasley, the youngest Madam in Magical Law, disappeared into the Apothecary, a redheaded girl in tow.

“So I take it we’re not getting Potions ingredients as yet. Where do we go?�

Scorpius chose that moment to ask to be taken out of the heat and fed something cold and sweet — the parfait had whetted his appetite. Draco dragged us to Fortescue’s. And then from there, Scorpius dragged us to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“I am not ending up wasting this morning and then ordering everything by owl. Draco, you stay here with your son and wait for me to come back with his books. And then we’ll get your wand, Scorpius. No more detours. Do we understand each other?�

“We do, Mum.�

“Good.�

“Just shrink the books, alright? You always forget the Shrinking Charm. I don’t want you straining your arms.�

“I’ll remember, thank you, Draco.�

I crossed the street and adjusted my hat against the glare of the sun. Growing up, I had rarely been thus exposed. Our family, like all the rest of ‘us’, had Floo accounts with most establishments, and arranged one-time Floo connection with Ollivander’s when the time came. Brushing against ‘lesser people’ and breathing the same air as they did was not to be borne.

I laughed it off now.

Really.

Draco and I were determined to raise Scorpius differently, in accordance with the changing times... and correct values.

Although of course, old habits die hard. I could understand Draco’s enduring aversion to certain Gryffindors.

And speaking of Gryffindors...

“Astoria.�

The woman sounded breathless. As well she should be. We had not come across each other in more than eleven years. And that time we did spend together bordered on the surreal, a dream-like glaze still coating it even until now. The way I felt about it could be compared to how I felt about my son’s taste in parfait — with both fondness and marvel.

“Hermione.�

There was silence in which we drank each other in and let things settle. Settle they did. Quickly and effortlessly.

“They’re all in the shop. There are chubbytruckles there. Fatter than ever. I thought I might as well get Rose’s books because Ron was not showing signs of wanting or remembering to move.�

“Draco and Scorpius are in Quality Quidditch Supplies.�

I tried giving Hermione the same aloof smile, tried to project the same aloof demeanour.

Tried and failed.

Hermione beamed just as warmly, and if it wasn’t for her positive pile of books, I was sure the woman would have hugged me.

I handed Scorpius’s book list to the clerk and Hermione waited. It didn’t take much time; the first-year books had been already stacked together by set. The clerk only waved his wand to wrap them and then handed them to me in exchange for gold.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?� said Hermione as I shrunk both our packages. We went to the door and I was mildly amused at how we both paused to allow the other to exit first. Of course, the witch did not give in and nudged me out.

“I’ve just been telling Scorpius that this morning. I can’t believe it’s been eleven years.�

“Twelve, actually. Tomorrow.�

“Your counting prowess astounds me.�

Hermione laughed that carefree laugh of hers which I alternately scorned and envied. I only ever sounded like that once, during a time when I felt out of sorts and yet completely right. I supposed it was to be expected, suppressed and toned as my own laugh usually was.

“And you’re — goodness, Astoria, is that the same robe?�

“Don’t mind my wearing a hat, okay? The heat is hideous.�

I failed to stifle a grin as Hermione’s jaw dropped. “B-but M — your husband — oh, of course, he doesn’t know, hmm?�

“Where’s yours?� I asked, as I steered us to The Kiss of Juno. Hermione didn’t answer until we were seated at a table, a red, red rose between us.

“In my mother’s cedar chest, along with both our wedding gowns. She thinks I wore that gown on a really special date with Ron.�

I smothered a laugh with difficulty. “You should have worn it.�

“Of course not! I’d look — �

A waiter arrived.

“Two lemonades, tart and ice cold,� I said, and then waved him away.

“No, wait, please!� Hermione called. “Where’s your restroom?�

I smirked. Hermione only shot me a look and followed the waiter, clutching her wand.



^*^*^*^*^



The Kiss of Juno was established only over a decade ago as a lounge especially for witches — and wizards who had taste and preferred the scent of freesia and champagne over wood smoke and ale. I had only been here once before, and that one time had been etched in my memory. So perhaps this had been the inspiration behind my refurbishment of Twillfitt and Tatting’s.

The place exuded femininity, but very subtly. There were no flowers save for the solitaire red roses in clear, slender glass vases on the tables. No pinks. No bows or ribbons. No frills, no lace.

The tables were clothed in lime green and ecru, the walls were tapestries of endless meadows and rolling hills. The ivory chairs had oval backs; they were like giant upright hand mirrors. The small rounded sofas and booths were in jade silk brocade of unpretentious design.

Being there again, I thought Mrs Rossiter had reason to be smug indeed.

‘The old bat’ appeared just then and I dug a fingernail in my thumb’s cuticle to keep from bursting into an unfounded, unholy and undignified shriek of mirth.

Perhaps it was the day for conjuring people with thoughts, indeed.

“I found Madam Granger Weasley in my powder room. I thought it amazing to see you both in one day, and within a day away from you-know-what. And just look at you two!�

Hermione had changed into her own lovat robe, freshly conjured from her mother’s cedar chest, I was certain. The fabric cascaded down from her shoulders to her feet like water, cinched at the waist with a thin golden cord.

“It’s twelve years tomorrow to the day we all got together here, Mrs Rossiter,� she said, smiling wryly at me.

“You two hold it dear, don’t you? Not regretting it, do you?�

“Of course we hold it dear,� I said with amazement.

“And why on earth would we regret it?� Hermione said with bemusement.

“I distinctly remember two very depressed, very desperate, but very cynical ladies sitting right here eleven years and three hundred sixty four days ago.�

“We weren’t cynical.�

Mrs Rossiter ignored me and pulled out a chair. As she bent to sit down, the pendant of her necklace fell out of her collar. It was a curious gold thing which looked like a cross with the arms curling down, and with a loop at the top.

I stared at it, and so did Hermione.

“As if we needed any more reminders,� I muttered.

Mrs Rossiter plucked the pendant off her chest and peered down at it. She smiled. And then suddenly and with amazing agility, she pulled her wand from somewhere and cast a cooling charm over our table.

“Do tell. This temperature is quite frigid for me already. Warm me up. Tell me again what happened in Egypt. After all, it has been some years.�



Arms Outstretched



I’d read in a book once, that all of our fates were interwoven like an immense, intricate web and that our threads affect, and are affected by, those of others. I had scoffed at this. Surely a peasant in our land catching cold would not in any way affect me.

Now I’m no longer convinced. It might have affected me in some manner, however infinitesimally.

When I was born, Hermione Granger was already moving on from Beatrix Potter to the Brontës. When she was sixteen, I was no more than an adolescent living on the Hogsmeade weekends and the kind of petty gossip I disdain now. I was among those who ridiculed Potter and Dumbledore and inevitably was among those who choked on the confirmation of the Dark Lord’s return, and the announcement of the death of the last of the Blacks.

Two things happened during this time, two tiny tugs in my thread of existence.

First, at the mention of Sirius Black in the headmaster’s long story, I had cast a side glance at Draco, who I knew was related to the man. To my chagrin, he had caught my eyes and returned the stare.

That was the first time we had looked at each other.

I hadn’t stopped looking since.

Second, Hermione Granger had been injured. I never used to pay notice to the other tables. I watched then. She sat there in Gryffindor with her slight hunch and considerable confidence, but she moved with less self-assurance — gingerly — as if the memory of pain somewhere in her body, though no longer there, was still too fresh, too vivid.

I had thought it was fitting that something had pulled her down a peg or two. I wasn’t rejoicing in her injury, the way Pansy disgustingly did, but I wasn’t sorry for her either.

Oh how much so.

If it wasn’t for that curse, we wouldn’t be here now, sipping lemonade while Juno Rossiter eyed us like a content cat counting her canaries.

“Where do we start?� I mused aloud.

“St Mungo’s?� said Hermione.

I nodded. She talked. I listened.

But after a while, my mind drifted. Hermione was telling our story. I relived it.



^*^*^*^*^



I considered myself well-travelled. I liked going places without pickiness. I liked seeing and watching, the whole point of travelling.

Of course, a hospital was never a part of an itinerary, unless it was built in the sixteenth century and was no longer bustling with bleeding or burned people. All the same, I had no complaints going to St Mungo’s. I liked being waited on by the Healers in their lime-green robes. I liked watching everyone beneath a mask of disinterest.

On that hot summer day, however, I had no interest in anything other than cursing something and break down in sobs somewhere private.

It was the eighteenth of July. Draco and I had been married for two years and we were both past the age when those of our set had their firstborns. I was twenty-four. For Merlin’s sake, my mother had me when she was twenty-one. Daphne’s son was already six years old.

And there I was, told that my floppy tubes were blocked. I could no sooner have a baby than a mandrake could shut up.

I was furious. Until now, I could feel the pain in my jaws because of how hard I’d clenched them. I was already the lesser Greengrass girl, and this also had to happen? Didn’t I deserve to be happy, and to make my husband happy?

I’d left too quickly. The Healer who pronounced my doom came running and actually stopped at the end of the hall to first ascertain that my hands were empty. Then she fairly ran — a green blur as I angrily blinked away my tears — and then grasped me by my shoulders. I was already brimming with hate I settled with glaring at her. To jerk out of her hold would have killed her.

She only smiled at me ruefully.

“Darling, you shot out of the office faster than a snitch. There’s no need to carry on like this. I was just about to tell you — come, let’s sit down, dear.�



^*^*^*^*^



I rarely bothered Draco with going out. We liked our home. We liked our own park. When we went out at all, it was usually to the Portkey Office, where we had to bear five minutes’ worth of stares that ranged from the curious to the callous, and then we were off to Milan, or Sagada, or Laax.

I was so glad I didn’t take Draco with me that day, although he had insisted he wanted to be there. I wanted him to be there, too, needed him, but I was glad he wasn’t there to see this very real taint to our life.

So I trudged alone to Diagon Alley to the new restaurant built some doors down from Gringotts. The Kiss of Juno.

I told the valet I was there to see Mrs Rossiter. He led me to a table and asked me to wait.

It was morning. The breakfast guests had just left and none for lunch had yet arrived. I was alone in the tasteful dining room except for a woman six tables away, sitting with her back to me. All I could see was her mane of exuberant brown hair.

“Would you like to come up to Mrs Rossiter’s office, ma’am?�

“No. If it’s alright with Mrs Rossiter, can we please just talk here? I don’t relish entering another office just now, thank you.�

The man nodded politely, though I could tell he thought me difficult.

Several minutes passed and then the scent of roses gushed into the room.

I looked up to see a tall old lady entering from what I assumed was the stairs to the office. She wore strange green robes that didn’t fit the dignity of her age, yet she carried it with panache.

To my surprise, she didn’t approach me, but went instead to a table right in the middle of the distance between me and the other woman in the dining room.

“Ladies, come to me, please.�

I nearly balked. I wanted to discuss what I wanted to discuss in private. But the other woman turned and I recognised her. Hermione Granger Weasley. Curiosity spurred me to move. I didn’t need to reveal my business to her, but I could know hers.

“Young Madam Malfoy and Madam Granger Weasley. Sit down. Paul, cider please. Now then, please forgive me for the delay. I was chanting. Tomorrow is a big day, you see.�

She plucked a pendant off her chest to dangle it toward us.

“The Egyptians had many divinities, most of them myths, most of them mere glorified mortals. But the Queen Isis is different. Don’t interrupt me, please, Mrs Weasley.�

Hermione blushed, but Mrs Rossiter smiled at her, and waited until Paul had poured our cider and left before continuing.

“She knows how to mold magic; she is a guardian, a patroness, a healer.

“She both endured and solved her great sorrow when she lost and then resurrected Osiris. Some argue that it was Dark magic, but magic weaved from pure passions, such as love, is never Dark, as proven by the birth of their son, Horus, who became king.

“Becoming king Horus owed to Isis, who protected him and healed him from the many traps of the murderous Seth...�

The woman babbled on. I tried hard not to grit my teeth. I wanted to yell that I didn’t come there for a lecture on Egyptian mythology.

“Healer Lott told me you can — Isis can — help me have a child.�

I restrained a start with difficulty. Hermione must have been further in the end of her tether than I was. She sat there flushed, wringing her napkin.

Mrs Rossiter patted Hermione’s hand and nodded.

“Yes, she can, she always does. Over the centuries, witches in need from all over the world have always been assured of Isis’s patronage and help. Do you know that bad luck seems to follow those who attempt to discover cures for women’s sorrows? The success rate of their procedures and potions are always less than thirty percent. That is the reason why your healers sent you to me.�

I clenched my teeth. I hadn’t been sent to Mrs Rossiter. I’d been sent to a Muggle specialty clinic. Mrs Rossiter was only my second option. But there was no option. The Muggle ‘procedure’ described to me offended me to sickness. I kept quiet.

“Isis had been assimilated with many other Egyptian divinities. The Muggles think this is because Isis was favoured as the queen and one goddess, but we know it is because the other goddesses’ qualities were found in Isis herself. Power, guardianship, healing, fertility, beauty. She discovered the power of words long before Merlin. Curse-breakers fear her. To break Isis’s protection is the most —�

“Healing.�

I looked at Hermione and she looked at me. We had murmured the word at the same time.

“Yes, Isis is a Healer. Isis is often invoked for protection and healing. This is the Knot of Isis.� Mrs Rossiter showed us her pendant again. “It is a funerary amulet that protects the ka, or the soul, in the afterlife. In life, it protects, simply. Of course, you won’t see many wearing it, because many believe it nonsense, even among us... but are you ready to find out for yourselves?�

“I have nothing to lose,� Hermione answered immediately. I nodded.

“You cannot tell your husbands. You will return by tomorrow. I will tell them I sent you on a favour for an old harridan like me.�

“You’re not a harridan, Mrs Rossiter,� said Hermione. She had stopped fidgeting with her napkin. She was ramrod straight in her chair, ready and waiting, while I drank my glass of cider in one. I was slightly breathless at the sudden turn of the conversation after Mrs Rossiter’s winding pompous babbling.

“You are lucky you have each other. It is a rather disconcerting experience to go through alone. Do you want to go separately?�

I wanted to say yes, but I kept quiet. This was Hermione Granger, and it was more than likely I would rue refusing her company during the ‘disconcerting experience’.

She didn’t say anything either, only eyed me warily, perhaps gauging my feelings. Mrs Rossiter took our silence as affirmation. She conjured a piece of parchment and then multiplied it to two, which she gave to me and Hermione. She pulled off her necklace, pushed aside the vase and placed the pendant in the centre of our little round table.

“Chant that together, touching the Knot. When you reach the last line, you will be taken to an underground passage in the island of Philae. Follow the silver torches. It will lead you to a priestess’s chamber. Do nothing but what she tells you. Obey her every word and no harm shall come to you.�

My glass refilled itself and I once again emptied it. Hermione was already reading intently. When she looked up, our eyes met. She didn’t smile, but her face softened from its harsh concentration and determination.

We seemed to have agreed consciously, because next, we both picked up the parchment and our fingertips touched as we laid it on the Knot.

“Queen of Heaven,
Mother of the Gods,
The One Who is All,
Lady of Green Crops,
The Brilliant One in the Sky,
Star of the Sea,
Great Lady of Magic,
Mistress of the House of Life,
She Who Knows How To Make Right Use of the Heart,
Light-Giver of Heaven,
Lady of the Words of Power,
Moon Shining Over the Sea,**
call us to thee.�



Queen of the Throne



I was used to Portkeys. I couldn’t exactly say whether the Knot was worse or better. I mean, the Portkeys could do with a modification in its navel-jerk pull, and the spinning, but it was... extremely disquieting to be sitting in a soft chair in one moment and then to be standing in a flickering darkness the next. My knees faltered before locking. I heard a gasp and thump near me.

I waited for my eyes to adjust, and then promptly held out a hand to my companion, who was blinking around us with both astonishment and annoyance.

“The warning about obedience was almost unnecessary. She should’ve warned us about this. I was just learning to keep standing after Portkeys and then this. I hope they don’t approve it. How can I hope of having a child when they’re always throwing me around?� She accepted my hand and pulled herself up.

I was mildly tickled by her rant and the fact that I was present when Hermione Granger fell on her backside, but that last part killed my amusement so her smile wavered, too, as she looked at me in the dim light cast by the torches.

“Thank you. Um, pardon me; can I know your name? I know Ma — I know of your husband, but I don’t know —�

I liked how she corrected her statement about knowing Draco. “I was formerly Astoria Greengrass. I was two years below you at Hogwarts.�

“And in Slytherin. I remember from the student list. I remember because you were one of the few of your House without House point loss — oh, sorry, that sounds off, I meant that as a compliment, Mrs Malfoy.�

I didn’t answer. I’d been a little distracted by being with this former Gryffindor queen, but now I was again immersed in my ‘woman’s sorrow’. Hermione respected my silence and walked with me after introducing herself unnecessarily.

I don’t know how long we walked. The passage remained the same. We could have been moving our legs and feet through air. The silver torches seemed endless. Above us stretched infinite darkness. I wondered how vast this hidden place was.

I remember Philae. We had been here on tour. It was arid and dry, even though it was surrounded by water, the temples ringed by brittle trees. The path we walked felt hard, malleable and gritty beneath my shoes, like a desert floor, and wound to the left and to the right. During these turns, my companion and I would always exchange looks, check the torches, and nod at each other before proceeding. I rather liked it. I used to lead what little of my contemporaries who allowed to be led and Daphne used to lead me. Here, it was a partnership.

Hermione spoke then, softly, as though musing aloud to herself. I heard her, however.

“It was nice of her not to ask questions.�

I couldn’t resist answering.

“She was probably scared of you.�

She turned to me bewildered.

“She was a De Witt. The De Witts were proud. You saw her, didn’t you? Strutting in that gown. Yet she didn’t complain when you interrupted her. But yes, she probably knew it was for her own good. Prattling pompously like that while we sat there with red eyes —�

I stopped. Her eyes hadn’t been red.

I jumped when I felt her touch my arm.

“I’d cried already. I found out two weeks ago. Today was my last chance to see Mrs Rossiter. She doesn’t see witches after July eighteenth. That’s how long I moped in secret.� She took a deep breath and exhaled in a soft ‘whoo’. “Two weeks ago, I was sent as a delegate to a conference in Transylvania, regarding wand-use for non-wizards, you know. I went to St Mungo’s for a routine medical examination. It was the first time in ages that I was in hospital. It was a full examination and they found out —�

That ‘out’ was a squeak. This time I was the one who touched her arm. She smiled gratefully, tearfully.

“I’m supposed to be still in Transylvania, but I shook out of my self-pity just in time to take action last night. I somehow Apparated all the way back here, and I was out for fourteen hours in The Leaky Cauldron.� She laughed. “My right ovary and floppy tubes* are damaged and cut in places. And I thought it was only hereditary, my irregular monthlies. It took my mum three years to have me! Anyway, the only theory we have for how in bloody hell this happened is that the curse I was hit with when I was sixteen slowly ate away sections of the organs over the past decade.�

“Oh.�

It was all I could say. I remembered what she meant. That time in her fifth year, when they had gone to the Ministry of Magic. That story I had scoffed at. It was real. And it was horrible.

I came back to the present as I registered the noise my companion was making.

Hermione was half-sobbing, half-chuckling. I considered Stunning her and levitating her the rest of the way to that priestess.

She saw the look I was giving her and said, “No, no, I’m fine, sorry. It’s just — floppy tubes.� She chuckled some more. “In the Muggle world, it’s called ‘fallopian tubes’. Our discoverer was the Italian anatomist, Gabriele Fallopio. I had no time or interest to ask a Healer before, but the Wizarding world probably alluded to the tube’s shape when they named it.�

I nodded absently. From the speed and enthusiasm in which she talked, I thought it wise not to ask about an ‘anatomist’.

Instead, I said — and astonished myself — “My floppy tubes are incurably stoppered. I don’t know why I didn’t suspect. I’ve always had irregular monthlies. The Healer said this was hereditary in the Greengrass female line in alternate generations. Apparently, it not only skipped my paternal aunts, but my sister as well. I felt so good knowing that.�

My mouth was still open to rant about the ‘procedure’. I thought better of it. I was allowing myself to be charmed by ‘Granger’ too much. Who knew what she must think of me. And she was only cursed. She had the assurance of flawlessness if it weren’t for that curse.

Hermione’s mouth opened in an expression of sympathy. What she was about to say was cut off, though, because we had reached a gap in the silver torches. This gap was a door. It looked very old, very thick, very heavy. It was plain black save for an ankh painted and etched in its centre.

We hesitated.

“Do nothing but what she tells us,� Hermione whispered.

“Is this it, do you think? Yes, this is the last silver torch.� The other torch flanking the door was... just a torch.

“Should we knock?� asked Hermione.

I shrugged. “We haven’t been told to knock.�

She nodded.

We didn’t wait long. At least, it didn’t seem so because both of us had just opened our mouths to speak after thinking of a question mundane enough. Another voice made it to our ears, coming from inside the door.

“Enter.�

Whoever it was knew we spoke English.

Hermione opened the door. It clanged shut behind us. We squinted at the light. And when our eyes had adjusted, it was to see we were alone with scorpions.

We both gasped, we both swore, we both reached for each other.

The things were all sizes and all colours, scuttling around and everywhere. It was a miracle we had stepped inside without being killed.

“These are venomous, aren’t they?�

“Let’s not think about that.� Hermione was averting her eyes from the walls and floor.

My wand was in my hand — I had drawn it in reflex. With the hand not holding my other one, Hermione pushed my wand arm back to my side.

“Do nothing but what she tells us.� And then she gasped, one of the scorpions, red, gold and black, had climbed her ankle. We both stiffened. “These things aren’t dangerous unless threatened. So just pretend to be a harmless rock,� Hermione punctuated this with an oath through gritted teeth. “It’s on my calf. Get off, please, you —� She sighed in relief. I saw the scorpion drop from her leg and scuttle away.

We grinned at each other.

I felt a tug in the hem of my robes and looked down just in time to see something brown*** curl around beneath the fabric.

It was very light, almost tickling, the sharp needles tapping along my leg. I clutched Hermione’s hand and closed my eyes to will away the creature and my horror.

He must have sensed I wanted to shake him off me.

The pain was incredible. I’d never been stabbed, but it must have felt the same. Deep and throbbing. I crumpled to the floor mindlessly; let them all sting me, but I couldn’t remain on my feet another moment. I wanted to curl into a ball.

Hermione held me as I fell. She pulled my robes up to see my leg. I wanted to scream at her for exposing more of my skin to the beasts, but the beasts had backed away from us. They were gathered like unhung draperies on the floor beside the walls.

“Isis heals Horus from the scorpion sting.�

The voice had a strange accent. It belonged to a woman in the same green gown Mrs Rossiter wore, except that it was covered by a gossamer white fabric which draped the woman from head to toe.

“Welcome. You have arrived just in time for the Festival of the Flood. It is a good time.�

“Pardon, ma’am, my friend is injured. Could you — please —?�

Even through the pain, I marvelled at Hermione calling me a friend and at the woman for being so blasé while I lay there gasping and moaning.

My eyes were glazed with tears, but I saw the woman’s expression clearly through the veil. For a moment I thought she would scold Hermione. But she said nothing.

She flicked her black mane over her shoulder. The scorpions vanished. She walked over to me in a maddeningly slow gait. At last, she reached us and knelt beside me, laying her hand on the rapidly swelling red spot on my leg.

The pain immediately subsided, and then vanished gradually. We all got to our feet.

“I am Astoria Malfoy and this is Hermione Granger Weasley,� I said, to recover my dignity.

“I didn’t ask you.�

I felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to apologise, but it might only earn another reproof.

The woman made us stand there stewing in suspense for several long minutes. I remained as erect and motionless as a statue. Hermione did the same, though to my amusement, I could see her neck getting redder and redder by the moment.

Perhaps She-who-was-veiled also noticed this, because at last, she moved, and went to a wall that became a door as she reached it and pulled on a tiny knob. The small space yielded two of the same gown she wore. She gave one to me and Hermione.

“You must wear these.� With that, she left us again through another door previously invisible to us.

“How’s your leg?�

“Good as new —� The definitive end to my declaration didn’t come because I’d lifted my robes and discovered a vivid welt marring my calf.

“I didn’t know scorpion stings leave scars like that,� Hermione said in a dismayed tone. “Did it slash you?�

“I don’t know. But our Healers seal cuts bigger than this all the time without a trace.�

“I don’t like that woman.�

“I noticed. You were going as red as a tomato.�

“She reminded me of Umbridge.�

“But she’s willowy, olive-skinned and beautiful. Where’s the similarity?�

“In temperament.�

“You don’t like bossy? The stories I hear.�

I’d inadvertently said that in my snobbish tone. I braced myself for Hermione’s attack, but all she said was, “I’m not that bad.�

So I returned her smile. Then we turned away from each other to change into the gowns.

She-who-was-veiled returned so quietly we almost jumped, but restrained ourselves because we had not been given leave to. Even with this effort to please her, she eyed us coldly.

“I have not told you to change, have I?�

Hermione’s flush was back.

“You will stay here and not join in the Festival. Twice now you have showed me impudence.�



She Who Knows How To Make Right Use of the Heart



“You’re right, she’s channelling Umbridge.�

“Do you think our not joining the Festival will affect the success of this trip?�

I squirmed at that. “I don’t know. Mrs Rossiter didn’t say anything about a Festival.�

“It’s their sacred New Year, rather like our Samhain and Beltane. They commemorate Iris’s tears swelling the Nile as she wept over Osiris. They hold the festival after the dawn when Sirius the Dog Star first appears on the horizon for the season. I don’t see how that’s connected to our — I hope —�

The door opened again and two plates and two tumblers preceded She-who-was-veiled. She conjured a table and two chairs. I wondered how good she was with magic, constantly doing things wandlessly, nonverbally and without manual aid. The only movement she did was pat the braid on her shoulder. When she patted it again and the plates and glasses settled on the table, I had my inkling.

“Sit. Eat.� And she left again.

Hermione sat down promptly. “She’s young but powerful. Did you see how skilful she is with her magic?�

I wanted to tell her what I noticed, but I didn’t want to give her any memories of me being stupid.

“I’ve read about them. They can even control the weather simply by braiding or combing their hair. And they’re Healers. I wonder why she left you with a scar, though, if she’s so good. What are these?�

I recognised all the food arranged on our plate but one.

“These balls are falafel or ta’miyya: chickpeas and spices. These meatballs are called kofta. You know pita bread, of course, and this is the spread, tahina, made from sesame seeds. I don’t know what this is.� I pointed at the dark brown strips of meat. We sniffed at it, but it smelled like all the rest: tangy. It looked vaguely like beef and fowl.

We were warier of another case of ‘impudence’ than of stomach upset or even poisoning, so we ate the strips of meat. We exchanged a look of surprised pleasure. It was good. Unlike any other meat I’d ever tasted, but good.

To my delight, what our glasses contained was peppermint tea. Just cool enough to soothe, not too hot to make us swelter in that windowless chamber. The tumblers had been charmed to refill, and both Hermione and I sipped to our hearts’ content.

She-who-was-veiled did not return even after we’d stopped drinking. I smoothed my gown and wondered what kind of weave the soft cloth had, wondered if we should change back into our robes. I also wondered why Hermione was so quiet. I wondered what she was thinking. The only other person to whom I felt the same interest and curiosity was Draco. I supposed if our mother had tried to lock us in the attic like this, I would have felt a modicum of interest and care to Daphne as well.

Just as I was about to cast aside my pretences again and draw her into conversation, she turned to me and whispered, “Don’t mind me if I don’t talk, Astoria. You know, she didn’t tell us to talk.�

And she wrinkled her nose at me.

Even at her loneliest, she was charming. I caught the extra shine in her eyes and recognised what it was.

I whiled away the time thinking about Draco and ignoring the occasional sniffle my companion made... along with mine.

I couldn’t help it. How could I? Sitting there in an underground chamber, excluded from some festival? What if the food was only courtesy and we were sent back to England after the festival without the healing we had come for?

Did I deserve this? Or was this another punishment toward my husband’s family? If it was, why should I bear the brunt of the pain? I would never be able to look my husband in the eyes again after this absolute failure. I was already so beneath him. Even with his family’s disgrace, I didn’t deserve someone like him. He was kind to me. I admired him, adored him, loved him. He deserved more than ‘that other Greengrass girl’. And now, this. Positively pushing me further into the dirt while my husband was in a pedestal of perfection.



^*^*^*^*^



I fought off sleep and failed, because I woke up from the pins and needles tingling in my arm and hand. I remembered the scorpion’s footwork on my leg and shivered, shaking my arm out to speed up the needles. I hit Hermione’s head accidentally.

She sat upright with a start.

“I’m sorry.�

“That’s okay.� She yawned and I averted my eyes because she forgot to cover her mouth. She was looking around us in bewilderment. She was probably still asleep. I was right. “Oh, sorry!� She covered her mouth. “I wonder what time it is here. It’s four in the afternoon back home.�

“Then it’s six o’clock here now.�

The invisible door opened. We froze in our seats expectantly, but She-who-was-veiled only called to us, “Follow me, please.�

We only moved when we found no loophole in that command. We left the table and went out the door. Our priestess stood there in the flickering light of the torches, a ghostly figure in her veil.

For the first time, she smiled.

“My name is Skorpia. I am from Zákinthos, one of the Ionian islands of Greece. But we all read voraciously and we had an English teacher for elocution, so forgive my lack of any accent. My family have been in the Isiac faith for generations, all of us serving as priests and priestesses —�

“Pureblood,� I muttered before I could stop myself. Hermione stiffened beside me. But she was looking apprehensively at Skorpia, who only smiled again.

“You can say that. We marry only into other priest families, but not necessarily Wizarding ones.� She turned to Hermione. “Forgive me for being... strict in the chamber. It is sacred to the Queen, and she watches her priestesses. We must maintain our honour and dignity always. Understand that we are not quite stuck-up outside of sacred places, although of course, I only speak for myself.�

She grinned, turned around on her heel, and led us away.

“You may ask me questions now.�

“What is that festival you — we missed?�

Hermione’s change of wording wasn’t lost on me. It was Skorpia who excluded us from the festival.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It was... tedious. You didn’t miss it, you were spared from it. You need the rest I allowed you to have in the chamber.�

“Why? What are we going to do? What is that meat you served us? Do you channel your magic through your hair? Why don’t you use wands? What is this place called? It must be miles in all directions. Where did you go to school — sorry,� Hermione finished sheepishly.

My hands were already on my lower face, the usual way I handled mirth.

Skorpia had likewise turned around to chuckle at Hermione.

“I can’t tell you what you are about to do. The meat, you would know it as monitor lizard —�

“What?�

Hermione and I exchanged looks of horror.

Skorpia giggled softly.

“You mimic my sentiment exactly after my first meal here. But it was good, wasn’t it? It is very good. It has healing properties even the Muggles acknowledge. My hair—it is a secret art of the priests and priestesses of the Queen. I was consecrated, so it is here I was educated. We are currently walking the Snake Corridor of the Secret Temple of Isis beneath the isle of Philae and the Nile River. It was dug and completed by the ancient Egyptian and Roman wizards just before the worship of Isis was completely eradicated — at least, the empires thought — by the sixth century. We don’t really worship Isis, the tales the Muggles tell are ridiculous. We just esteem her highly, the way you do a very good friend. She hasn’t failed us. You know the other temples on this island were nearly all removed and transferred, but Isis’s temple remains untouched by the man-made floods**** or the rescue attempts from them.�

That was all impressive, but I heard only one thing. “Snake Corridor?�

Hermione, lost in awe and examining hieroglyphs and runes that had begun to appear on the walls, gasped.

“No snakes here.�

That terse response clued us in that we were approaching another sacred chamber. Sure enough, there was another gap in the torches, through which we entered.

I was momentarily confused. I blinked and shook my head. Hermione did the same. Skorpia only looked on haughtily.

We had emerged from the dark, gritty corridor into a veritable rose garden bathed in sunlight, carpeted with grass. I squinted above us and saw whisps of clouds in a blue, blue sky. The air was heady with perfume.

“You may pick flowers, Hermione. As much as you can carry.�

I turned to Skorpia and waited for my own instructions. She didn’t even look at me. While Hermione stepped into the garden and gathered roses, I stayed where I was, fighting a nagging impulse of resentment. I would probably have my own garden.

Hermione returned shortly, with about four dozens of cream Icebergs. For all her skills and bookishness, she probably didn’t even know what hybrid she held.

“Ancient Egyptians cultivated roses and made it central to the Isiac faith around the same time they gave her the aspect of ‘goddess of love and beauty’. Isis likes them. We have our ancient priests and priestesses to thank for this magical garden. The flowers are in bloom endlessly.�

Skorpia relapsed into her friendliness the moment we returned to the corridor.

“You aren’t scratched at all, Hermione?�

“No, they don’t have thorns!�

Skorpia nodded thoughtfully. “I expected as much.�

“What would I pick? Daisies?�

“We don’t have daisies here, Astoria.�

We arrived too fast at another gap in the torches, though this time the door did not blend in with the shadows. It was green. Light green almost glowing in the gloom.

Skorpia faced us and spoke in her ceremonial manner.

“You are the youngest I’ve ever led through the Snake Corridor. I have no patience for the others. Some had, like you, discovered incapacitations early on, but they bided their time. They made those incapacities an excuse to either pursue material dreams, to wallow in misery, or to hate people. Some of them are just desperate, incapacitated by the time they had wasted on callings that apparently yielded not enough happiness, or they wouldn’t be here, would they? Isis is most accurately depicted holding the ankh, a symbol of life. Woman is life. Giving life, nurturing life, preserving life, these are the noblest aspects of woman.

“Enter this chamber. Speak to no one but Isis, look at nothing but Isis, listen to no one but Isis, feel nothing but Isis. You will sense her. She is in all of us.�

The door opened. Hermione walked through at once. Skorpia called my name before I could follow.

“Cast aside your bitterness, Astoria; only then can you gather roses. That was why the scorpion wounded you. To give you real pain and make you glad when it was removed. Give the scar to Isis. Let it be your testament.�



Healer



It was like stepping into a blowy winter’s day. My breath caught in my throat and I shivered as I continued into the vast hall filled with women — and snakes.

After this first look, however, I remembered Skorpia’s instructions, and kept my gaze to the front. It was difficult and horrendous, but I never stepped on a cold, hard scaly thing. I wondered where Hermione was, stopped my wondering, and walked on.

There was nothing else to focus on but the gold wall before me. It appeared so far off, though perhaps that was only because the path to it was measured by the thin bodies of snakes. Most of these were green. I tried not to recall being told about poisonous bright green snakes.

With each deliberate step I took, a brazier among the dozens lining the sides of the hall would blaze high and mightily, silently.

The women — they were dancing with lighted candles on both hands and on the top of their heads. They were a distraction to my walk more than the snakes and the braziers. I averted my mind from wax burns.

I neared the golden wall, and I tried to focus on Isis, which was perplexing since I knew next to nothing about her, except that she was myth to Muggles, that she somehow resurrected her husband, that she watches her priestesses, and that she likes roses.

Watches. Likes. If she indeed discovered the power of words before Merlin, how could she still be alive?

Something jolted inside me. It was a physical blow, as when a Thestral jerked while pulling the carriage I was riding.

The Muggles were those who didn’t know me. Even my own family. I was myth to them. They decide what they believed about me, how they perceived me...

I had ‘resurrected’ Draco... He was dead all those years he was not mine...

I did watch other women, I even emulated them. I was fascinated by Hermione...

I loved roses. Who didn’t?

I understood and agreed with Skorpia’s words.

Isis is in all of us.

I stared up at the gold wall, blinking. I could have sworn it was still yards off only a moment ago.

It was etched all over with ankhs. There was no Egyptian statue like I’d expected, for a statue could never represent woman.

Three stubby candles waited for me at the foot of the wall. Beside Hermione’s roses.

Skorpia had said nothing about this, but Isis was telling me I was on the right. Isis was also instinct. As if on cue, writing appeared on the wall, each letter etching itself into the gold as I watched, forming the words, ’She is both wise, and a lover of wisdom.’

Looking at Hermione’s roses, I understood. I bent to touch my scar and felt an incredible warmth and coolness flood my chest. I picked up the candles. They lit the moment I touched them.

And then I danced. I was not conscious of my arms outstretched, holding the candles, or of keeping my head erect to preserve the candle there. I went back down the dais, and it was just warm sand to me. I forgot all about the snakes. I just swayed to music in my ears.

It wasn’t a melody so much as a medley of all my favourite sounds. All the inflections of Draco’s voice, his laughter, our brook, our fountain, the rustle of our Flutterbies in the greenhouse...

Even when several women around me shrieked, I danced on.

Even when several hands gently lifted me and bore me away, I felt like I was still dancing.



^*^*^*^*^



“Touch this when you are ready.�

With this and a pat on my hand, Skorpia left us.

Hermione and I were lying side by side in a wide divan. I was still a little dazed, and judging from her silence and sighs, Hermione felt exactly as I did. There was a vague heaviness in my ankle, like the remnants of a sprain.

She didn’t recant it, so we both assumed Skorpia’s instructions still held. Neither of us spoke. And it was easy to reflect on Isis, now that I knew Isis was me. I was Isis. I could heal myself.

Hermione nudged me just as I poked my own elbow to her side. If we hadn’t been so dazed, I was sure we would have laughed. As it were, her eyes only sparkled at me, and mine probably did the same.

We got up and touched the Knot of Iris Skorpia had placed on the table beside the divan. Next moment, we were cloaked by the cooling warmth of the desert dusk, staring up at the ethereal magnificence of the Great Temple.

I’d been here before. I was familiar with the facade of matching squares carved with Isis, with the throne of Osiris on her head. These squares flanked the portal, which stood only half-tall, forming a gap that always dazzled the eyes with sunlight, twilight, or moonlight.

Only now, there was no gap.

The space through which the pink sky should have been shining through was obliterated by a tall tower.

“Welcome to the Tower of the Queen. Only those who seek it find it. Please follow me.�

We followed her, this new priestess in the same attire as Skorpia. She led us through the portal, through a hall and up a wide, winding staircase. From the moment we walked across the temple's threshold, veiled women in green constantly surrounded us on all sides, only shifting to give us room to take each step. They were chanting something quietly, the chorus of the murmurs a loud hum in my ears.

My calf was beginning to cramp from climbing when the sea of veils and bodies finally parted, to reveal Skorpia in another dais, before another golden wall. Her veil was gone, I could see her clearly. Her hair shone, her eyes sparkled, her skin glistened. She was holding a sword by its scabbard against her body, the hilt and handle in the shape of an ankh settled between her breasts.

The other priestesses stopped their chanting so abruptly I felt like I was struck deaf.

But I heard the thump of the jewelled leather as it fell to the floor.

And then Skorpia raised the sword.

She pointed it at Hermione and swung it downward, hard. Both of them gasped when the sword caught in midair. Skorpia gritted her teeth and bore down until the tip of the blade clanged against the marble floor of the dais.

She turned to me then as Hermione crumpled to the waiting arms of the priestesses. Once again, Skorpia raised the sword; once again, she swung it down. Once again, it caught in midair.

While pointed at my belly.

Pain bloomed in my stomach like fire. I heard a cry and realised it was mine. My knees trembled but I held on. Only then did Skorpia focus all her strength on pushing down the sword.

As she did, the pain doubled and disappeared. I understood why Hermione fell. The utter pain and then the sudden relief dissolved all my bones.



^*^*^*^*^



I woke up in the same room where Hermione and I had been in before we were taken to the entrance of the temple. Hermione was on another divan beside mine, whispering in her sleep.

She was dreaming, too.

I had dreamed of a tree. A magnificent, sprawling cedar.

“You will have a son. You will be one of the matriarchs of a wonderful family.�

I squeaked. A loud, high squeak that sent Hermione jumping upright as though stabbed.

“And you will have a daughter, your joy and your husband’s pride.***** I’ll go get your supper.�

Hermione just stared at Skorpia, and still stared long after the woman’s veil swept around the door.

“What did you dream about?�

“Why did you wake me? For goodness’ sake. You sounded like you were a giant mouse and I’d just stepped on your tail!�

I laughed. It was unlike any other laughs I had ever, and would, laugh. Merlin, I felt like it bubbled from my very soul.

Hermione joined me. We were flushed and panting when we subsided. She said, “I was dreaming of the most perfect, glittering rose.�



Ideal Mother and Wife



“What on earth took you so long?�

“To let you have your fill of brooms.�

“Mum, can we have that fowl and ice cream now? Only not in spinach sauce and avocado flavour. I know you want me in Slytherin, but you're taking green to the extreme today. I won't ever have watercress and cucumbers for breakfast again.�

I wanted to laugh. “It’s time you develop your palate, Scorpius. Draco, I’m having Hermione Granger Weasley to dinner after Scorpius is settled at Hogwarts.�

“Come again? Did I hear you right?�

“I’m. Having. Hermione. For. Dinner. One. Evening. In. September.�

“Who?�

“Hermione. Granger. Weasley, Draco.�

“Are you cursing me? Pronouncing my name in the same sentence as ‘Granger’ and ‘Weasley’?�

“Scorpius, don’t listen to your father. He’s in one of his moods. He’s not sleeping in our bedroom tonight.�

Laughing, I pushed them into the emerald green flames, back to our home.



Thank you for reading. Do tell me what you think. ^_^