15: Grimly Familiar

“Welcome to Ancient Runes.” 

Harry holds his falcon feather quill steady above the journal labeled Ancient Runes. 

“I am Professor Bathsheba Babbling, and I will take you through the next three years to your OWL examination in this subject. Should you pass with at least an E, you will be invited to join me on a journey to your NEWT.” 

Professor Babbling smiles warmly at them. She’s unlike any of Harry’s other professors—young, friendly, and sitting on the edge of her own desk with her four inch tall heels swinging above the floor. 

“First of all,” she says, holding up a finger, “we need to talk safety. What’s the most dangerous class you lot have taken so far? Yes, you, Mr…?” 

“Smith, and Defense?” 

“No, Mr. Smith! Tell me why you’re wrong.” 

Zach frowns. “Um… well, I guess in DADA, there’s always a professor standing by to correct anything?” 

“Close!” Babbling tosses him something. Students sitting farther from Zach crane their necks to see. It’s a small, clear stone. “The fact is that the spells you are taught in DADA can easily be corrected. The same goes for Charms, if any of you were going to guess that next. Who else?” 

“Transfiguration,” suggests someone Harry can’t see. 

“Name?” 

“Mandy Brocklehurst.” 

“Well, Miss Brocklehurst, you’re on the right track, so here you go.” Babbling tosses her another stone; it winks turquoise as it falls. “Not quite. In Transfiguration you’re still casting predetermined spells with limited parameters.” 

Harry puts his hand up. He sees Professor Babbling’s eyes dart to his scar and then at his eyes, but she says, “Name?” like he’s any other student, and he immediately decides he likes her. 

“It’s Mr. Potter, and… Potions?” 

Professor Babbling’s eyes narrow. “Now why would you say that, Mr. Potter?” 

“You never know what’s going to go wrong with a potion,” Harry says. “Add holly instead of huckleberries and you could make a gas that kills people instead of something simple.” 

“Very good. Take five points and a reward.” Babbling tosses him something and Harry snatches it out of the air one handed. It’s a small polished stone, mostly a slightly marbled darkish green but with bits that wink iridescent shades of different colors as he turns it. 

Professor Babbling leaps off her desk with a clack of heels on stone. Her robes are fitted, but fall only to just below her knees, showing off the tall boots that encase her calves. “Mr. Potter is correct. The single most dangerous classroom environment any of you has ever faced has been Potions. Very soon, that is going to change. I warn you, what you are about to see is a bit graphic. If anyone has a sensitive stomach, you may wish to avert your eyes.” 

With a slash of her wand, a roll of canvas drops from the ceiling. Several people recoil in horror. On it is a moving picture of a street that’s been blown to pieces. Bits of bodies are strewn everywhere and smoke drifts in the air. “This was caused by an incorrectly drawn rune scheme. Any guesses what it was supposed to do?” 

After a long silence, a wavering hand creeps into the air. “Yes, Miss?” 

“Bones. Was it supposed to stop or hurt people who showed aggression?” 

“No.” Babbling looks grimly around the classroom. “One of the people in this street had carved runes into a flat piece of shale. It was intended to hover in place. They carved raidho, for movement, and thurisaz, for caution and moderation. Their intention was to create a small, personal hovering artifact, like a flying carpet that you stand on instead of sit. However, they paired this with hagalaz. Now, hagalaz is the rune of hailstorms, traditionally. It is associated with determination, success, and opportunity arising out of chaos. When tempered by something like ansuz, for stability and spiritual awareness, hagalaz can be a powerful element in a rune scheme. In this case, it was inscribed with tiwaz, the spear. Tiwaz symbolises direction—propelling something with intent. It is a rune of aggression. 

“This was not the entirety of the array, far from it, but this error, based on the caster’s notes which were recovered from their home, led to fatal results. When the rider overbalanced, the levitating bit of slate was propelled out to the side by the force of their fall. Being much smaller than the rider in weight, it was propelled very quickly. At that point, tiwaz and hagalaz, both of which were also linked to the runes powering the artifact—another oversight—overpowered the rest of the array and essentially turned a chunk of stone into a projectile moving at thoroughly lethal speeds and in entirely unpredictable directions. Thirty-seven people died and another nineteen were wounded before it finally shattered in an impact with an iron light post.” 

Babbling points; the whole class sort of winces collectively at the sight of the post, which is bent nearly in half. 

After a few seconds, she flicks her wand and the canvas rolls back up. “Runes, my dears, are dangerous. Any language could technically be used to work runic magic, but the older it is the more powerful. Modern English and Spanish, for example, work just fine for some broad-range mild-effect rituals, and you have plenty of modern linguistic influences on incanted charms, like wingardium leviosa, which is something of a mish-mash of different word parts. The Futhark alphabets, Vedic Sanskrit, Ogham script, Egyptian hieroglyphs, Canaanite, Sumerian and Akkadian cuneiform, Aramaic Hebrew, Ancient Chinese, and Mycenaean Greek are some of the most effective ancient writing systems we have for runic magic, as they have been used for thousands upon thousands of years in the same or very similar ways by magical people all over the world. They also retain the symbolic levels of meaning that have been stripped out of modern languages for the sake of efficiency. They are what magic knows and what it responds to. They are, by definition, fluid, unpredictable, and subject to the interactions of endless successive layers upon layers of meaning associated with each rune. 

“The modern English letter Y is just a Y. It conveys a phonetic meaning only. The rune Eihwaz has a phonetic meaning, but it also might mean yew-tree, or it might mean death, or it might mean change, or it might mean life, or it might mean a new opportunity is facing you, or it might mean not to give up. The meaning that most affects your runeworking will be the one you intend to use, and so you must know those meanings beforehand. Intimately. It is only complicated by the fact that every rune’s meaning is affected by the meaning of every other rune in the scheme to different degrees depending on purpose and proximity. You must keep all of this in mind as you design the scheme and inscribe it on the material of your choice. Else you might include death where you mean to say life, and I’m sure you can all guess by now that the complications of that would be unpleasant.” 

A deep and unsettled pause sinks into the classroom. 

Professor Babbling takes a deep breath. “Now that that’s out of the way, some of you might want to drop this class. I understand, which is why I always lead with this lecture, though many have said it is unduly harsh. The fact of the matter is that runecasting is dangerous. I have never lost a student and I don’t intend to start because I let someone who’s not serious about their commitment into this classroom. To that end, if any of you arrives late or unprepared to any class, you will be asked to leave for the day and you will be responsible for making an appointment with me to review whatever you missed. If this happens more than three times without a damn good reason, you will be asked to drop the class and take it again in the following year, by which time you will hopefully have gained some wisdom. If this repeats itself in your second year, you will never take another course in runes under me. Some of you may be unwilling to accept these terms.” Looking around, Harry’s pretty sure Michael Corner and Tilly Belby are both going to mutiny. “If you can’t do that, you’re free to never come back. Don’t bother complaining to your Heads of House. They can’t and won’t try to sway me and all you’ll do is give them acid reflux.” 

She smiles brightly, clapping her hands together. “Now! Who’s ready to begin learning the meanings of the rune mannaz?” 

“Professor Babbling is brilliant,” Harry says fervently. “That’s going to be one of my favorite classes this year, I swear.” 

“Mine too,” Faye agrees. 

Lavender shrugs. “I’m just going to read up on them for diviner rune casting… no point taking the whole class, is there? Especially since it seems like a ton of work.” 

“That’s fair,” says Harry, “but still.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited about a class,” Faye says, elbowing him lightly. 

Harry shrugs, a bit uncomfortable. “I realized this summer I wasn’t really trying. For different reasons, but… it’s literally magic school. D’you know how many Muggle kids would probably actually kill someone to get to go to magic school?” 

The group of them laughs, clustered around their common room table. Harry got to sit with them at dinner since Hermione was mysteriously not there and Ron was busy arguing quidditch with Seamus, and it’s been great to just talk and work on homework without any drama. He feels almost—normal. 

“Let me guess,” Lavender says knowingly. “You thought Ron would quit talking to you if you suddenly started trying?” 

Harry’s grin falters a little and he looks away. 

“Lavender,” Parvati sighs. “Honestly. What did I just say, like, yesterday, about your timing?” 

“That it sucks,” Lavender says cheerfully. “Am I wrong, though?” 

“No,” Harry admits. 

“W-well, you d-d-don’t have to worry about that w-with us,” Neville says, putting a hand on Harry’s arm. 

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly, smiling at them all. Normal. This is normal, right? Friends getting together to talk about classes and work on their Transfiguration reading? Normal. 

No one’s even looked at his scar in the last hour. 

“Oh hey, Harry,” Lavender says suddenly, “is it okay if I see your tarot cards? My mum said there’s a shop in Hogsmeade that sells them, but I wanted to get an idea of what some of them look like.”

Parvati snorted. “Padma told me about this Ravenclaw sixth year who’s got a deck that’s done all in abstract shades of black, white, and grey. She said it was interesting but meant absolutely nothing to her. He claimed to see all this meaning in the art.” 

“Maybe he does,” Lavender says.

“Oh yeah, like Trelawney saw a grim in my teacup,” Harry retorts, getting another laugh out of Neville, who’s actually met Bear. 

“Seriously, g-guys, his dog looks exactly like a gr-grim, right down to the w-way their eyes are supposed to be all grey or silver,” Neville says. 

Lavender frowns. “Harry… is there any chance your dog is actually a grim?” 

“I’d be dead by now, surely?” Harry says, instead of lying, because he’s actually pretty sure Bear is an actual, literal, honest-to-God hellhound, and that’s not something he wants to share. “Anyways, yeah, I’ve actually got the cards here, been meaning to try doing a reading.” 

“Ooooh, gimme!” 

Parvati dramatically collapses face-down on the table, to Faye’s delighted cackling. Harry passes his deck over to Lavender, who slips them gently out of the silk bag. 

“Harry, these are beautiful! Where’d you get them?” 

“Oh, uh.” Harry blushes. “They were my mum’s. I found some of her old things… didn’t get much except those and a few pictures.” And the knobby red scarf that looked hand-knitted but he doesn’t feel like sharing that. 

Lavender looks up at him, eyes shining. “Thank you for sharing them with me.” 

“Yeah.” Harry looks away. “Yeah, of course.” 

He does notice and appreciate that Lavender is extremely careful as she flips through the cards and makes covetous noises over the artwork. 

Eventually she hands them back with a sigh. “Okay, no way would I be able to find a deck that nice in Hogsmeade.”

“Tragic,” Parvati deadpans. 

“I know, right? But I definitely like those better than abstract black and white.” Lavender makes a face. 

“Want to try reading them, Harry?” Parvati says. 

Harry’s got a small book on the tarot card meanings in his bag, so he shrugs and says “Sure.” 

The others lean in to watch as he gets the book out and shuffles the cards, even Neville setting aside his sketchbook to watch closely. Harry feels a bit on the spot but it probably won’t hurt and he doesn’t think they’ll laugh at him. 

According to the book, you’re supposed to meditate, and then once you are in a clear space of mind, you shuffle the cards three times while thinking about your question or problem. Then there are a ton of spreads you can do. Harry still has serious trouble meditating, and he can’t shuffle with his eyes closed, so he does his best to calm his mind for a minute or so and then stares just at the cards while he shuffles. 

He’d been planning to draw just one card, but now he feels like maybe he should pull three. Harry splits the deck into roughly thirds and takes the top card from each pile. 

Ten of Swords. The Moon. The Emperor. 

“That’s ominous,” says Faye, poking at the Ten of Swords. It’s a painting of a pale figure dressed all in blue, kneeling on the ground and hunched over. Starting on a perfect vertical right behind his neck, ten swords stick out of his body, marching in a neat half circle down the curve of his spine to the right. Rays of light in shades of red expand from behind the figure, separated by black lines. 

“Betrayal,” Harry reads from his book. “Loss, grief, crisis. You may literally or metaphorically find yourself stabbed in the back by one you trust, or you may be facing the imminent end of a valued job, a treasured relationship, or another part of your life which is dear to you. You will suffer great pain and loss; do not fight or deny these emotions, but allow them their place and remember that every ending is also a new beginning.” He frowns. “Okay, yeah, bit ominous.” 

“What’s next? This one’s pretty,” Lavender says about The Emperor. 

This card shows a throne painted in gold against a blue background. A figure sits in the throne draped in robes of red, purple, and gold, with a gold crown outlined in black atop its head. One of its hands holds a deep brown staff the height of the throne; the other offers up a pure white orb that seems to glow faintly even though it’s only paint. 

“Okay, this one’s more positive,” Harry says. “Authority, establishment, structure… a father figure.” He falls silent for a moment, not wanting to see the pity on their faces. Then Faye touches his hand, and Harry can’t help but look up. He sees no pity, just sympathy. Clearing his throat, he goes on. “Father figure… The Emperor is a powerful leader who commands respect and authority. He is firm but fair and does not shy away from conflict. The Emperor card represents a system of structure, hierarchy, and rules; he is the triumph of order over chaos. On an emotional level, this card may reflect the presence or lack in your life of a father figure or other trusted adult who is a source of stability and direction.” Harry’s laugh sounds a little weak even to his ears. “Definitely a lack in my case. Uh. Last one… the Moon.” 

This card shows water in the foreground, painted blue so deep it’s nearly black, the waves tipped with silver. A barren field stretches away to the edge of a black sky that takes up the whole top half of the card. Fog wreathes the field and the sky, blending until Harry can’t see where the land stops and the sky begins. Above it all, a massive silver Moon looms over the scene. 

Lavender gently takes the book from him and reads the entry herself. “It means illusion, anxiety, uncertainty. You may have emotions, fears, or other negative experiences that you have repressed, and this card warns of their appearance, either in the form of dreams or of increased anxiety in your life. Remind yourself of the importance of your subconscious. Externally, the Moon warns of illusions and hidden secrets, when nothing is as it seems. Be wary of making important decisions when the Moon comes to your hand; there is likely some crucial aspect of the situation that remains hidden to you. Trust your intuition and allow it to guide you through this clouded night.” 

“Okay,” Harry says uncertainly. “So, I drew the Ten of Swords first, then the Moon, then the Emperor… a three-card reading like this can mean past, present, and future, so… in the past, I suffered a betrayal and loss.” His throat closes up. It’s true, isn’t it? A great loss… he doesn’t know if it’s a betrayal, per se, but a loss definitely. “Um. And then… the Moon. The present. Fear and anxiety and uncertainty… well, I’m not that afraid, but I definitely don’t feel like I know what’s going on.” 

Faye and Lavender laugh, which is nice. Things were getting a little heavy. 

“Maybe it means hidden enemies,” Neville says. “Black… You-Know-Who…”

“With my luck, yeah,” Harry says. “Finally, the Emperor… a father figure or system of rules lies in my future. I’m going to hope it’s father figure. I don't like rules much.” 

“You really don’t,” Parvati says with a smirk. 

“IN-coming,” Faye singsongs. Luckily she keeps it quiet, because, as Harry looks up, he sees Hermione is already pretty close to their table, and her eyes are on the tarot cards with a frown. 

Neville sighs. “Here we go,” Parvati mumbles. 

“Harry, Ron was looking for you after Charms. Where have you been?” 

“I came straight up here after class, I don’t know where Ron is.” Harry shrugs. 

“Harry doesn’t have to tell you where he’s been all the time,” Lavender snaps, glaring at Hermione. Harry blinks at her. Ron and Hermione have always just asked him where he was if he wasn’t with them. That isn’t normal? 

He doesn’t ask them where they’ve been all the time, he supposes. Maybe he should? 

“We were just worried,” Hermione says, crossing her arms. 

“This is a school. One of the safest places in Britain,” Faye says. “It’s not like he’s running off to play dice with murderers, okay?” 

“There’s no need to be rude,” Hermione snaps. 

Harry sort of wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. “Seriously, Hermione, it’s fine. Ron can come find me if he wants, but I’m busy.”

Hermione’s eyes rake over the tarot book and cards. “Yes, I can see that. Harry, I would’ve thought you of all people would know better than to put too much stock in this bunk.” 

A flush climbs Harry’s cheeks. “Why’s that?” he says hotly. 

“Well, you’re Muggle-raised!” Hermione waves her hands. “You know fortune-telling is just—just nonsense!” 

“Funny, because those were my Mum’s cards, and I’m pretty sure she was a Muggleborn last I checked,” Harry snaps. “So clearly being Muggle-raised doesn’t mean I have to think it’s nonsense!” 

Hermione sighs. “Look, I know you want to feel closer to your parents—”

“Oh just shut it and go away, please,” Faye snarls, turning on her. 

“You’re just being rude and condescending.” Parvati neatly folds her hands on the table and glares at Hermione. “You know nothing of our culture and yet you think you’re entitled to pass judgment on it, and us.” 

“So just because I’m a Muggleborn, I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Hermione’s glaring right back, at all of them, but there are tears in her eyes. “Going to call me a Mubdlood just like Malfoy did?” 

“No!” Lavender’s hands flail a bit. “Hermione, none of us would do that!”

“They just mean wizards have a different culture than Muggles do, and since we didn’t grow up with it, we don’t know as much about it as they do,” Harry says, trying to defuse this. God he doesn’t want a fight. He just wants a peaceful bit of time before dinner. He just wants to be normal. 

Hermione shakes her head. “I don’t have to try and assimilate with a culture that’s backwards and bigoted. But fine, you can keep playing with your little cards.” 

She storms off. “What a piece of work,” says Faye, watching her go in a way that makes Harry a bit worried for Hermione. 

“It’s no wonder Malfoy called her out,” Lavender says darkly. 

“Hey!” Harry’s got his chair pushed back in a second, halfway on his feet. “If you think he was right to say that—”

“I don’t,” Lavender says, rolling her eyes. “It’s an awful word and thinking Muggleborns are stealing magic or whatever goes on in his pointy little head is just stupid. But come on, Harry, if someone was constantly going around yelling about how your whole culture is stupid and backwards, wouldn’t you be kind of annoyed?”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Harry’s not going to back down on this. He thought… 

“Of course not.” Faye tentatively reaches for him, and when he doesn’t move, she wraps her fingers around his wrist. “Sit back down? Lav didn’t mean anything by it. Hermione just pisses us all off.” 

“You don’t see anyone saying a word about Dean,” Lavender adds, glancing at the seats where Dean and Seamus are playing Exploding Snap with some older boys. “And it's not like he pretends he's not a Muggleborn, like some of the Slytherins. He's just not an arse about it when we do stuff different than he would.” 

Harry settles back into his seat at the table with a frown. Neville turns the conversation back to their homework, but Harry’s distracted. It still doesn’t sit right, but… maybe things are more complicated than he realized. 

Lavender’s got a point. He’s never seen even Malfoy go after any other Muggleborns like he does Hermione. Malfoy still says stuff like he did last year, though. He’s a bigoted prat and Harry’s not going to change his mind there. But Harry doesn’t think Lavender and Parvati and Faye and Neville are blood purists, and he guesses it is pretty rude the way Hermione goes off… even Harry was offended by how she talked about tarot. 

This is confusing.