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Time Keeps on Slipping - 16 alt
🕑 Added 2024-05-24 15:42:22 +0000 UTCNote: A comment on AO3 mentioned that the chapter might flow better this way. Thoughts?
Note 2: This doesn't count as the post for today :)
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The team of Gringotts Curse Breakers waited in the port key area the same as they did each time they returned from a trip. There was a process that had to be followed. First, there was a short quarantine to run an array of diagnostic spells and corresponding treatments. After that, they would have a debrief with the Ministry to document the various methods of travel while on the job to make sure all the red-tape was in order. Then, they would move from the Ministry area to the Gringotts waiting area. Thankfully, they only had to go through a debrief and address any concerns. The goblins may be absolute bastards, but they knew how to run a business.
For some reason, it was taking much longer than usual. The waiting area was located in its own building thanks to the quarantine process. No one wanted a nasty curse spreading through the unprepared public if the spells missed something.
Bill leaned back in the surprisingly comfortable chair and let out a long sigh. He had been excited to get the assignment in the Carpathian Mountains rather than yet another run in Egypt. It lost its appeal after the first week. The wards and curses were too easy to break. They worked along the same mechanics that most European magical communities were based on.
He had swapped over to tomb in Egypt as soon as it was available. There were some nasty curses on tombs that teams had been working on for years and he was glad to get back into the swing of things. The only downside being that this part of the job took forever. His decontamination from the Carpathian job took less than an hour.
Bill closed his eyes and tried to gather himself for the eventual encounter with Fleur. Marrying a Veela had sounded amazing when he was younger. Then he experienced the reality of living with a woman that had a sex drive that would put a succubus to shame. By this time tomorrow he'd be dehydrated, sore, and covered in love-bites. She ran him so ragged that he looked older than his parents. It only got worse once they started to have kids. Her body snapped back to top condition the moment Victoire had been born and was ready to jump him that same night.
He had started to wish he had listened to his mother now that he had some years under his belt. Veela were for Friday night, not Sunday dinner. They had a loud and extensive argument when she shared that tidbit of wisdom. Oh, the folly of youth.
The door finally opened. Bill turned to give the worker a piece of his mind only to freeze. The woman that strolled in was not one he recognized. She wasn't dressed in the standard Ministry uniform and the 'Eye of Ra' make-up was definitely not something they allowed. Her skin color was closer to Asian than Egyptian, but most people didn't know what actual Egyptians looked like. One thing Bill had learned in his travels of the world was that most magical communities were xenophobic, or on the edge.
Everyone watched as she came to a stop in the middle of the room. Her sharp eyes scanned the room. She didn't find whatever she was looking for. There was a miasma of menace that emanated from her. His instincts had saved his life many, many times.
Bill reached for his wand only to find that his hands were stuck to the arms of the seat. He looked over at his co-workers to see them staring back at the same panic that burned within him. Things only got worse as a large crystal appeared in the center of the room. It was a common defense in tombs of the honored dead. A trap that drained the magic of anyone that disturbed it. He had seen a small one wipe out a team of curse-breakers in a matter of moments. This one was much larger, and this woman somehow controlled it.
He closed his eyes and waited. Fighting it would only make it worse.
~§~
Ron settled into his chair at the Cannons table. Today was one of his favorite days as a Quidditch coach. This was when all the teams would gather to discuss recruiting new talent and work out deals for trading players. It was close to a 'draft' as they had in American sports, only with more madness of negotiations, favors, and strategy. His first year had been an absolute disaster and he loved every moment of it. Had he accidentally traded away their first-place spot in the rotation? Yes. Had he also managed to snag four rookies that were not a solid core in his team? Yes, yes he had.
There was an almost palpable energy in the air as the assembled teams waited for the event to start. Ron wasn't the only one checking the doors every few seconds. A master of ceremonies would soon arrive to provide a list of the new players to the mix either from the various magical schools around the world, or from one of the many training camps that had popped up in recent years. Krum had an amazing program that produced some of the best players in recent years. No one had expected the somewhat sullen Seeker to do more than slap his name on it and call it a retirement fund. It had completely changed the field when day one came around and he was out there on his broom coaching the Seekers personally. He had recruited recently retired players for all positions to help train the next generation. Quidditch was a game for the young. Players usually retired around thirty to thirty-five and most took jobs as coaches, commentary, or something along those lines. The majority of them were still amazing at the game with plenty of knowledge to pass on. They might not hit the same marks they had in their younger days, but they had years of ingrained skill.
Ron hid a little smile. If he was lucky, and he had a good feeling about it, then he could convince Harry to start playing again. With no one trying to take over the world he could focus on Quidditch these last two years at Hogwarts. By the time Harry graduated, Ron could scoop up one of the best Seekers on the market over Sunday dinner. He still remembered seeing Harry on the field. The wizard was born to fly.
Further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doors closing heavily. A hush fell over the crowd as the Master of Ceremonies strutted down the middle aisle. The clack of heels on tile seemed to press silence down onto the gathered crowd. Ron turned to see who it was this year, only to scrunch his face in confusion.
A woman he didn't recognize strolled toward the raised stage. She wore a red sleeveless dress with a gold belt tied in an intricate knot. Her rich, honeyed skin-tone practically glowed in the floating candlelight. The fabric stopped just before touching the floor. Gold rings adorned each finger and were accompanied by bracelets of the same material. They twisted up along her arms in a continuous line all the way up to her biceps.
There was something about her that was familiar, but he couldn't place it for the life of him. A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the room. All sound in the room stopped once she took the stage. People simply didn't stop talking. Every sound aside from those she made had been silenced.
"Ladies, Gentlemen." Her voice carried through the room without need of magical amplification. "Here you are gathered before yet another piece of history you have stolen."
She paused for a moment. Ron could see her scan the nearby tables for something. He took the small smile on her face to mean she had found whatever it was.
"Make sure your quills are active." The woman purred. "The cameras too."
A chill ran up his spine. He tried to stand only to find he couldn't move. His hands were stuck flat on the table while his wand was in the holster on his belt. He focused on breaking whatever hold this was. Ron started with the tip of his pinky finger. He would get free a lot faster if he could work out how to break the hold even a little.
"For too long you have all stolen priceless artifacts that held precious history from my people." The woman continued. "Your filth and the goblin hordes rob the graves of our honored dead. No more! I am here to reclaim what has been lost, to punish those who are responsible, and to take what you do not deserve. My name is Nefertari, the second Queen to carry the name. Count yourself among the honored who will give their magic in recompense. You do not deserve it. Not the inbred Houses nor the deluge of squib-born mudbloods."
The woman, Neferteri as she had said, rolled her wrist. She held a large crystal easily the size of her head in her hand. It slowly rose from her grip then floated toward the center of the room.
"You have stolen so much from so many." Her beautiful face shined with a feral smile. "It's my turn."
Ron grinned as his pinky wiggled. His victory was short lived as both of his hands rose from the table not under his control. He watched in horror as the tips of his fingers began to wither. A moment later his entire hand looked like it had been sapped of all moisture. His arms flopped uselessly to the table. He opened his mouth the scream as they burst into dust as they hit the surface. It felt like the very air from his lungs was being sucked out through his chest. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't the air that was being pulled from his body; it was his lungs.
The blissful embrace of death eased his fears.
Nefertari strolled over to the line of dried out reporters. She gave the desiccated corpse of the closest journalist a pat on the shoulder in appreciation. The body collapsed under her touch. She wordlessly banished the mess from her hand as she walked away. The magical quills had continued to write even as their owners died. She would have to write a positive review of the product.
~§~
Fred Weasley stared at the shelf in front of him. There are way too many options for quills these days. Maybe he could finally convince their accountant to switch over to a fountain pen? Fred didn't understand the fascination with quills. Fountain pens were hardly a step up. There were so many more options. Like, the clicky ones. He loved the clicky ones. However, their accountant was a tightly wound Pureblood that absolutely could not allow any sort of change.
Between the all of the standard paperwork and the mail order portion, they went through a lot of quills. The mail order portion wasn't doing as much business as it had, but it felt wrong to cancel since it was how Wheezes started. Plus, any sort of financial documents had to be done in triplicate in general, it was even worse when goblins were involved. If he had known there would be so much paperwork Fred would not have targeted the Ravenclaws when testing their pranks.
"They're just feathers, why is this so complicated?" Fred grumbled.
"I recommend these ones." A smooth, musical voice said from nearby.
He turned to see an attractive woman a few steps away. The woman held out a box of voice-activated quills. They weren't all that expensive and came in packs of three. He wasn't sure if they would work for all of the paperwork, but it would do for some.
"Really?" Fred took the box and examined it. "Aero Dicto-quills. Are these good for bookkeeping?"
"They can be." The woman nodded. "Regardless, they are very well made."
"Thanks." Fred gave her a genuine smile. "Wait, don't I know you?"
"We went to school together." The woman replied as she walked away.
"That doesn't narrow it down." Fred muttered.
Comments
Daeron Targaryen
Ah, so the wife of Ramesses has risen to wage war upon the living.
orthodox1057
I confirm. No idea why but it flowed better.
Sage Berthelsen
That read better for some reason and I couldn’t tell you why.
