Immortal Memories -part two-

Chapter 2: Knowledge

Professor Valentine did not have an easy first week of classes. Her youth made it difficult for students to take her seriously, and many of them refused to believe that she was actually a professor. At the end of the fifth day, she was ready to cause a scene just to prove her worth. However, something of that nature was inappropriate, especially for one who was supposed to set an example for the students. Avelon found herself thanking the gods for the two Gryffindor boys who tried to keep the rest of their classmates in line. Potter and Weasley, an inseparable pair. She was tempted to award points to the house because of them. Draco Malfoy respected her, though he tried to hide it to fit in with his friends. She could see it in his eyes. He was very like his father in that way.

Still, she thought, shaking her head. These children are rather frustrating. Next week would be different, she determined. Next week they would start the practice of alchemy, rather than just theory. She shook her head, turning back to her work. On the desk before her sat a grey rock studded with emeralds, a curved piece of silver resembling an ocean wave, and a chunk of unpolished sapphire roughly carved into the shape of a woman. Avelon took the rock in hand and ran her fingers along it in a swirling pattern, a soft glow emanating from her fingertips as she did so. The stone and emerald began to fuse together and blur, taking on a mossy appearance. She then fitted the silver wave to the side of the stone and melded the two substances together. She looked at it for a long moment before placing it on the desk in front of her and leaning back in her chair. She lifted a dark goblet from her left and drank, then put it back down with a sigh. Not as good as it used to be, she thought.

A knock at the door startled her more than it should have. Who would be in her classroom at this hour of the night? Or was it morning already? She gestured, and the door unbolted itself and swung open slowly.

“Come,” she stated, not turning to see who her visitor was.

One of her eyebrows raised when she saw the tall blonde man step around the desk in front of her. He sat in one of the chairs opposite her, and leaned his snake-head cane against the side of the desk. He waited a few moments before speaking.

“I heard there was a Professor Valentine teaching here now,” he said softly. “I didn't expect you.”

Avelon leaned to one side, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair and gesturing with the same hand. “Did not expect what, exactly? My age?”

The man tilted his head and then straightened again. “That, yes, but...you mean to tell me you don't recognize your old friend?”

Her eyes brightened in recognition as she smiled. “Lucius!” She stood and moved to the side of the desk, holding her arms out. “I should have known. Forgive me.”

Lucius stood and hugged her briefly. “That's quite alright. I have changed, after all.” He smiled and sat back down. “But you...you look exactly the same, except for the hair. You haven't aged a day.” He shook his head.

Avelon sat back in her chair. “I have not, this is true.” She wrapped a lock of jet black hair around two fingers. “You do not like it?”

“Auburn suits you better.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “I didn't believe you would actually come back. I don't think any of us did.”

She smiled. “I told you: seven and twenty years. And here I am.” She gestured to their surroundings. “I wrote Severus many weeks ago, telling him I was considering enrolling as a student again. He seemed to think that was a terrible idea. Something to do with him teaching me to make potions.” She chuckled. “I think he was afraid I would make a fool of him in front of his students. He suggested I become a teacher.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “And how's that working for you?” he asked.

Avelon sighed and shook her head. “These children are driving me mad,” she told him.

“I thought you were already mad...” He grinned.

“Not quite, friend,” she replied softly, frowning. After a few moments, she asked cheerfully, “So, what really brings you to Hogwarts? Surely you did not travel all this way simply to see me.”

He nodded. “True. I came to see my son, as I do the first week of every term.”

“Ah, Draco,” Avelon replied knowingly. “We have met. He is a gifted boy, and much like his father.”

“Is that so?” Lucius asked.

“It is,” she replied. “He is developing a talent for alchemy. He is in my class on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Excellent,” he said, pride evident in his tone. “I must have him show me a few things.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, I should be going. He's expecting me soon.”

Avelon nodded and stood. “Of course.”

Lucius did likewise, bowed his head in farewell, and made his way to the still open door. Avelon followed him, meaning to close the door behind him, but instead walked to the far side of her classroom to look out the window. The horizon was just beginning to show signs of dawn. While most people would not yet notice the change, her eyes were sensitive to such things. She stood there for a long while, watching the sun rise, and then drew the curtain most of the way closed when the sun was fully revealed in the blue sky.

Draco lounged in a black leather armchair in front of the smaller fireplace in the Slytherin common room. The fire had burned down hours ago, but some of the embers still glowed, giving off a faint warmth. When the other students had gone to bed, Draco acquired a blanket and curled up with it, awaiting his father's arrival. He was expecting the man at two o'clock, but it was nearly five, and he was still waiting. Of course, he had fallen asleep, so he was not presently aware of the time.

He was snoring softly when the common room's entrance wall slid back to admit the tall form of his father. Lucius Malfoy wore his usual black suit and cloak, and carried his silver-headed snake cane, but he also had a leather scrip slung over one shoulder. Its heavy appearance was confirmed by a loud thunk as he dropped it onto a nearby table. He sat at the table and opened the scrip, then removed a few scrolls and small books, followed by a large, dusty tome. Its cover was worn and faded and starting to peel around the corners.

Lucius looked at it for a long moment, then snapped, “Draco!”

The boy bolted to his feet, flinging the blanket to the chair. “Sir!” he shouted sleepily, looking around. When he spotted his father, laughing softly to himself, he grimaced and snatched the blanket back up before walking to the table. “You're in a good mood,” he observed as he sat in the chair adjacent to his father.

Amusement was uncommon for the serious man, and laughter was rare, at least when it wasn't malicious. Lucius remained silent, only looking up to raise an eyebrow at his son, so Draco remained silent as well. After several long minutes of reading, Lucius raised his head and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

“Yes, son, I am in a good mood,” he confirmed. “I have recently visited with a very old friend.” He paused for effect. “I believe you've met.”

Draco's brow furrowed. He didn't know any of his father's so-called friends who didn't serve Voldemort. “Not this again,” he sighed. “I don't—”

Lucius silenced him with an upraised hand. “No, not that again.” He pushed one of the scrolls toward his son. “This.”

He gestured for Draco to open it. The boy complied, and gasped. The scroll was a copy of an old painting: the likeness of a beautiful woman with pale skin, auburn and blonde curls piled atop her head, wearing an intricately laced red and white gown, and piercing violet eyes. The caption beneath the portrait read, “Lady Valentina Avelona, 1683, Athens.”

“This...this can't be correct,” Draco objected.

Lucius shrugged slightly. “I thought so as well, but I've done a lot of digging, and it is truth.” He took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then took a deep breath and began. “This painting and a land ownership deed from 1680 are the earliest documentation I could find on this Lady Valentina. I believe her to be one and the same as the Avelon Valentine we know today. She has no recorded lineage. Parents, children, siblings...no family whatsoever.” He passed another scroll to Draco, who unrolled it and began reading as his father continued. “The Greeks kept excellent records of people with religious affiliation around this time, and it appears she was quite important to them. Over the course of almost a hundred years, the equivalent of over half a million pounds was donated to various temples in her name. After that, she disappeared until the early 1900s, when she resurfaced in—”

“Russia,” Draco finished. “She went to St. Petersburg magic school. Multiple times, I’m assuming?”

Lucius smiled at his son's deduction. “Most likely. I know she was there about thirty years ago. She and her brother transferred to Hogwarts as exchange students in my sixth year. She joined Slytherin and we became fast friends, though I was always suspicious of her intentions.”

“You went to school with her?” Draco asked incredulously.

“I did.” His father nodded. “And she looks exactly the same now as she did back then, except for a different hair colour.”

“So she's immortal,” Draco stated. “How do you suppose she does it? Another Sorcerer's Stone?”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. “It is a possibility. I don't believe there is another besides the one the Dark Lord possessed, but even he is not omniscient.”

He looked into his son's eyes, plainly seeing the curiosity behind them. The curiosity worried him sometimes, as it would any good father. In this case, however, it might serve as an advantage to both of them.

“I want you to be very careful around Avelon Valentine, son,” he warned. “Treat her with respect, but don't begin to like her.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied, truly intending to obey his father. Valentine scared him, much as he hated to admit it.

Lucius pushed the tome to the center of the table, along with the three smaller books he had set aside earlier.

“You should read this,” he suggested. When his Draco's eyes widened, he added, “Not necessarily all of it.” He indicated the two smallest books. “These are translation guides, and this...” He tapped the third, and largest of the three books. “...is the tome's index.”

“This seems excessive,” Draco said skeptically.

“You may thank me later,” Lucius replied with a smile. He stood and held one arm out to his son. “I must be going now. I have a meeting in a few hours.”

Draco stood, rubbed his face, and shook his head, then gave his father a quick hug. “I'll be careful,” he promised.

“Good.”

Lucius nodded once and took his cane in one hand, then walked toward the entrance to the room. He looked back as he waited for the wall to open, then exited quickly. Draco watched the wall slide closed before dropping back into his chair. All the information on the table before him was overwhelming. He had never imagined any of it to even be possible, much less involving his family. He looked over all the items on the table for several moments, then stood and carefully replaced everything in the scrip his father had left. He took it up to his dormitory and placed it in the trunk at the foot of his bed. He considered going back to sleep, but the information kept his mind racing, and he couldn't help but take the tome and its index out again.

The language on the pages seemed foreign to him, until he realized that it was written in old Latin, as it would have appeared on carvings. After examining it, he was able to translate it slowly. He silently thanked his parents for making him learn Latin while growing up. Is this the reason I had to learn? He wondered, but pushed the thought aside after deciding it didn't really matter. He made a mental note to ask his father about it the next time they spoke. Flipping through the index book revealed that it began as a biography about one person's travels, but near the middle a second person joined the story, and near the end the original author seemed to have left the picture. The second person's writing was smaller and more delicate, leading Draco to believe Valentine was the second person. Sighing, he resigned himself to a day of reading the large tome.

Midday brought a crowd to the Great Hall. Most students took lunch around this time, but since it was Sunday and there was no regimented schedule, the tables stayed stocked with food for several hours for every meal. A few of the latecomers were a particular Gryffindor trio: Harry and Ron, followed hurriedly by Hermione, who had a thin black book in her hand. They went directly to their house table and sat, where Hermione opened her book and began reading.

“Really, Hermione?” Ron asked. “Studying on our day off?”

She looked up and glared at him. “Yes, Ronald. Even I have trouble in class sometimes,” she stated.

Ron shrugged and started eating, but Harry scooted over next to her and looked at what she was reading. “The Physics of Alchemic Processes,” he read from the top of one page. “Seems intense.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head, but did not respond.

“If you need help, why don't you talk to the professor about it?” Harry suggested. “She's young, but that doesn't make her an idiot. She is the teacher, after all.”

“I...” she sighed. “It's embarrassing.”

Ron snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. “You can't be good at everything forever, Hermione.” At a disapproving look from Harry, he added, “Everyone needs help sometimes. Don't be afraid to ask someone with experience.”

She sighed again but closed her book and grabbed some food. “You're both right,” she conceded. “We can go to her office after lunch.”

“Think she'll be there? It's her day off too,” Harry pointed out.

“We have to start somewhere,” Hermione answered.

They ate quickly, anxious to get on with their day. As they were leaving, they passed a tired-looking auburn haired girl entering. Probably getting a meal before an afternoon nap, or something of the sort. They had gone many yards down the hallway before Hermione stopped abruptly.

“That was her,” she said, surprised.

“What?” the boys asked together.

Hermione turned and walked back toward the Great Hall as she explained. “The girl we passed, it was her.” She threw one hand into the air. “I don't know that I'll ever get used to this. She looks like a student.”

“It's not so bad,” Ron muttered.

When Hermione entered the Hall, she walked straight toward the teachers' table at the far end of the room before realizing it was empty. She looked around and found the woman sitting at the Slytherin house table, at the end nearest the door, by herself, munching on a slice of bread. She seemed not only tired, but sad as well, or maybe disappointed. Hermione hesitated just long enough for Ron to take the lead. The red-head strode directly to Valentine and sat at the table across from her.

Valentine eyed him suspiciously. “What can I do for you, Mister Weasley?” she asked softly.

Ron was surprised by a soft tone from this usually outspoken individual. “Well, Professor,” he began. “A friend of mine is having trouble in your class.”

Hermione slapped him on the back of the head as she sat next to him, but didn't say a word. Harry remained to one side, not comfortable sitting at the table of his rival House. Valentine nodded to both him and Hermione, and turned back to Ron.

“Does this friend require my counsel?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he replied. “When would be a good time to come to your office?”

Valentine appeared to think about the question, almost as if she didn't comprehend it. “I will be in the Potions lab at six o'clock tonight. Your friend should see me then, and bring the class textbook.”

She looked down at the table and took another slice of bread, then stood and walked out of the Hall.

“That was awkward,” Hermione said after she had gone. “But thank you, Ron.”

“You're welcome,” Ron said, smiling. “Do you want us to come with you later?”

“No, no, that won't be necessary,” Hermione answered, waving her hand at Ron in a gesture of dismissal.

They laughed and got up to leave, and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy and his lackeys. The blonde wore his customary sneer, with one eyebrow raised in silent question. What were they doing sitting at his table? Before he could say anything, though, the trio swept past him and out into the hallway. The last thing they wanted right now was a confrontation with their enemies. They walked back to their common room, making plans for Hermione's meeting along the way. Harry and Ron had experience with one-on-one tutoring from the professors, though Hermione usually provided more than enough instruction for the both of them. They were terrible teachers, though, so they were imparting their experiences to her so she might be better prepared.

That night, they bid Hermione farewell and good luck as she left for her session. She made her way to the basement levels, through the stone hallways toward the Potions lab. The hallways were relatively empty, which she thought was kind of odd for this time on a Sunday evening, but she didn't often come this way unless she had to for class, so it could have been normal. The spacing between the magical torches decreased as she got further into the dungeons, and the stone got darker. In this portion of the school, all the hallways and classroom looked the same, but the Potion's lab was the only one lit by greenish light on the inside. When she found the room the door was open and Valentine was concentrating on a small cauldron in which was brewing a potion that smelled faintly of burning flesh and rosemary. Hermione grimaced at the scent as she walked into the room, but quickly smoothed her face. She tried not to make noise, and thought she was doing a decent job, but apparently she was wrong.

“I will be with you in a few minutes,” Valentine said, startling the girl. “Have a seat.”

Hermione said nothing and sat, watching the woman work. As she said, withing a few minutes, she had ladled the potion into two mason jars, sealed them, and placed them in her bag. After cleaning the cauldron, she replaced it in an open cabinet and approached Hermione.

“I had not expected you, Miss Granger,” she said, sitting across from the girl at the table.

“I, ah...” Hermione stammered. “This is unusual for me.”

Valentine nodded and waved a hand at the door, causing it to close. “I am aware of your academic prowess, and understand your preference for secrecy. It was kind of Mister Weasley to inquire on your behalf.” She clapped her hands together once and smiled. “Now, tell me what I can help you with.”

“How did it go?” Ron asked when Hermione entered the common room around eight thirty.

From a pocket, she produced a small metal cup and smiled. “I made this!” she replied excitedly. She placed the cup on a table and threw her arms around Ron in a tight embrace. “Thank you. I don't think I'd have had the courage if not for you.”

Ron hugged her back and said, “You're welcome.” After they parted he asked, “So, what are you going to do with the cup?”

“Well, she asked me to bring it to class tomorrow,” Hermione replied. “But after that, it's for you.” At his surprised look she added, “I wouldn't have been able to do it if you hadn't talked to Valentine for me...don't look at me like that.”

He just laughed and sat back down in his chair.

Meanwhile, Draco was reading through the third section of the tome. The book didn't really have chapters, but it was divided into sections based on location. The first had been Hispania, the second was Gallia, and the third was Britannia. There were no year notations, but he assumed it was written in the late 300s or thereabouts due to the ancient geographical divisions and names. Each section began with a hand-drawn and coloured map indicating the corresponding location. The author introduced himself at the start of Hispania as one Quintus Vicentus Iucundus, fifth son of the Vicentus family. Draco recognized the name as distinctly Italian, but the man had moved to Hispania, presently Spain, when he had a falling out with his father. He had apparently decided to travel the world as he got older, and began his biography before he set out as a way to document his adventures and pass them on to his descendants. Quintus' first destination had been the province of Gallia, or Gaul, present day France. He learned much, and saw what there was to see, but ultimately decided that Gaul wasn't the place for him, so he moved on. His next destination was Britannia, present day Britain. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy his time on the large island. He wrote in great detail about his journey to Hadrian's Wall in the north of the province, in honour of the emperor. The next page was a sketch of the wall itself and the landscape around it, shaded and coloured by the hand of a practiced artist, Quintus himself. The next page had been torn out and the following page was covered with large, hurried script. It seemed to be more of a journal entry rather than a planned part of the book. The last lines startled Draco as he read them: “My father must be found. I fear I have not much longer.” That ended the section.

The next section was entitled Mors. Death. The writing was still in Quintus' hand, but the strokes ended abruptly, as if he were tense and stressed. This section was only a few pages, but indicated that his father and brothers had died recently from some kind of illness. Quintus lamented the fact that he was the last son of his family and had no one to share his adventures with. He prayed to the gods for safe keeping of his father's and brothers' spirits, but determined that he should continue his travels, though he didn't much feel like it at the time. One particular passage caught Draco's attention and made him wonder about the man's sanity. “I feel as if I died that night at the Wall,” it read. “I have not felt the same since. It is not a bad feeling, though it is rather peculiar. I mourn my family, but I wish them well, for I know they are better for leaving this life, this feeble existence.” What could it mean?

Draco leaned back against his headboard and yawned. He'd been awake for almost two days straight, not counting the nap he'd had in the common room while waiting for his father. He checked his watch: nine forty-five. Early for bed, but early or not, he needed to catch up lost sleep. He placed the book in his trunk, then drew his bed curtains, curled up under the blankets, and was asleep within minutes. He dreamed of Avelon. In his dream she was dying, covered in blood and ash, struggling to take each breath, to hold on to life. He welcomed the morning, but was not looking forward to Alchemy class.

Over the next couple of weeks, Draco spent all his free time reading Quintus' book. Since the incident at Hadrian's Wall, the man's attitude seemed to have changed. It was as if he was no longer passionate about his adventures, but continued them only because he didn't know what else to do. The world changed around Quintus, suggesting the passage of quite a lot of time, more than one lifetime, surely. Eventually he made his way back to his home country of Italy, where he planned to settle down and live out the rest of his life. It seemed to Draco that Quintus didn't realize he'd lived longer than any regular person, but didn't question it, or care, either. He sought out his father's old house in Rome, but found that the entire area had been rebuilt in his absence. He found a house in that area and moved in promptly.

Every day at midday he would sit at the fountain in front of a small local temple and watch the goings on of the city. There weren't many temples left in the city; some new religion was taking over. One of the priestesses caught his eye one day, and he watched her every day after, and wrote much about her. She was short and slender, and her white robes clung to her curves almost scandalously compared to the other priestesses. She was full of life and happiness, and rarely was she seen without a smile on her face. After many months of watching her from the fountain, Quintus finally determined to speak to her. To his pleasant surprise, she had apparently decided to do the same. One morning, he arrived at his usual spot at the fountain to find her sitting there waiting for him.

They quickly became friends, and after some time became more than friends. After one particular night, she dyed all of her white robes red, indicating that she was no longer pure of body. In days long past, she would have been removed from the priesthood, but there were no longer enough new initiates to make up for such losses. Quintus disagreed with the procedure, but the priestess wore her red robes proudly, and even seemed happier for the change.

One day, some time later, the temple was burned by fanatics from the new religion. They had soldiers with them, and the priestesses had no way of fighting back against them, or even defending themselves. The soldiers took the women for themselves, then beat them and left them to die in the street, all in the name of their god. As soon as Quintus found out, he rushed to the temple to rescue his “E”, and found her barely alive on the steps of the temple. He took her in his arms and held her, praying to the gods to let her live. He stayed with her through the night and most of the morning, having fallen asleep holding her. When he woke, she was alive and well, and investigating the bodies of her companions. Quintus described her as regal and confident, despite being bruised and bloody. Only two of the others had survived, and those later confided that they would have preferred death over what they had been forced to live through. E took all of the events quite stoically and did her best to take care of her fellow priestesses. Although, they weren't part of the conclave any more—in fact, there was no conclave anymore—and the worship of their gods had been outlawed under penalty of death. It had all happened so suddenly. Quintus mourned the change, but felt blessed that he had found someone to share his life with. After the survivors were back on their feet, he and E set out to travel the world.

At this point in the book, E began writing as well. Apparently, she thought time should be chronicled as well. The next section, entitled Alpes, included a date in the opening: 812 AD. Draco was shocked that so much time had passed without Quintus noticing, or bothering to record it. He also deduced that many, many years must have passed between the temple incident and this section. E began by indicating that they were traveling through the Alps mountains in northern Italy, and had been doing so for quite some time. They had been living off the land, away from civilization because of the religious turmoil in most of the world.

Over the next several hundred years, Quintus and E took turns writing in the book. They chronicled their adventures through Greece, Egypt, Macedonia, western Asia, and most of the rest of Europe as well. They spent a good three hundred years in Greece during the time of the Renaissance and the beginning of the Dark Ages. E became a nurse when the Black Plague swept through Europe, because she knew she wouldn't be affected by the disease, and taking care of people made her happy, just like being a priestess had. Suddenly, around the mid-1900s the writing became hurried and tense from both of them. A period of about ten years was skipped, and then the writing took on a resigned, almost mournful attitude, and the only writer was E. It took Draco many minutes to realize that they had probably experienced the Holocaust, and World War II, and Quintus had not lived through it.

E moved to Russia after the war and lived for several years as a royal attendant for the tsar. After deciding that she wished to move on to other things, she enrolled in St. Petersburg School of the Magical and Arcane. She had to use all of her powers of persuasion, along with a sizable monetary donation, to get the headmistresses to let her into the first years' class at her age, which she recorded as sixteen for their records. That was the end of her story, and the last fifteen or so pages of the book were blank. There was a notation on the first of the blank pages that read: “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—Britain—1981.”

Draco closed the book and sighed, leaning back on his headboard, amazed. After all of this woman's adventures, she decided to do something as mundane as going to school. Furthermore, if the book was to be believed, and the woman know as E was indeed Avelon Valentine, then she was over a thousand years old. If she had a sorcerer's stone, as Draco had originally hypothesized, she had written nothing of it. Considering the nature of the text, he doubted that was the case. Surely something so amazing as to extend life and essentially grant immortality would be worthy of extensive research. The night she had “died,” Quintus had mentioned that he prayed to the gods for her life, implying that something had happened to her to create this phenomenon. The tome had opened up a history, a whole world of knowledge, to Draco, but left him with so very many questions that he wanted—no, needed—answers to. He determined to confront Valentine about her past the first chance he got.