Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
12,252
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
12,252
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story, though wish I did. The only money I have goes toward good wine and chocolate. You can't
Mourning in Norwich
Chapter Sixteen
Mourning in Norwich
“Open this when I am gone, Kiaya. It will give you all of the instructions you will need.” That had been his order.
The Ministry’s Funerary team had left number 13 Navarre Way an hour ago, taking with them the body of her teacher, mentor and dear friend, Mr. Basilton. With professional courtesy, the leader had asked if she could contact someone or stay until a friend arrived. It was all Kiaya could do just to shake her head and mutter something inanely polite. She signed several forms and received a card saying:
If you need further assistance or information concerning your loss, please contact the Ministry. Our condolences,
The Ministry of Magic
Kiaya Roundtree perched on the edge of Mr. Basilton’s now empty bed, in her usual spot. Though her skin was normally pale, it now seemed translucent with shock. Huge eyes stared at the envelope Mr. Basilton had propped on the bedside table a week ago. In a daze, she remembered the strict instructions he had given her. She wasn’t to open it until he died; afterwards, she was to follow the instructions in it. Her mind almost blank, Kiaya reached for the envelope. Once she held it in her lap, she stared, dry eyed at her name, written in the beautifully old-fashioned copperplate handwriting that was Mr. Basilton’s.
She broke the wax seal on the letter and withdrew two sheets of parchment and a small gold key. She stared at the handwriting.
Kiaya,
If you’ve opened this, you’ve discovered that while our art can delay death, we cannot deny it forever and even the most brilliant potions master must give over eventually. Do not cry too much, I am old as I write this, perhaps older than you think and it is well time. A good friend told me that “to a well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure”. He was correct and I am well ready.
You have been a most excellent student, by far, one of the best that I have ever had, and I am sure you will be an excellent teacher. You are no longer an apprentice or even a journeyman; you are a fully trained, well more than qualified, Master in the Art and Science of Potions. I have sent the Ministry a letter of release and reference for their files, should you ever need one.
As you know, I have no family living, but, as I do consider you a daughter, I am leaving everything I have to you, upon my death. You may keep the shop open, if you wish, though I know that you would rather guide children. I suggest that you keep the house and shop, just in case you decide to come back.
As my heir and adept student, doors will be opened to you. Some will not be as good as others. Because of this, I am sending you back to Dumbledore at Hogwarts. He will vet any offers you get for employment and guide you into your future, as you have no one else. There are many people that will want to use a young potion master for their own gains and I know that you’ve not had a bit of experience in recognizing or dealing with such people – stop gaping like a codfish, you know it’s the truth. You’ve been sheltered and I’ve been the one sheltering you – so I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I know you will not want to do this, you stubborn girl, but I am forcing you to. Dumbledore has your release papers and cards and to get them, you will need to go to him. I know you are capable of taking care of yourself, but please consider this to be my final gift to you. Besides, Dumbledore owes me and I’m not dying without collecting.
I have arranged for Julia Lewbody’s house elf to assist you with any packing you must do and to help watch over you until you get settled in your new position. The key is to my vault at Gringotts, they have a letter of instruction from me already – you won’t starve, girl. Take my will to Dumbledore as well, though he already knows what’s in it. He will help you get things settled. If you’re going to be stubborn, take it to the Ministry yourself, they will get everything transferred over to you.
Edward Basilton
P.S. You have brightened my life and stretched my mind over these eight years and I am a happy man as I write this. That doesn’t mean that you’re not a bit of a smartass, but you are a good girl. Good luck and make sure you clean up your supplies as soon as you’ve used them. Good work habits will always do you good.
Kiaya stared at the letter. That old man was still demanding that she clean up, and he was three hours dead. The thought struck her as being so utterly ridiculous that she laughed (of course, Mr. Basilton had intended this). She chuckled, it turned into a full bodied laugh that echoed through the house. She didn’t notice that the first tears of the day were dropping to smudge the parchment. Still laughing, though it was bordering on hysteria, she slipped to sit on the floor, her knees pressed to her chest, letter still clenched in her small hand. Her black work robe was soaked with tears in only moments.
Next door, Mrs. Lewbody heard the hysterical laughter turn to wracking sobs of misery. She didn’t interrupt. Instead, she quietly told her house elf to make dinner for Apprentice Roundtree and stay there until it was eaten and the child was asleep.
Mourning in Norwich
“Open this when I am gone, Kiaya. It will give you all of the instructions you will need.” That had been his order.
The Ministry’s Funerary team had left number 13 Navarre Way an hour ago, taking with them the body of her teacher, mentor and dear friend, Mr. Basilton. With professional courtesy, the leader had asked if she could contact someone or stay until a friend arrived. It was all Kiaya could do just to shake her head and mutter something inanely polite. She signed several forms and received a card saying:
If you need further assistance or information concerning your loss, please contact the Ministry. Our condolences,
The Ministry of Magic
Kiaya Roundtree perched on the edge of Mr. Basilton’s now empty bed, in her usual spot. Though her skin was normally pale, it now seemed translucent with shock. Huge eyes stared at the envelope Mr. Basilton had propped on the bedside table a week ago. In a daze, she remembered the strict instructions he had given her. She wasn’t to open it until he died; afterwards, she was to follow the instructions in it. Her mind almost blank, Kiaya reached for the envelope. Once she held it in her lap, she stared, dry eyed at her name, written in the beautifully old-fashioned copperplate handwriting that was Mr. Basilton’s.
She broke the wax seal on the letter and withdrew two sheets of parchment and a small gold key. She stared at the handwriting.
Kiaya,
If you’ve opened this, you’ve discovered that while our art can delay death, we cannot deny it forever and even the most brilliant potions master must give over eventually. Do not cry too much, I am old as I write this, perhaps older than you think and it is well time. A good friend told me that “to a well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure”. He was correct and I am well ready.
You have been a most excellent student, by far, one of the best that I have ever had, and I am sure you will be an excellent teacher. You are no longer an apprentice or even a journeyman; you are a fully trained, well more than qualified, Master in the Art and Science of Potions. I have sent the Ministry a letter of release and reference for their files, should you ever need one.
As you know, I have no family living, but, as I do consider you a daughter, I am leaving everything I have to you, upon my death. You may keep the shop open, if you wish, though I know that you would rather guide children. I suggest that you keep the house and shop, just in case you decide to come back.
As my heir and adept student, doors will be opened to you. Some will not be as good as others. Because of this, I am sending you back to Dumbledore at Hogwarts. He will vet any offers you get for employment and guide you into your future, as you have no one else. There are many people that will want to use a young potion master for their own gains and I know that you’ve not had a bit of experience in recognizing or dealing with such people – stop gaping like a codfish, you know it’s the truth. You’ve been sheltered and I’ve been the one sheltering you – so I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I know you will not want to do this, you stubborn girl, but I am forcing you to. Dumbledore has your release papers and cards and to get them, you will need to go to him. I know you are capable of taking care of yourself, but please consider this to be my final gift to you. Besides, Dumbledore owes me and I’m not dying without collecting.
I have arranged for Julia Lewbody’s house elf to assist you with any packing you must do and to help watch over you until you get settled in your new position. The key is to my vault at Gringotts, they have a letter of instruction from me already – you won’t starve, girl. Take my will to Dumbledore as well, though he already knows what’s in it. He will help you get things settled. If you’re going to be stubborn, take it to the Ministry yourself, they will get everything transferred over to you.
Edward Basilton
P.S. You have brightened my life and stretched my mind over these eight years and I am a happy man as I write this. That doesn’t mean that you’re not a bit of a smartass, but you are a good girl. Good luck and make sure you clean up your supplies as soon as you’ve used them. Good work habits will always do you good.
Kiaya stared at the letter. That old man was still demanding that she clean up, and he was three hours dead. The thought struck her as being so utterly ridiculous that she laughed (of course, Mr. Basilton had intended this). She chuckled, it turned into a full bodied laugh that echoed through the house. She didn’t notice that the first tears of the day were dropping to smudge the parchment. Still laughing, though it was bordering on hysteria, she slipped to sit on the floor, her knees pressed to her chest, letter still clenched in her small hand. Her black work robe was soaked with tears in only moments.
Next door, Mrs. Lewbody heard the hysterical laughter turn to wracking sobs of misery. She didn’t interrupt. Instead, she quietly told her house elf to make dinner for Apprentice Roundtree and stay there until it was eaten and the child was asleep.