Chapters 151-160

‘Credo’ Means ‘I Believe’

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his sheepish expression behind his pint of Butterbeer.

Draco, Harry, Luna, Ginny, and Hermione had met in the Leaky Cauldron. Ron didn’t have time; so close to Christmas, he couldn’t leave the shop for a long lunch break.

‘I’m just not any good with Muggles,’ Draco said defensively. ‘And you have to admit that’s a creepy question!’

Hermione giggled. ‘For you, maybe. “The resurrection of the body” is part of the Creed.’

‘The what?’

‘Creed—a statement of belief. Many religions have something like that. A series of sentences to outline their faith. It’s a part of most church services. The word itself has Latin roots—it’s derived from “credo”—“I believe”.’

‘Like a spell?’ Draco looked positively spooked now. ‘But—but they are Muggles!’

Luna blinked her eyes wide with fascination. Ginny’s expression mirrored Draco’s shocked confusion. Harry was frowning. Hermione almost choked on her Butterbeer. Her eyes watered. ‘No, no, not a spell. Just…an expression of their religious faith. Umm…I guess that maybe he was trying to convert you.’

Her eyes met Harry’s. His frown was turning into a grimace, and the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter. Draco glared at them. ‘Well, it was really uncomfortable, you know? I had no idea what he wanted from me!’

‘I’m sorry, Draco. I understand. That’s really uncomfortable. And it’s not polite. Even other Muggles don’t like it if someone tries to corner them about what they believe. What kind of Muggles were they? I think Percy mentioned something about a Muggle delegation before? Something about how Kingsley saddled Umbridge with the nastiest job he could find for her?’

‘I’m sure that was his intention. And she was certainly less than thrilled the last time they showed up. As to who they are—’ Draco shrugged. ‘A delegation from the Church. When I—’—he hesitated and mouthed ‘searched her office’, before he continued aloud—‘I saw a Muggle style letter that said “Congregation for the Doctor of Faith” or something similar.’

Hermione inhaled sharply. ‘The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith?’

‘Yes,’ Draco said. ‘That’s it. Do you know anything about them?’

She bit down on her lip, all at once acutely aware of her heartbeat: too heavy, too fast. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. ‘Not…not much,’ she finally managed. This would be the perfect opportunity for Hannah to serve their chilli. But sadly the door to the kitchen remained closed. ‘You know, I haven’t really lived in the Muggle world since I was eleven,’ she replied. But her voice was just shrill enough with nerves to rouse Harry’s suspicion.

‘You know something, Hermione. Spill it,’ he ordered.

‘I…’ She squirmed under his scrutiny and the curious looks of the others.

‘It’s only history,’ she muttered at last. ‘Muggle history.’

‘Yes?’ Harry prodded.

Hermione sighed. ‘The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith used to be called “The Office of the Holy Inquisition” once upon a time, that’s all.’

‘Merlin’s merry bollocks,’ Draco gasped.

‘Holy shite,’ Harry murmured and glanced at Draco. ‘No wonder you were creeped out by those guys!’

‘And Kingsley makes Umbridge deal with them?’ Ginny asked breathlessly, a hint of awe in her voice. ‘That’s fair wicked.’

oooOooo

When Hermione opened the door of the shop, an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu assailed her. That spicy-sweet scent of beeswax and vervain…the feeling of exultation…

‘You shouldn’t have any reason to be back so soon,’ a reedy voice rasped out at her, rife with disapproval.

Hermione stopped dead, her fingers still curled around the door handle. Embarrassed she ducked her head. ‘Sir, no! That’s not why I’m here. They are both in perfect shape. Here, I have them with me, perfectly polished and freshly oiled.’

‘You do?’ Large, lunar eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why are you here then?’

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped into the shop, carefully closing the door behind her. ‘I have a question concerning wandlore. I was hoping you could help me.’

‘Hmm.’ Ollivander placed his hands on the top of his desk. ‘In perfect shape, you say? May I see them?’

‘Of course.’ She was glad that she had anticipated this request. With a well-practiced motion she pulled first her right, then her left wand from its holder and laid them carefully on the desk in front of the wandmaker. Even after more than a year, her heart still soared at the knowledge that she was good enough, powerful enough, to wield two wands.

‘Vine and dragon heartstring,’ the old man whispered and bent over the wand, inspecting it closely, but not touching it. ‘And yew with a sphinx feather.’

He peered at her wands for a long time. At last he drew back. ‘Well, Mrs Snape, it is as you told me. They are in perfect condition. What can I do for you?’

Hermione stopped chewing on her lower lip and took a deep breath. ‘As I said, Mr Ollivander, I have some questions about wandlore. I am sure you remember the special connection between the wands of Harry Potter and Voldemort?’

The wizard’s thin old fingers gripped the edge of the desk convulsively. ‘Who could forget these wands.’

‘I’ve been wondering about connections between wands. What causes them, how to recognise them, their effects…and especially, if such connections could form a bridge not only between two wands, but between Life and Death.’

‘Is that an academic question, or do you have specific wands in mind?’ He was not looking at her, but at her wands.

She withstood the temptation of biting down on her lip again or heaving another sigh. ‘Specific wands,’ she admitted. ‘Yew with dragon heartstring and birch with sphinx feather.’

‘Ah,’ Ollivander sighed. ‘I see. Would you care for a cup of tea, Mrs Snape? There are no easy, and, most of all, no quick answers to the questions you’re asking.’