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Hollow Ash
By FloreatCastellum

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Category: Post-Hogwarts
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Neville Longbottom, Other
Genres: Drama
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Sexual Situations, Spouse/Adult/Child Abuse, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 131
Summary: When a mysterious woman comes to the Auror office claiming to be the victim of a terrible crime, Theia and Harry want to do everything they can to help her. The problem is, she has no memory of what has happened. As they piece together the sinister events, their own troubles and traumas rise to the surface, causing them to question who they really are. Sequel to The Aurors.
Hitcount: Story Total: 41496; Chapter Total: 1795
Awards: View Trophy Room






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The Auror office was quiet, the magical gas lamps warming as they approached and dimming as they walked away, casting long shadows across the floor.

Happier with the floo network than with apparating, but still rather disorientated and covered in ash, Ben was gazing around the Ministry rather slack-jawed.

‘You can’t tell anyone you were here,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll be in really deep shit if you do. Theia, can you get him settled in somewhere while I call Dawlish? Somewhere discreet.’

Theia touched Ben’s arm and gently guided him away from the cluttered cubicles. ‘Come on. Let’s find somewhere comfy.’

The break room was too open, the witness support room too obvious if anyone suspected anything. Sticking him in an interrogation room just seemed a bit cruel. She chewed her lip, looking frantically around the dark office.

‘Don’t suppose you’ll ever need a normal bloke working here?’ asked Ben dreamily.

‘What? Oh.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Sorry, we’re a bit discriminatory in our hiring practices.’

‘Shame.’

‘Ah!’ A sudden thought came to her, and without thinking, she grasped Ben’s hand. ‘This way.’

She pulled him along, then realised what she was doing and dropped his hand as though it were on fire, but kept up her rapid pace to the records room.

The records room tall shelves filled with hundred of thousands of manilla folders, stretching so high you could barely see the top, and at the back, the caged off section for the most serious cases.

‘This is my favourite room,’ she told him. ‘I think I’m a better researcher than Auror to be honest. I’m afraid you won’t be able to read any of them because you have to be an employee of the Ministry of Magic to get them off the shelves, but you can make yourself comfy-’ she gestured to the various desks and wingback chairs dotted around, ‘-and if you see a house elf they’ll just assume you’re staff. You can probably ask them for a sandwich or something.’

‘A what?’

‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ she said. ‘Try not to look shocked. They’re nice. Anyway, I’ll be back soon-’

‘Theia?’

‘Yes?’

He seemed to hesitate, and she saw his blue eyes flick around the vast room again. ‘Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you ask me to stay in the Loney? Or back to Harry’s place if I really can’t go back?’

She felt something she couldn’t place - like a lump in her throat or the feeling when you miss a step in the dark. ‘Do you want to go home?’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘This is amazing. I just-’

‘’We want you to see our case board,’ she said. ‘A fresh pair of eyes. But Muggles aren’t allowed in here, so while we talk to someone else you’ll have to lie low I think. But… If you want to go back or stay out of it or-’

‘I’m just worried that when all this is over I’ll never get to see any of this again,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll know it exists, but that I can never experience it. That would be awful. To go back to catching people speeding through Bowland or finding lost bikes when I know there’s a whole world of people walking through fireplaces and teleporting and making tea appear out of thin air. How would I ever be satisfied with life ever again?’

She studied him carefully. ‘I… I promise that won’t happen.’

He smiled at her, and she felt guilt pluck at her stomach. She blinked, and then grabbed her wand. ‘That reminds me, almost forgot.’ With a swish, a tea trolley came rattling and squeaking towards them. ‘Help yourself.’

He looked longingly at the scrolls. ‘No reading material at all?’

She gazed slowly up at the tower of magical criminal history. ‘I don’t think you’d want to read any of this, even as a policeman.’ She summoned one of the puzzle books left in the witness support room for Marcy. ‘Knock yourself out,’ she said, tossing it to him.

He gave her another brief, dimpled smile, and she left him to the dusty silence of the records room.

…...

She hurried back to Harry’s office, where he was sat at the desk, the cat standing on his shoulder. ‘Can you get this bloody thing off me?’ he asked, trying to rifle through the mess of parchment on the desk.

She clicked at Vali, who leapt down and trotted over to greet her. ‘He’s so mean to you, isn’t he?’ she cooed as she crouched down to scratch him behind the ears. ‘He lets the fame get to his head,’ she said in a false whisper.

‘I’ll ignore that,’ said Harry. ‘Dawlish is coming in five and I want to save my witty retorts for then.’

‘How about you try and be civil with him?’

‘How about no?’ He found the parchment he was looking for and read it through silently as Theia made herself comfortable on the sofa. ‘Oeric’s confession is so straightforward. He attacked and killed Connie Dunn years ago, buried her there. Then when Marcy’s baby was born dead he didn’t want awkward questions about parentage so made her leave it there too.’ He sighed and threw the confession down with a sigh. ‘Maybe he does genuinely think the baby was his?’

The fireplace roared, and Dawlish stepped out. ‘Evening,’ he greeted, his face guarded.

‘Hope we didn’t interrupt your dinner,’ said Harry, who Theia could tell was trying (and failing) to disguise his dislike.

‘What’s going on then?’ Dawlish asked. ‘You said there was something wrong with the confession?’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘I think it’s false. We just spoke to Osman and Marcy. The blood magic shows its their baby, and they seem to be in love. They told us the Swindlehurst family insisted that they give the baby up to them before they would let them leave the Loney. They were… reluctant to say anything further.’

Dawlish blinked a few times. ‘What?’ he said at last, taking a seat. ‘What do you mean? That can’t be right.’

‘It is getting rather confusing,’ admitted Theia. ‘They wouldn’t tell us much either, which doesn’t help, because they seemed so ashamed of something. But they said that Pauline would never let Marcy leave the Loney, but when she got pregnant they came to an agreement that she could go as long as she left her baby behind.’

‘What would they want with her baby?’ Dawlish asked.

‘I think we’d all like to know, but they wouldn’t say,’ said Harry. ‘Said they didn’t know, but I think they were hiding something. They did seem genuinely afraid.’

‘But Oeric was certain it was his,’ insisted Dawlish.
‘Maybe he was lied to?’ suggested Theia.

‘Or maybe he’s a convincing liar,’ said Harry. ‘Someone is lying to us anyway.’

‘And why wouldn’t Osman just run off with them?’ asked Theia. ‘Marcy hasn’t got magic, but he does. They shouldn’t need anyone’s permission to leave if they want to.’

Harry looked at her. ‘Do you think they were lying?’

She hesitated. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, maybe. I mean they couldn’t really give us a straight story at all. Perhaps they were shifting the blame?’

‘Oeric would have only falsely confessed if he was afraid of something,’ said Dawlish.

‘Nothing gets past you, does it Dawlish?’ muttered Harry. Theia shot him a glare.

‘Well what would frighten him?’ asked Dawlish irritably. ‘Or rather, who? His mum? His sister? His neice? Sounds more like he would be afraid of Osman himself if you ask me.’

‘Why?’ asked Theia. ‘Why Osman over the others?’

Dawlish opened his mouth, then closed it again.

‘Go on,’ Harry prompted, barely hiding his glee.

‘Don’t be smug,’ Dawlish snapped. ‘All right, if you lot are too precious to say it, I’ll be the honest one. Osman is scarier than a little old lady. That’s not me being sexist, it’s just fact.’

‘I’m bloody terrified of the little old lady,’ said Theia. ‘And they’ve all got wands, it’s not like you would be scared into falsely confessing to murder in case some bloke punched you. Surely it’s got to be information or something?’

‘And in my experience it’s women that are good at collecting and keeping information ‘til it’s useful,’ said Harry.

‘Don’t you start,’ said Theia warningly. ‘It could be any of them. It could be Osman, it could even be Marcy.’ She felt guilty as she said it, because she couldn’t quite believe it, but Harry nodded.

‘Her memory recovering is convenient. But then why would she come to us in the first place?’

None of them could think of an answer. Marcy’s existence had been as unknown as her child’s. Had she not stumbled into the Auror office, had Harry and Theia not continued to push and poke around out of sheer instinct, nobody would ever have known.

‘Well what now?’ asked Dawlish.’

‘We can’t take this confession at face value,’ said Harry.

Dawlish leapt to defensive anger. ‘I didn’t beat it out of him, Potter, it’s not my fault-’

‘I didn’t-’

‘And for what it’s worth, he might still be the one who did it-’

‘Daw-’

‘I mean what did you even call me here for, just to give me a bollocking?’

‘I got you here because you have history and expertise when it comes to Oeric and I wanted your opinion,’ said Harry coldly.

Dawlish seemed to deflate a bit. ‘Oh,’ he said.

Giving him a look worthy of Professor McGonagall, Harry pulled together the confession papers and slipped them into a manilla folder. ‘I want you to think it over tonight, and tomorrow keep working on him. See how he reacts to the news the baby isn’t his. Ask him what he thinks of Osman.’

Dawlish took the papers and turned back to the fireplace, but before he stepped into the grate, he stopped and looked back at Harry. ‘The girl though.’ he said.

‘Eh?’

‘The other body. Connie what’s-her-face.’

‘Ah, yes. Her mother recognised the watch that was found with the remains. It’s her.’

‘That was Oeric. I’m certain of it. It fits his history.’

Harry studied him carefully. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You think it might not be connected?’

Dawlish shrugged. ‘It’s your case.’

They nodded at each other, and then Dawlish stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a blast of flames.

A moment’s pause, and then, ‘see that was nice. See how you both got along?’

‘It is quite satisfying taking the high ground,’ said Harry. ‘Now and then. He’s still a prick.’

‘I enjoyed his face when you said that you wanted his expertise.’

‘Me too, I thought about saying I respected him as an Auror, but I thought that was too on the nose.’

Theia giggled, and once again she noticed that Harry seemed to genuinely enjoy his job. She wondered if she would ever get to that point - where she could crack jokes and have fun when working on dark cases. Because at the moment she was playing along, faking it, but she had no idea if it would ever feel natural. Harry looked relaxed. Maybe it just came with experience.

‘Right,’ said Harry, rising and clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s go get Ben and get him to have a look at the case board. See if he can tell us anymore Muggle gossip or spot something staring us in the face. Where did you leave him?’

‘Records room. I have a bone to pick with you about Ben,’ said Theia, as they left his office.

‘Sounds ominous.’

‘It should be! You haven’t told him you’ll wipe his memory after all this?’ She looked up at him as they walked, but he stared straight ahead.

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Why would I?’

‘It’s cruel! Stringing him along like this! Why are you even involving him in so much. You are going to have to, you know that, right?’ He said nothing. ‘Harry? You know you have to obliviate him later.’

‘Well maybe not,’ he said fairly.

‘What d’you mean maybe not? Of course you have to.’

‘Well, we might stay in touch. I like him. He’s a good bloke. Don’t you like him?’

‘Stop it,’ she said sharply. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

‘What?’

‘You’re hoping I’ll go out with him.’

‘That’s quite an assumption,’ said Harry teasingly. ‘Maybe I want to go out with him.’

‘I mean it, Harry,’ she said, suddenly feeling close to tears. ‘Don’t be stupid. It can’t happen. Anyway, I barely know him.’

‘You could get to know him!’ he said. ‘Look, maybe-’

‘You’re no good at this setting people up thing, you should have left it to Ginny or Hermione.’

‘Now who’s being sexist?’ he said with a grin. When she didn’t crack a smile, he laughed. ‘Oh come on! Why not? At least you know it wouldn’t put him off. And-’

‘No!’ she said harshly. ‘It should be one world or the other. I can’t be bothered with both of them.’

Harry fell silent, and Theia couldn’t place the look on his face. The jovial atmosphere had gone, and she was left feeling resentful and, somehow, like she was grieving. She could tell he wanted to say something, but he was no good with stuff like this, so they walked in uncomfortable silence to the records room.

Ben was all smiles when they got there, and he didn’t notice the tension as they returned, too busy explaining how bad he was at sudoku but how much he enjoyed the dingbats, how remarkable the building was, how fascinating he had found their chat with Osman and Marcy, the strange, wrinkly little dwarf thing that had fetched him a muffin, that he assumed was a house elf…

When they passed Harry’s office, Vali, yowling and spitting, burst out, racing straight for Ben’s leg. Harry reacted quickest, his shield charm throwing the kneazle back so that it stood ten foot away, his back arched and fur on end, hissing viciously.

‘Sorry,’ Harry said apologetically. ‘Kneazles don’t like muggles, that’s why they’re restricted. If we keep away he should be all right.’

Theia felt sick. She wanted to go back and pick the cat up, she looked over her shoulder longingly at him as they walked past the office and towards the open area, Vali’s yellow eyes gleaming at her.

Ben seemed unperturbed, accepting Harry’s explanation with a cheery laugh and a question about magical dogs. They were still discussing crups when they reached the case board.

‘Ah, now then,’ he said when he spotted it. ‘What a headache.’

‘Quite,’ said Harry, smiling. He pointed at the picture of Oeric. ‘We just spoke to the Auror who got the confession from Oeric. He’s a right twat, but he knows Oeric and his history, and I think Oeric trusts him in a funny sort of way.’

‘He’s a well known pest,’ said Ben. ‘He’s got a Muggle criminal record and all.’

They stared at him. ‘Really?’ asked Theia.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘I just… Wizards can usually get out of that sort of stuff with confundus charms or memory charms or just plain old running away and leaving us to deal with it,’ said Harry. ‘It’s very unusual.’

‘Well, they all center around drinking,’ said Ben. ‘I imagine that makes aiming your wand difficult, if the Bowland Arm’s gents are anything to go by.’

‘But sentencing would be later, when he’s sobered up,’ said Theia. She looked at Harry. ‘Can he definitely do magic?’

‘He didn’t go to Hogwarts,’ said Harry slowly. ‘Ornella is the only one that did. But… Yeah, I’m sure he can.’ He frowned. ‘He must be able to.’

‘I can’t remember him doing any.’

‘But we confiscated his wand,’ said Harry. His frown deepened, and he scribbled something down in his notebook. ‘Let’s follow that up. So just drunk and disorderly then?’

‘Yeah, and throwing a few punches, harassing women, that sort of thing,’ said Ben. ‘He’s a well known face in the pub.’

‘What about the others?’ Harry asked. ‘You mentioned that weird story with the sheep with this one.’ He gestured to Alma, her wizened face glaring out at them.

‘Funny, really, despite everything she’s the only one I’m not surprised at being a witch,’ said Ben. ‘The sheep is the worst one, but she just looks like a witch, doesn’t she? Her and her daughter are well known down the bingo hall.’

‘They interact with Muggles? Interesting,’ said Harry.

‘We’re not that bad, you know,’ said Ben. ‘But I’ve never had any trouble from them, just people talking about how odd they are - they think that about all the Loney people. Suppose they were right.’

‘And what about Ornella?’ asked Harry. ‘You recognised her partner’s name. Gordon MacIlindon.’

‘Yeah. Dozy bastard. Once wished me a happy birthday, I have no idea why, it was nowhere near my birthday. Absent minded isn’t the half of it. He works in the pub - the Bowland Arms.’

‘Sounds like a memory charm,’ said Theia quietly.

‘Do you think he knows he has kids?’ Harry asked.

Ben frowned. ‘He’s never mentioned ‘em. And he has mentioned Ornella.’

He has?’

‘Yeah, he’s always talking about her, gets quite defensive when people say the Loney lot are weird. But then you don’t actually see them together that often. Either way, he says she’s his girlfriend.’

‘God I am so confused,’ said Theia, rubbing her eyes. ‘Can we have a run down?’

‘It’s a weird one,’ said Harry. He took a breath. ‘Let’s see… We have a family of people living in a hamlet just outside the village. Marcy stumbles into our office with memory loss and says she’s the victim of a crime. We eventually find the body of her child, and of another young woman. The suspects are…’

He pointed to Pauline first. ‘Pauline. Adoptive mother… ish. Doesn’t seem to care for her. Seems threatening and reluctant to talk to any of us. Next, Pauline’s mother Alma. Looks ancient and barely alive to be honest, but there’s been funny behaviour from her, and it looks like she started this “nobody is going to Hogwarts” thing. Pauline’s daughter Ornella… Two kids, did actually go to Hogwarts - maybe rebellious? Didn’t seem to get along with Marcy. Just generally weird and said one of her kids wasn’t involved, which is odd phrasing, and she’s got a really weird set up with the Muggle father of her kids... Pauline’s brother Oeric, he has confessed and his history fits the murder of Connie, but he spends most of his time drunk and his confession was disputed by…’ He took a step so he could point at Osman. ‘This man, who is in love with Marcy. He’s been difficult and angry, but has so far cooperated with us more than anyone else. He claims that the entire Swindlehurst family insisted on keeping their baby - I think he means Pauline here.’

‘Reckon she’s the matriarch?’ asked Theia. ‘I think Alma is in charge.’

‘Could be, but I’ve never really seen her talk, it was like getting blood out of a stone in the interview, she barely seemed to know where she was. Perhaps she was once?’

‘And this is all underlined by the fact that both Marcy and Osman claim that the family has prevented them leaving, but they won’t say how or why, and that they insisted on keeping the baby. Again, no how or why.’

‘And you think that by talking to little Simon you might get a possible witness,’ said Ben.

‘Yes,’ said Harry, suddenly reminded. ‘Osman had his bike, and Simon lost it near the ash tree. You and I are going to talk to him tomorrow. Theia, I want you to keep working on Marcy. You seem to have built up a good relationship.’

‘I have,’ said Theia. ‘But I still think she knows more than she’s letting on.’

‘You seem to have really started doubting her recently,’ said Ben.

‘She called her baby Asher!’ Theia burst out. ‘It’s just weird! Weird and… So morbid! And every time I get close to getting something out of her she just cries so much I have to give up.’

‘You think it’s an act?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s getting tiring.’

‘She is grieving,’ said Harry fairly.

‘But wouldn’t you want to be honest? Wouldn’t you want to solve whoever did that to your child?’

‘Yes, I would, but you and I are a different breed to Marcy, Theia.’

‘I’m still confused about what actually happened to the baby,’ said Ben. He looked at Harry. ‘You said it died of natural causes.’

‘I said he looked like he did. In this world, that’s not the same thing,’ said Harry. ‘I have… A vague idea, but I want to speak to Simon first, and see if he saw anything. I might sound a bit mad otherwise. But I think very dark magic was involved.’

‘Well that would rule out Marcy,’ said Theia. ‘She’s got about as much magic as a thumbtack.’

Harry scratched his jaw. ‘Yeah…’

‘I don’t really understand what dark magic is,’ said Ben. ‘Why is it different to normal magic? Is it just illegal?’

‘Sort of,’ said Harry. ‘It’s not cut and dry, but it’s magic that causes pain or suffering, and it require that intention. Some of it gets pretty grisly too. You could obviously use normal magic to do bad things, but dark magic is tapping into… Well, the darkness inside you.’

‘I also meant to ask you,’ said Ben, ‘How you found the baby at all. I assumed magic but-’

Theia looked over at Harry. She had been curious about this too. The strange, dreading look that had came over his face, and the slow but direct path he had taken to the tree. He had known like an instinct.

‘Magic leaves traces,’ said Harry heavily. ‘And after a while, you start to notice.’ He looked at Theia. ‘You remember when you got you wand at Ollivanders as a kid?’

‘Of course.’

‘That prickle that was in the air, like static. Sent shivers down the back of your neck.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I vaguely remember a feeling, I suppose….’

‘It’s like… Tapping into that. I never understood it before but I guess by now I’ve been around enough of it to recognise it when I feel it, especially when it’s dark. It’s a much colder sort of feeling.’ He paused. ‘And, I suppose… After…. May 1998… I guess if you’ve experienced it you can feel it?’

Ben looked befuddled, and Theia had her assumption that Harry had told him nothing of recent wizarding history or his part in it confirmed. ‘Yes, I expect so,’ she said. ‘So you think we’re looking at murder? Rather than a stillborn just being left?’

‘I think so,’ said Harry quietly.

‘And what about the other body?’ asked Ben.

‘Dawlish is certain that was Oeric,’ said Theia, glancing at Harry.

‘Even a stopped clock is right twice a day,’ said Harry. ‘Anything you think we’ve missed, Ben?’

Ben stared at the tangled web of coloured threads and moving photos and pinned parchment that covered the board. ‘It’s like some weird culty thing,’ he said. ‘I haven’t the foggiest.’

‘Weird cult thing is something to consider,’ said Harry. ‘Might not be just one person.’

‘Don’t let this be some Murder on the Orient Express thing,’ said Ben. ‘I really will feel like I’m in a badly written film then.’

‘Eh?’

‘It’s… It’s a book where it turns out everyone dunnit.’

Harry stared back at the board. ‘Oh, maybe.’

Theia and Ben groaned. ‘Don’t!’ cried Theia. ‘This case is going to be the death of me, I swear.’

Harry grinned at them. ‘Well, it’s either Oeric, Osman, Pauline, Alma, Ornella, Marcy, all of the above… anyone else?’

‘You definitely finished off Voldemort, yeah?’

‘Pretty sure.’

‘Welp, good progress,’ said Ben dryly. They all chuckled, united in their confused resignation.

‘No, we have made a lot of progress,’ said Harry fairly. ‘Even if it’s made things more confusing we have more information now, or at least we know where to get it.’ He checked his watch. ‘Let’s head off. I want to see Simon first thing tomorrow, and then we can settle you back home in Bowland, Ben.’

‘I’ll be sorry to go back,’ said Ben. ‘At least Ginny taught me how to use an owl.’

Harry smiled at him. ‘We’ll use the Floo. Theia, what are you going to do? Head home, or go back to Marcy?’

A great tiredness swept over her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

His expression wasn’t smiling, but it was gentle. ‘Go home,’ he said. ‘You look knackered. We have law enforcement wizards keeping an eye on her.’

So gratefully, she did.

………………………..

The hours crept by, but still she lay in bed, staring at the thin, long line of the crack in her ceiling. It was raining, she could hear the clatter and splash of the water on the windows and the cobbles outside, and, far off, a wailing police siren.

Her eyes felt heavy with sleep, but every time she closed them a flurry of images tormented her. The tree. The hissing cat. Marcy’s tear stained face and Osman’s trembling hands clasping it. The baby.

She opened her eyes again, and traced the line with her eyes yet another time. She thought of the silver brook that ran through the Loney, the long roots of the tree reaching into it like fingers…

She rolled over, trying not to think, but the thoughts cascaded down like the rain outside. She had researched, weeks ago, ash trees, and then forgotten all about them. Back then they had no idea what they were even looking for…

Sleep… She begged herself. My god, I don’t care, just sleep…

Maybe you should think about Dennis instead, said a nasty little voice in her head.

But she didn’t think about him much anymore. Not since she had met Ben. Or rather, not since she had started working on the case. It was impossible to separate the two, so it was best to go with the healthier version.

She was still furious with Harry for trying to orchestrate that. It was none of his business. It wouldn’t help. She wasn’t ready. She barely knew Ben. He wasn’t her type. She didn’t even have a type, but Ben wasn’t it.

Ben had led them to the ash tree, the branches reaching up into the grey sky. She could see it so clearly in her mind, she could almost feel the biting wind of the Loney on the back of her neck, smell the peat, hear the rushing of the stream. It built up in her head like a roar, and when it reached a crescendo, she found herself rising.

She left the bed and went back to the dog-eared books piled up on the armchair in the corner, her scraps of parchment where she had made notes flopping out like dry tongues.

It was dark in the room, for she was in the early hours of the morning, but the light pollution from nearby Stratford bled through the gaps in her blinds and cast yellowish strips of light across the room. She pulled the books forward and began to read, her tired, heavy eyes scanning the dimly lit words, hoping that she would fall asleep here on the floor…

Gaelic wizards in ancient Briton regarded the ash tree (which they called uinsinn, pronounced ooshin) as protective. Wands and staffs borne of ash held a range of protective and healing properties, most frequently related to child health. Newborn babies were ritually given a potion of ash sap. Ailing children, especially those suffering with magical rupture or weak limbs, would be passed through a forked cleft (where it may have split from lightning, disease or some other mutation) or hollow in an ash tree to cure them, presumably in combination with ancient magical chanting. Some wizarding folklore then suggested an intimate bond between the welfare and fate of the now related tree and person, with harm to the tree being reflected in the healed person's life, leading people to become understandably protective of 'their' ash tree. Witches and wizards with such a powerful bond could sometimes be associated with healing properties themselves, though much knowledge of this ancient magic has now been lost. Thanks to advances in magical healing in the 1400s, much of the ritual and superstition has been refined into working potions and spells, leaving the ash tree as little more than an excellent provider of wood for wand and broomstick making.

She read it, again and again, the words somehow coming through her head in the voice of Professor McGonagall - clear and prim and knowledgeable, dripping with authority and sensibility, but sending her imagination wild. The words blurred from the light and the reflection of the rain on the window, shimmering silver like the surface of the creek in the Loney, but the message howled through her mind just as the wind on the fells.

She tore out the page, and stumbled from the room.
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