Merlin and the Taboo Magic

Thursday, 28 May 1987

221B Baker Street, London

03:00 pm

Darcie watched the drizzle pelting London's smoggy street, an astrological chart propped open on her lap.

4 days had passed since the girls' thrilling adventure in the ruins under the burial grounds of Azkaban. Thrilling, yes. But it could have easily become traumatic with one misstep, Darcie knew.

No. She would not go back to that place. Never.

Yet, Darcie couldn't help but recall seeing the Portkey in her purse when she returned home that night. How the Portkey had found its way into her purse? Darcie did not know. But she felt ashamed enough to not tell Daphne or Dobby about it.

If she was cursed with this legacy, Darcie dare not let her friends, perhaps her only friends, get corrupted by it as well.

There was one more thought that was bubbling in her mind.

The history of wizardkind wasn't well-documented, but it was short and encompassed their short numbers thoroughly enough. So, it wasn't hard for Darcie to summarize the number of Parselmouths throughout the ages.

And Ekrizdis wasn't one of them.

'Or perhaps he was,' Darcie wondered. 'None just knew about it, I guess.'

Just what kind of horrible mystery and hideous truth was afoot here? The question troubled Darcie no lesser than the thought of visiting those ruins again.

Daphne and Dobby would never let her being a Parselmouth slip out, Darcie knew. But it couldn't change the fact that the Portkey had responded to Parseltongue, making whoever had sealed it also a Parselmouth.

Darcie felt like she was treading on treacherous grounds, and she found herself extremely ill-equipped to pry into the mysteries of the ruins or the Portkey.

"Darcie." Sir Arthur Conan Doyle approached her, gliding and smoking his ghostly pipe. "Are you ready?" he asked, puffing out rings of smoke. "Today we will learn…"

"Arthur," Darcie cut in, "may I ask you something about Avalon?"

Sir Arthur was taken aback, his thick mustache stirring in response. Never had Darcie postponed a lesson before. Especially for anything unrelated to her studies.

Even Mr. Waite's ghost, who was reading his ghostly book, snapped his head up. He shut the book and glided toward the window where Sir Arthur and Darcie were.

Since the beginning of Darcie's training, Madam Villanelle had been staying with her in this apartment. But the older witch was still the Assistant Manager of Flourish and Blotts Booksellers, making her attend to her duties from morning to evening. This left Darcie under the care of the two ghosts, the Chiefs of the two Circles of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

"Well, sure," Sir Arthur said, snapping out of his listlessness. "Of course, it should be something within my authority."

Mr. Waite nodded, smiling.

"Are the stories about King Arthur and Avalon true?" Darcie asked, her poisonous-green eyes sparkling. "Is he truly buried on the mythical island?"

Sir Arthur and Mr. Waite shared a glance. "Why not ask this to Madam Villanelle?" the author of Sherlock Holmes asked. "Surely she can answer this better than us?"

Darcie frowned. "I did," she sighed. "It might be just my imagination, but Madam Villanelle seemed to me oddly avoiding the topic. I wonder if I should address a letter to Sage Merlin. They did say that I can write to them…"

It was then Darcie's eyes fell upon the ghosts' expressions.

The corner of Sir Arthur's and Mr. Waite's mouths were twitching, despite their mustaches' dutiful attempts to hide it.

"What is it?" Darcie asked, pouting. "Arthur, Waite, you two are making fun of me again, aren't you?"

"Ahem!" Sir Arthur cleared his throat. "It's understandable for you to write to the Six, Darcie," he told her, a rare smile lingering on his lips. "But I heard Sage Merlin went into hibernation for 10 years."

"What?!" Darcie blurted, shocked. "What happened?"

This truly stunned the young Malfoy.

On the new year, she had visited Avalon, meeting the Six. Her entire life had changed because of those events.

Only some five months had passed since then, but Sage Merlin had already entered hibernation. Darcie could find no genuine explanation for this shocking news.

"We are not aware of the entire matter, too," Mr. Waite responded. "But it's not as shocking as you are thinking, dear. The Six aren't truly alive, see. Their age surpasses our common reasoning capabilities. A decade of hibernation is not that unusual for them."

"Oh!" Darcie exclaimed, understanding the situation. "Then what's the reason for those twitches, huh? Don't think I didn't notice them."

Mr. Waite ruefully smiled, reaching out to pinch Darcie's cheek. "That's your little Darcie Holmes right there, Arthur," he jested.

Darcie felt an icy feeling entering her cheek, but she desired an explanation more.

"Actually, Madam Villanelle and Sage Merlin's relationship is destined to remain… odd," Sir Arthur commented, smoking the pipe.

"Destined?" Darcie felt more puzzled than ever.

"I am sure you are aware of Green Seat's extraordinary circumstances," Mr. Waite chimed in. "That the original Witch of Endor keeps reincarnating because of a mishap with her spell."

Darcie nodded.

The current Green Seat was nothing but an Imperishable Artifact, the first of its kind, designed and created by the original Witch of Endor before her death. At those times, the Biblical Witch had been working on a reincarnation spell that would have let her undergo rebirth with all her knowledge intact.

However, because of a mishap, the spell failed, resulting in her undergoing rebirths without the knowledge of her previous lives.

Madam Villanelle was such a witch; the reincarnated Biblical Witch. But she had her own life, and other than the fact that she enjoyed privileges as grand as the Six, she had nothing in common with the Witch of Endor.

"Good," Sir Arthur nodded. "I am not sure if I am the right ghost to tell you this, but it was Madam Villanelle… No. I should say, it was Green Seat's reincarnation during the times of Merlin who had introduced him to the Order of the Immortal Lotus."

Darcie's eyes widened. There was even such a past shared between Merlin and her mentor.

Still, this didn't explain the "destined" part.

Sure enough, Mr. Waite added, "The relation between her and Merlin was quite complicated, to say the least. In the beginning, she was his student. Only later did she find him worthy of her trust, resulting in Merlin knowing the existence of Avalon. Yet, as time progressed, she and Merlin often found themselves at odds, especially when it concerned King Arthur and the round table."

"You don't mean…"

"Morgan le Fay, the very one," Sir Arthur proclaimed. "Since those times, though the Witch of Endor's reincarnated selves share nothing, all of them had been finding themselves standing against Blue Seat. For Madam Villanelle to avoid all topics related to Sage Merlin… is natural."

Darcie's mouth was opened in an o shape. If it was anyone else telling her this, she wouldn't have believed him.

But Sir Arthur and Mr. Waite were the Chiefs, coming directly under the leadership of both Orange and Purple Seats. And there was no reason for the ghosts to lie to her. Not about a history lesson like this one.

'So that's how it is,' Darcie thought, recalling her cornering Madam Villanelle to get an answer. 'The memory made her blush. Wish I had known this before making a fool out of myself.'

Still, how did a knight from the round table end up becoming a guardian of Ekrizdis' legacy? The answer to this question found itself as far from Darcie as before, probably farther.

"So, let's begin with today's…"

"I have one more question, Arthur," Darcie blurted, cutting in again.

"Well, someone's quite inquisitive today," Mr. Waite remarked. "What is it?"

"I was studying with Daphne," Darcie lied, feeling horrible, "when we stumbled upon something truly remarkable, Waite. We were wondering what kind of spell it would need to hide an island the size of Avalon. And then one thing led to another before we began wondering if there was magic that could render other wizards and witches incapable of using magic."

Silence.

The silence pressed itself heavily on Darcie's heart. The two ghosts never remained silent for so long. Not when she was near them, at least.

"Haha!" Sir Arthur boisterously laughed, but it felt empty. "Of course, there are such spells, Darcie. The stunning spell and petrifying spell can theoretically make others incapable of casting…"

"No, Arthur," Darice said, clarifying herself. "I know those, too. We were thinking of magic on a grander scale, stable, and cast over one place. Entering which would be the same as cutting off the connection between a wizard and his magic."

Silence. Once again.

Sir Arthur and Mr. Waite looked at each other. "There's no such magic, dear," Mr. Waite answered, his smile fake. "It's impossible…"

"Professor Dumbledore once said that there's no such thing as impossible magic," Darcie blurted, taking pride in quoting a Grand Wizard. "Only limited knowledge and imagination. Perhaps you two just haven't heard of it, no?"

"Absurd!" Sir Arthur thundered. "Who am I? The greatest of my generation! Of course, I know."

"Arthur?" Mr. Waite raised an eyebrow. "Old friend, is this the time to…"

"I think you have been dead enough for a long time to remember it like Sir Arthur, Waite," Darcie commented, consoling the great mystic expert. "It's OK if you can't recall."

"That's quite a rubbish guess," Mr. Waite said, his chin inadvertently lifting. "Of course, we know, right, Arthur?"

The ghostly eyes glowed like four headlights on a foggy morning. The two eccentric ghosts would never let go of any remark making slight of them.

And Darcie had learned how to know a few answers from them, which otherwise would be considered too much out of her comprehension.

No matter how much appalling Darcie found it to be, this was the only way she could know more about those ruins. Especially if… if she ever wanted to explore them again.

"Darcie," Sir Arthur began, now thoroughly invested in teaching the young Malfoy, "you must be well familiar with the Concealment Magic."

Darcie nodded, knowing not where it was going.

"Well," Mr. Waite glided in, "there are certain low-level Concealment spells, like Concealing Charms and Disguising Spells."

"Correct." Sir Arthur puffed out a ring of ghostly smoke. "Then there are considerably higher level Concealing Charms, like the Masking Spells and Unplottable Charms."

Darcie repeatedly nodded, her entire focus on the topic. Never had her heart pounded to know more about something before.

"Still, these are Concealing Charms well-known and well-practiced among the wizardkind," Mr. Waite told her. "After them comes Forbidden Concealing Charms. I wonder if you can name one…"

Absurd as it was, Darcie knew such a charm. "Fidelius Charm. Father mentioned it once, though I knew not what it meant, then."

Sir Arthur nodded in praise. "Fidelius Charm is an immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul," he said, a grave look flashing across his ghostly eyes. "This is no mere child's play anymore, Darcie. It's a forbidden charm for a reason."

Mr. Waite's eyes had also gained a look of warning. "Honest wizards and witches have lost their lives because of trusting someone with this charm whom they shouldn't have," he said, his tone sad and longing. "I hope you are intelligent enough to know the gravity of such a charm's failure and misuse."

Darcie nodded, her expression calm and composed.

Sir Arthur looked at Darcie and then looked outside, the drizzle becoming a downpour. "All Concealment Charms, no matter what kind and use, share a single origin, Darcie."

"What?" Darcie exclaimed. "There are so many Concealment Charms of different kinds. How can they…"

"It's true." Mr. Waite shared his companion's look. "Concealment Charms are a class in themselves," he told her. "This origin Arthur mentioned has another name, known only to very few wizards, the prime of their generations."

"The Taboo!"

Crack!

Sir Arthur's words melted into the crack of the thunder, a bright blue flash landing on Darcie's face. Her green eyes were almost brimming with a hazel hue.

"Concealment from the ordinary," Mr. Waite said, the rain pelting on the window. "Concealment from the wizards, Concealment from groups, Concealment from societies, Concealment from all and everyone…"

"… what remains," Sir Arthur's voice echoed in Darcie's heart, "but the Concealment from the world itself, Darcie. We call it…"

Mr. Waite seemed to draw a sharp breath. "We call it…"

"… the Bounded Fields!"