tree_and_leaf | Very belated fic post

Title: The Blue Flower
Characters: Phineas Nigellus, OMC.
Rating: PG
Word-count: 4752
Summary: Phineas NIgellus, on his way home from a trip to Germany, is called on to solve a deadly mystery on the Rhine. Features a cameo appearance by a familiar object from the Hogwarts of Harry's day.
Warnings: none, unless you count misuse of themes of Romanticism.
Note: The fic is set during Nigellus’ tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Nigellus and the Harry Potter universe are the property of JK Rowling. The idea of Wittenberg as a centre of magical research I owe to

nineveh_uk, but it fits well with Germany’s role as nineteenth century intellectual powerhouse in all sorts of fields. The Lorelei is a figure of German folklore, most famous because of the Heine poem (though other people wrote about her too). The title is a reference to Novalis.

Ths fic was written for the

omniocular’s “Anywhere but here” challenge last February, and as such deserves some sort of anti-award for lateness.

Phineas Nigellus would never have admitted it to anyone – not least his eldest son – but he rather enjoyed travelling by train. If anyone had pushed him, he would have said that he enjoyed having the time to think alone, which was invaluable on the way to a conference, because it allowed one to actually write one’s paper, and nearly as good on the way back. The human mind needed time to digest new information and ideas, and such time would not have been gained by Portkeying straight back to Hogwarts and the chaos which inevitably proceeded the new school year. Phineas did not particularly enjoy being headmaster – he had never really wanted the job, but he preferred not to see the school in the hands of a total incompetent – but it would have offended his sense of fitness to have things run other than smoothly.

What he would have admitted about the Muggle train was true; but more than that, he admired the principle. Power harnessed in exactly the right way; steam forced through pistons and driving inert matter swiftly on; passion used with entire precision. That was what magic should be, and what it so rarely was.

He had been in Germany for a conference at the Institut in Wittenberg; his paper suggesting a new Arithmantic paradigm for generating location spells for specific Dark Creatures had gone down well, and the discussion afterwards had had opened up further possibilities for extending it to tracking wizards. Whether one could use it to identify the wizard, or whether it would only prove possible to track individuals already known to you was still open to question. Certainly there seemed no reason to suppose it would penetrate reasonably good wards. But the problem was a fascinating one, and he looked forward to making an attempt at cracking it, if term allowed. There were certainly enough test subjects at Hogwarts. There had been a a thought provoking paper about a new technique of Arithmantical recension based on notes found in Lachmann’s papers by the editor of the Nachlass, and an amazingly stupid one about Malzahn’s Paradox given by a young fool fresh out of Durmstrang; Phineas had greatly enjoyed taking that one apart in the discussion session. Then he had spent a pleasant few days in Freiburg with an old friend with whom he co-edited that formidable quarterly, Die mitteleuropäische Zeitschrift für höhere Arithmantik, arguing over submissions for the next issue.

Now, however, the train was drawing into the station at Koblenz; after a night there, he decided, he would carry on by train to the Hook of Holland, where he would get a cross-channel Portkey. After engaging a room for the night at a quiet, respectable hotel in the wizard quarter, he dined in one of the better restaurants, savouring the excellent Niersteiner and wondering once again why so many Englishmen cherished the illusion that elf-made wine was worth drinking. He was midway through the fish course when the waiter came over with a note “From a young man who has just left”, he explained. Surprised, Phineas unfolded the note.

“Most honoured Herr Professor Doktor Nigellus, I am familiar with your work and greatly admire it, particularly your work on tracking spells. Nevertheless I would hesitate to disturb you if it were not for the fact that I am involved in a difficult matter of very great importance, and I would be most obliged to you if you would favour me with your advice and help. Would you do me the honour of meeting me in the Zwei Drachen across the road, after you have dined? I will wait for you. Your humble servant, Philipp von Schwartzerde.”

Phineas raised an eyebrow. The von Schwartzerden were a very old pureblood family and distant connections of the Blacks, with their family seat near Eichstätt. They were chiefly famous for producing a number of fine scholars, mostly in the field of alchemy, though there was a Phillip von Schwartzerde, who would be of an age to be the youth’s grandfather, who had written a number of important books on the history of curses, including what was still the definitive work on the development of Avada Kedavra. Out of courtesy to the family – and, indeed, some curiosity about the ‘difficult matter’ – he would meet him. “Tell him the answer is ‘yes’”, he instructed the waiter.

Phineas returned to his dinner, but somehow found himself unable to give it the same degree of attention as before.

*

“Herr Professor! I am delighted to see you!” The young man spoke fluent, almost unaccented English, Phineas noticed. von Schwartzerde was tall and dark haired, with a gentle, dreamy expression that was somewhat at odds with a strange, ridged, spider-shaped hex-mark across one cheekbone. The boy had probably gone to Durmstrang, where there was an odd enthusiasm for collecting duelling scars as trophies. Personally, Phineas thought, he had always preferred to be on the giving, rather than the receiving end of a hostile spell, and he had no patience whatsoever with those who were to proud or too slow to duck. He supposed he should be grateful that such an idiotic fashion had never caught on at Hogwarts.

“I would scarcely care to disoblige a cousin, however distant. But you spoke of a problem?”

von Schwartzerde nodded. He seemed very nervous. “Oh, I am no very close relation – I come from a very minor branch of the family. But the problem. Yes, indeed. How one can best explain… Herr Professor, how familiar are you with the folklore of the Rhine?”

“Folklore? That’s a very Muggle term. Not at all. I mean, I know something about dragons, but Natural Philosophy was never my best subject. And I have heard of the Erkling, but I suppose you don’t mean that, even if that Muggle poet did write a ballad about it and get the name wrong.”

“That was most unfortunate” said von Schwartzerde, rather stiffly, “You must remember that the Statute of Secrecy was not well observed in the those days. No central authority.”

“Things are different under the Prussians, no doubt.”

“Indeed. And that, in a way, brings me to my problem. I work, you see, for the government; I am Zauberlandrat in the Mittelrheintal, a little up-river from here. I don’t know if you are familiar with the term Landrat; it means that I am responsible for the administration of the area.”

“If you will forgive the observation, you seem rather young for such a responsible role.”

“Oh, it is a usual starting point for young men of good family. I hope, if I am fortunate, for a post in Berlin.” The boy was gaining confidence visibly. “But that doesn’t matter. What I am afraid of is many deaths, and probably a major breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Some Muggles and one wizard have died already.”

“Doubtless very serious, but I’m a scholar, not a policeman.”

“But you are an authority on tracking and identification spells, and I think that is what we need. I have consulted some of the best minds in Germany on the matter. One of them even came out, confident that he had solved the matter.”

“He hadn’t, I take it?”

“He was the wizard.” Philip sighed. “At any rate, since you disclaim an interest in – folklore, I will not ask if you have heard of the Loreley.”

“Wait a moment. Isn’t there a song…?”

“That’s right. Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten, das ich so traurig bin, and all that. The story of the maiden who sits and combs her golden hair on the Loreleyfelsen, and the bargemen are shipwrecked on the rock and drowned. We always thought it was just a silly Muggle story, but it seems there is something in it after all.”

“What is it, then? A Veela?”

Philip shook his head. “No. We could deal with that. One can reason with Veelas, and if the worst came to the worst, I know some experienced witches who could capture one. And it isn’t a siren, either. I have tried all the tracking and detection spells I know, but since I don’t know exactly what we are facing, it is somewhat difficult.”

“Have you seen the creature?”

A shadow passed over the sensitive features; for a moment they looked very old. “Once. I – I do not know if I could bear to do so again.”

“Was it so hideous? So terrible? What did you see?”

“It was not hideous, no. But terrible – yes. It was terrible. And I must be more precise: I never saw the creature itself.

“I had gone to the Loreley to make investigations. That was after the death of the third Muggle. We knew that they had all drowned – the first two were fishermen; the first might have been drunk, and the second was inexperienced, so no-one thought much of it at the time. The third, however, was a respectable local official who had been walking down by the river. There was a wizard tourist on the opposite bank – one of those dragon-chasers – who said he thought he had seen a Hungarian Horntail, of all the ridiculous things; anyhow, while he was watching the Horntail, which was probably a cormorant, he saw the Muggle suddenly wade out into the Rhine until he drowned. Never stopping, never struggling, never looking round. We put it about that he had killed himself, but that was nonsense. We spoke to all his acquaintances. He showed no signs of melancholia, and he wasn’t the type to do it without leaving a note, anyhow. Too methodical and considerate.”

Phineas sighed. “I think I’d think that of more moment if your eyewitness wasn’t the sort of person who thinks he’s seeing a Hungarian Horntail several hundred leagues away from its normal habitat. Probably your Muggle did kill himself. Or perhaps he was hallucinating. Muggles aren’t as stable as wizards, it’s well known.”

von Schwartzerde shook his head. “You haven’t heard the whole story yet. I went to investigate – the man had wizard relatives, and after all, the dragon, supposing it existed, was a potential Statute-breacher too. I took the precaution, however, of applying Floatation and Bubblehead charms to myself; I had a notion, you see, that we might be dealing with a siren or something of the sort, and I had no wish to find myself being drawn out and drowned. But I didn’t want to use a Deaf-Adder charm or anything that would have interfered with my observations.

“I went down to the little beach at the bottom of the cliff, and waited. And then, as if from nowhere, I heard music; the most beautiful I have ever heard.” His voice faltered. “And then I saw…”

Phineas waited for a few moments, and then said impatiently “What did you see?”

The young man shook his head wordlessly, and Phineas noticed incredulously that there were tears in his eyes. Germans were all the same – hopelessly sentimental underneath the cool exterior. “I don’t know,” von Schwartzerde said finally. “I wish I did. It was – there are moments when I think I would give anything to feel that way again, and yet I don’t know if I could bear it. It was beautiful; too beautiful to be borne. I know that much.

“I don’t know what happened next, only that I found myself being hauled out of the Rhine by my dragon-fancying friend, who was complaining that I had startled the Norwegian Black. I must have rushed into the river, but the floatation charm saved me; I just drifted.”

“So we deduce that whatever it is isn’t carnivorous” said Phineas. “No relation of the Erkling, then. It sounded a little like it, for a moment, luring prey with an attractive sound, but an Erkling would have tried to eat you.”

von Schwartzerde nodded “But it might be something of that sort all the same. Unfortunately the only way anyone has found to reliably get rid of the Erkling is to kick it.”

“That would hardly work here, no. It doesn’t sound as if one could get close enough.” Phineas paused. “Is the dragon-fancier still about? I think the first thing to do might be to have a word with him, unreliable witness or not. I have a few ideas about non-specific Dark tracking spells, but it would help to get as good an idea of what we are facing as possible.”

“I am not sure that this is a Dark creature” the boy said thoughtfully. “Dangerous, yes, but Dark? I don’t know.”

“I have never come across a satisfactory way of telling the difference” said Phineas, waspishly. von Schwartzerde looked as if he would like to disagree, but said nothing.

*

The dragon-lover was located at his pension the next morning, and proved happy to take his official visitors out to his favourite spot opposite the Loreley. Phineas attempted to engage him in conversation, the better to find out what sort of man they were dealing with. But it was difficult: the man, one Georg Lindner, was uneducated, a shop-keeper and dealer in magical stain-removers from Munich, and somewhat taciturn. He had been in the Rhineland on holiday since, since,…

“You have been here two months, at least!” said von Schwartzerde, his voice slightly startled: the implication had never occurred to him till now. Phineas raised an eyebrow; if this cousin of his was viewed by the Prussian ministry as a high-flier, they must be even more desperate than their English counterparts.

Lindner looked indifferent when asked what was happening to his business in his absence. “Ach, my boy can look after it well enough. My wife can manage the house. She makes no objection to my going on holiday.”

There was a pause, in which Phineas and Phillip looked awkwardly at their feet, and Lindner continued to look unconcerned.

“And when did you first see dragons here?” asked Phineas.

“But Herr Professor, I have told all this to the Herr Landrat!” protested Linder.

“And the Herr Landrat would be obliged if you would tell it again to the Herr Professor” said von Schwartzerde, a bite of impatience in his voice. “It may be that you will recall some new detail.”

“That would have been a month and a half ago, then, Herr Professor. I was walking along the river, and decided to stop to eat my lunch.”

“Why there? The view? Did you hope to see dragons?”

“No. The Herr Professor must know that they are very rare hereabouts. It just looked like a comfortable spot. And there were many pretty flowers. I am fond of flowers, though I don’t know much about them, and of course they are not dragons. There was a little blue one, in particular… Anyway, no sooner had I sat down than I saw the first dragon. It was a female Horntail – I have always wished to see one of those, but I have never been able to afford to travel to see them. And since then I have been back every day. Look, I have quite filled a sketchbook!”

Phineas looked at the drawings attentively. He was no expert on dragons, but as far as he could see, they were the fruit of accurate observation, though they did seem rather large in comparison to the landscape in the background, and were all extraordinarily good specimens. “You have been fortunate.”

“Yes, indeed!” said Lindner; there was a strange, enthusiastic glow in his eyes. “Always, always have I wished to see such things. Let us not waste any of the daylight!”

“Has anyone else seen these dragons?” Phineas asked von Schwartzerde in a low voice, and in English. The latter shook his head. “No, though that spot is not much frequented. But we certainly have found no traces of the activity of dragons elsewhere in the area. I have had men out looking – though to be sure, in the circumstances I do not like to send them too close to the Loreleyfelsen.”

“It doesn’t do to be squeamish, man” said Phineas, irritated. “You need data. And it’s no good talking about not risking people. You’re risking every passer-by as it is.”

“I suppose so” said von Schwartzerde, reluctantly. “But what would really interest me is to know why Lindner was not affected.”

“Yes, that’s a point. Did you sense anything from this bank when he rescued you?”

“No. But look, we are nearly here.”

It was, indeed, a pretty spot: a little cove with a stony beach fringed by flowery grass and then a line of trees. From the beach one looked over to the steep grey cliff of the Loreleyfelsen, stark against the green leaves of the trees surrounding it.

“”What exquisite flowers!” said Phillip, who hadn’t realized, in the shock of being saved from drowning, quite how lovely the spot really was. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite like that. So delicate, and such a subtle shade of blue… Now, what does that remind me of? Perhaps it was a poem, or a song?... Nigellus, do you hear that music? Like birdsong, only more complex, purer… Nigellus? Lindner?”

The music was clear, inhuman, and more beautiful than any music Phillip had ever heard; his companions did not answer him. Lindner was beginning to sketch another dragon – and yet there was no dragon – and Phineas was gazing into the distance. His lips moved as if in prayer, and his eyes were abstracted. At length he said “You, I assume, see no dragon?”

“No.”

“But you have heard music?”

“Yes.”

“And saw the flowers?”

“Of course!” said Phillip, beginning to be angry that he was being distracted. What did anything matter, but listening?

“I begin to see…” Phineas said slowly. “Come, cousin. I have calculations to make. And we’d better bring some of those little blue flowers along, too.”

*

Phineas locked himself away in von Schwartzerde's library, such as it was, and, after interrogating the younger man about his potion-making qualifications, which were indeed very respectable, set him to produce a magically active concentrate of the blue flowers.

“What do you need it for?” asked Phillip.

“I can’t be sure, yet” said Phineas cautiously. “But speed is of the essence, as I trust you’ll agree.”

“Is there danger, then?”

Phineas considered. “Probably not immediate danger; all the same, it will only increase if we waste time. Try to get the concentrate as strong as you can. I’ll be here if you need me. I don’t suppose you have a copy of Smethwycke’s new treatise on dark creatures, do you?”

*

Phineas worked at his Arithmantic calculations for several hours, spinning his charmed webs of numbers, twitching a thread here and there, twisting and turning the matter on the page. He sat, surrounded by maps of the Rhine, stacks of parchment, and cold pipe ash as the sun rose high in the sky and them fell again, and brooded over the numbers and symbols as they danced in front of him. The house-elf brought bread and ham and cheese and beer, which went unnoticed, although Phineas did Summon himself several pots of coffee over the course of the day. The figures danced and span, and Phineas, though he would never have articulated the thought, was happy.

At length, as the candles were lighting themselves, he nodded to himself in a satisfied manner, stood up, and stretched. The problem was solved, from an Arithmantic point of view. Now there only remained the minor matter of putting the solution into practice.

He paused to grab some of the bread and ham, and set off the cellar, which Phillip used as a potions laboratory when the need arose. As he descended the stairs, he found himself suddenly pierced by a feeling of – it was impossible to say exactly what, of pain and sweetness at once. It was intoxicating. With an effort of will, he cast the Bubblehead charm, and the feelings suddenly died. “I was right, then” he thought “I hope that young idiot thought of performing a charm!”

He had not. von Schwartzerde was sitting over an admirably concentrated essence, silently weeping, and apparently in a trance-like state. Phineas sighed, poured the essence into a flask and applied an Unbreakable charm, reversed his own Bubblehead charm, and pointed his wand at Phillip. “Ennervate!”

As Phillip was not actually unconscious, the result was effective but brutal. The young man actually leaped in his chair, and gazed around wildly before realizing where he was, and rather embarrassedly passing a handkerchief over his face. He was twitching slightly, and he continued to do throughout the conversation.

“Well” said Phineas, as the silence threatened to become frighteningly long, “I imagine you’ve worked out what force we are dealing with by now.”

“It… I… but it wasn’t the flowers that were causing the accidents!”

“No, but they are part of it… Have you ever encountered a Dementor, Schwartzerde?”

“Yes.” A shadow passed over his young face, and he trembled more. “Yes. But those are foul creatures, they do not create such feelings of, of – desire. That’s it, isn’t it? Desire. Not lust, but true, unbounded desire for – who knows what? What one might call immortal longings. A powerful force indeed, and one that might destroy, as Semele was destroyed. And yet it might, after all, be worth it…”

“Nonsense, man” said Phineas sharply. “It’s all a delusion – at least in this case it is. My calculations indicate that – although I can’t find any evidence that anyone has found such a thing elsewhere in the world – we’re dealing with an elemental, a barely-sentient force which feeds on, as you say, desire; the deepest desire of the individual. Your little apothecary and his dragons! Perhaps they mean speed, or strength, or freedom to him, all these things he lacks… But that’s beside the point.”

“But you compared it to a Dementor” Phillip objected “and they move about, and think – they even communicate, in a rudimentary way. This doesn’t.”

“No, you’re right” agreed Phineas. “But the origins of Dementors have remained obscure for the most part, although there is a fascinating hypothesis in Smethwycke. He argues that Dementors generate spontaneously, when enough misery and fear exists in an area which has been exposed to magic. They can hardly be said to be alive, at that point – unless an embodied hunger may live. They need at first the misery and fear from which they sprang, and so they, if they can gather the strength to move, they are drawn to humans, on whose positive emotions they feed, until they are strong enough to consume the whole soul, the whole psychic energy of the person, leaving only an automaton. And I think that somehow something like this is beginning to happen here, only focussed on longing. Very dangerous – one is much less likely to wish to resist a feeling of desire than of fear.”

Phillip frowned, and twitched involuntarily again. “But in that case, why has it not freed itself to roam the country?”

Phineas shrugged. “We don’t know much about the timescale over which Dementors become self-aware and mobile. Perhaps it has simply not had enough time. And, you know, I think there is more misery in the world than desire. Most people bury and stifle their hopes and dreams – after their first youth.”

“That’s very cynical, and I don’t think I believe it” said Phillip. Phineas shrugged. There was no point arguing with an idealistic fool.

“I think it has something to do with the blue flowers. What did you feel, as they worked with them?”

Phillip flushed. “I felt… as if I had achieved all my desires. As though all my dreams had come true.”

“Quite so. I hypothesize that the creature has been feeding primarily on the flowers, which offering a satisfaction for desire, offer a better source of food than men. Which is why Lindner was safe, and the only people who have been killed approached the area of danger from the other bank, where there were no flowers. I think we can use your essence of the flowers to attract the creature, incidentally, though I don’t know what we could use to trap it.”

“I have an idea” said Phillip, and told him. Phineas nodded slowly. “That might work. They’re powerful magical objects in themselves, and if we incorporate the essence into it… We’ll look awful fools carrying it along the river, though.”

“I suggest a barge” said Phillip. “We should be able to charm it to hold its course, so we will be safe even if the plan goes awry.”

*

The next day they set out for the Loreleyfels. Even in those days, that stretch of the Rhine was beginning to be a popular location for Muggle tourist trips; Phineas marvelled that more people had not been killed. That day, fortunately, the river was quiet, and they made their uneventful way upstream towards the rock. Phineas found himself, though, speculating about Arithmancy, and a perfectly beautiful idea for a new extension of his tracking spells, one which would revolutionise the field and make him immortal, one which would solve at a stroke the current problems of the field and offer up new ones, and –

“I think we must be nearly there” said Phillip coolly, and began to open the magic-dampening, Adamantine box on the fore-deck, to reveal what they had been working on last night. It was a large, wood-framed mirror, the silver behind the glass infused by alchemical means with the essence of the blue flower.

And as they stood there. their minds filled with a vaguer but still powerful sweetness, they saw a golden mist coming across the water, and almost thought they heard music, and felt once again the ache that was half joy and half sorrow, and wholly unassuagable. And the gold mist settled on the mirror, and was drawn into it, and the music died.

“I think that’s that” said Phillip, a little blankly, and both men turned to the mirror. Phineas, for a moment, saw Hogwarts transformed into a place of higher learning to rival Wittenberg, and himself at the head of a body of adult scholars, while his eldest son, forsaking his disdain for the academic, presided over the school. “Shut it up” he said wearily, and Phillip did so.

“Well, it would seem that we have created a mirror which shows the desires of the heart. I think it may be dangerous – I’ll take it away. I’m sure I can find someone who would be interested in studying it.”

“Indeed. Be careful with it. I think it is perhpas now more dangerous than it ever was before” said Phillip. But he did not say what he had seen, then or ever. After a long pause he said. “I wonder if those creatures are predatory. Perhaps they always linger in certain spots, to bring dreams and wonders to those who stay long enough. It would explain much.”

“In any case, they are dangerous, and the Rhine is better without this one” said Phineas defensively, although he was not quite sure why.

“I wish I could be sure” said Phillip slowly. “At any rate I have learned a lot. Perhaps more than is good for my peace of mind. And yet I would not have it otherwise…”

*

So Phineas Nigellus went back to England with the Mirror in his baggage, and left it at Grimmauld Place. He did not think that a school was an appropriate location, and felt it would be safer at home. Later, he regretted this.

Georg Lindner saw no more dragons on the Rhine, or elsewhere, but returned to Munich, where he eventually made a career painting magical beasts. His son took over the business, and his wife left him, later marrying a Viennese merchant. In the end, they were all much happier than they had been for many years.

Phillip von Schwartzerde resigned his post as Landrat. After a few years where he did little but read and travel he scandalized his family, who were staunch if hardly devout Lutherans, by converting to Catholicism, becoming a Jesuit priest, and dying young in Africa. His parents blamed it on his fondness for Muggle poetry, and were proud to say that his brothers never showed a trace of the same enthusiasm.

The blue flower has not been found on the banks of the Rhine since, though Phineas Nigellus sometimes went looking for it in the school holidays. It was, after all, of great scholarly interest.

Current Mood: accomplished

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From:

a-t-rain.livejournal.com

Oh, this is fabulous. There needs to be more Erised-fic -- I've always thought the Mirror was one of JKR's more fascinating inventions -- and Phineas the jaded academic is absolutely delicious, especially when you see his human side break through. I particularly like this bit:

Phineas, for a moment, saw Hogwarts transformed into a place of higher learning to rival Wittenberg, and himself at the head of a body of adult scholars, while his eldest son, forsaking his disdain for the academic, presided over the school. “Shut it up” he said wearily, and Phillip did so.

From:

A little orthodox and icony.

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