Interlude: Edward Fellwyck
[Location: Oxford University, Bodleian Library]
The Bodleian Library always felt like sacred ground. Ancient stone vaults, endless rows of forgotten wisdom. This place contained knowledge hoarded over centuries, bound in cracked leather and dust.
Edward stepped into the bod, as he and his fellow students dubbed the library founded by one Sir Thomas Bodley. The monk remembered many late nights hunched over religious texts.
'Ahh, those certainly were some hours well spent.'
Edward's footsteps echoed in the halls. His new status as a philosophy student at the top of his mind and the aftertaste of the dean's sickeningly sweet tea still lingering. It had taken only two cups and a sharp conversation to slice through the usual bureaucracy. The Church greased doors open like that. Privilege in exchange for obedience.
But this wasn't about coursework. That was a burden for another day.
It was about young Leonhard's maddening curiosity. His whispered questions of miracles, magic. Of the blurred lines the Church refused to name. Innocent curiosity… or something more? Edward wasn't sure.
A topic as dark as the midnight Leonhard awoke the monk from to ask his query. Rather forcefully, but Edward won't deny that giving the child some mental peace and a hug was a satisfying experience. It's the part a parent must take for their children. The chapel just so happens to have countless educators and restless young ones. Quite fitting.
That was how Edward spent the next few hours. Stroking the spines of various tomes and laying all aside that could be of relevance.
The pile at his reading table swelled much to the visible dismay of the library assistant hovering nearby.
But Edward wasn't finished. The real knowledge, the dangerous knowledge, was buried deeper.
Down a stone stairwell slick with centuries of footfall, through a nigh forgotten archway marked only by a fading brass "M" - Miscellaneous. A graveyard for orphaned manuscripts, books without authors, scriptures banned or abandoned.
'Perfect'
This was where the leftovers, without any readers or sometimes without authors, were put. Donated scriptures, from all over the world, found its place here. It wasn't glorious, but for Edwards purposes it might as well have been a gold mine. He lit many candles and moved deeper into this part of the library. Not many people came here, which was why it was so dusty.
His eyes skimmed: Mystery, useless. Mythical, nonsense. But then he found it: Magic.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Magic. Just like the witch-farmers from last year's harvest… Fear kills the mind and breeds ignorance. Ignorance, which poisons the soul."
He crouched low. Hidden on the bottom shelf, half-swallowed by shadows, was a tome with no author, no embellishment - only the gilded title: De Miraculis et Maleficiis. Of Miracles and Maliciousness.
"Gaudy, pretentious… suspicious. That seems to fulfill my nonexistent criteria." He swiftly tucked it under his arm.
Further down, his eyes came across a fancy book, a richly bound volume. Against his better judgment, and Sister Agnes' many lectures he reached for it. 'Don't judge a book by its cover' echoed in his mind.
"King James I's Daemonologie, 1597." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Demonology, witches, enchanters… Even here, kings peddle their fears as fact. First the pamphlets, now this. I thought the King's paranoia wouldn't reach Oxford's walls, but…"
More volumes followed: Patronage vs. Persecution, Chronicles of the Enchanters of Europe, anonymous works smuggled across centuries.
His mount of forbidden knowledge grew.
Time to read.
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After skimming over a few books, he created a chronological order for himself.
First, he read a court protocol from a lord's scribe from the late 12th century.
"The records began harmlessly enough. Seers predicting harvests, healers tending lords' sickly heirs. Harmless, whimsical… even naive.
But the requests grew darker, after the lords had gotten a taste for that power. Storm-conjurers for sieges. Hexes to wither enemy crops. Assassinations masked in mystery.
And always, the same pattern. Every single time. Awe, then fear, then persecution. The Church leading the charge, branding the same 'miracle workers' as heretics.'
"According to this unnamed author, this however only was valid for the wizards and witches of common ancestry. Where it gets interesting is these so-called magicals of noble heritage. Their lines are allegedly as old and pure as time itself, whatever that means. He doesn't say more than name a few houses: Lestrange, Yaxley, Burke… some younger houses like Crouch and Malfoy. One name, that even I had heard about in passing was Black. And for all the wrong reasons. A reputation so terrible, that their deeds are so notorious even commoners know about them. Some hint to them being the origin of the anti-magic-movement. No proof is provided." He concluded.
What fascinated him is that every single house is subject to the crown's authority.Kind of. Not entirely, but under supervision, the Myrddin Accord was created. The exact details remain a royal secret until this day.
After that he skimmed over the Kings Daemonologie. It was sufficient to clench his intellectual thirst but no more. No matter what page he turned to, all he found was disgust and hate.
'Rarely have I read a book that spews so much utter hate and anger. No matter which page I turn to, his majesty is clear: They royal families position on anything magical has taken a turn for the worse. Something must have happened roughly 15 years ago. Something terrible. Bad enough for him, the first time in modern times to call them not even persona non grata, but sick beasts of burden that ought to be put down.'
"Wars had been fought over less." Edward mumbled to himself.
"But then again, it seemed to have achieved its desired effect. Witch hunts have been on the rise this past decade. Famous families drew back from the public eye. Makes me reconsider whether they have any connections to this witchcraft? I remember seeing some oddly but fancily dressed people walk the streets, usually for some governmental function. But it admittedly has been a while."
To understand if this hate was in anyway justified, he read De Miraculis et Maleficiis.
He had to admit. His Majesty was correct.
The acts depicted in that tome were equally great and terrifying. To think that he walked the same earth as some of these things. Their might challenges gods very authority. They were an antithesis to the natural order of things.
There were tales of crimes, even greater in fatality than the ten plagues of Egypt. Children's corpses toppled so high they covered the sun. The man who shattered Persian armies, that crossed the borders to Greece. Leaving millions of corpses in his wake. Numbers so unbelievable Edward struggled to comprehend. He conjured storms so terrible, the fleets broke upon Greece's shore. Spread diseases far and wide, killing both foreigners and countrymen alike. A creature with no allegiance. He had no allies. He bore no known name. But, with crimes so very vile, they were forced to give him one:
"Herpo, the foul"
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Edward closed his eyes. The weight of what he'd read pressed in on him.
'Ignorance truly was bliss', he thought grimly.
He'd come chasing innocent answers for a child, and uncovered horrors that reshaped the world itself. Pandoras box was open, never to be shut again.
'Before today, the world made sense. Grass was green, the sun rose, God watched from above. The usual sins, the usual doubts. Nothing monstrous enough to blacken the skies with children's corpses.
Goodness, any problems I've had in the past seem negligible in comparison to this. Is this the reason the church has starting to become more outspoken and vigorous with their witch trials?
Perhaps old Ezekiel wasn't so mad after all. He'd whispered of things… forbidden things. To think he survived an encounter with the unnatural…Bless him.
Alright Ed, control yourself. Calm and collected. Your mission is to read this book and answer an innocent child's request.Steady now. You can do this.'
Chronicles of the Enchanters of Europe was a rather dull book. Good for Edward, he needed that to settle his nerves. It merely mentioned a few supposedly famous enchanters of the last few centuries and their achievements. But even he had a hard time believing it. Some names felt fabricated, and the tale of a French wizard named Flamel, allegedly achieving some philosophical and alchemical marvel, left him utterly perplexed. Aside from names and bare mentions of deeds it was rather sparse.
The final book lay untouched. Dust thick as ash on its cover. His last chance to turn away. He wouldn't. Edward wiped it clean and a title emerged, faded but legible:
Patronage vs. Persecution - The Life and Death of Hufflepuff's Fool
A biography by Nicholas Abbott.
He read the opening lines aloud, voice cracking at the unexpected tenderness:
"If you're reading this, I'm likely dead. Fret not! I died doing what I loved…healing and helping people…"
Edward's lips curled into a rare smile. After Herpo's darkness, this sudden warmth was a balm he hadn't known he needed.
"If thou canst bear with me, I will take you alone this journey of mine. Of my humble beginnings as a Muggleborn, my learnings under generous Helgas house, to my time wandering this beautiful nation, caring for the old and wounded, carrying the name Fat Friar with pride, and my ultimate end."
'A fellow man of the church? How is it possible?'
His thumb traced the cover's frayed edges, mind churning. After all the monstrous power he'd just read of Herpo's storms, it seemed absurd. But the Friar's words… they rang honest. Unpolished. Truthful. Genuine. Human.
Perhaps, just maybe, there was still goodness woven in the world between the shadows.
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[Authors note // Warning // skip if sensitive]
Not to in anyway shape or form belittle the tragedies of the past, I drew a comparison of Daemonologie (a real existing book) with Mein Kampf. Allow me, please.
The latter of the two I was able to read an original copy from nazi times during history class. My teacher's neighbor had it in her house but refused to keep such evil literature. But for educational reasons she gave it away to an educator. So, he could use it to teach us about Nazi Germany.
And I can say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it is the most terrible and evil thing I have ever read. No matter what page you opened at random, it was always hate hate hate. Drawing comparisons to Jews and insects, simply disgusting. Considering the context makes it all the grimmer. What people need to understand is that there was a general dislike towards the Jewish, but never so focused by the people and government. Simply awful.
I couldn't even finish a single page without having to take a break in between. Knowing the pain and suffering it caused, forced me to take a moment and gather myself before continuing.
For my fic, maybe people had a general dislike, born out of fear of the unknown. But with state sponsored trials and literature published by the King himself…. Maybe times are changing from the status quo to something more violent. Surely the call to introduce the statute wasn't made in one day. It was a slow and painful affair.]
IMPORTANT: New upload schedule: 3x a week.
Doing one chapter a day killed me, and made the quality suffer.
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WOW! Another chapter baby…. Did you like it? Had a real tough time cooking up this interlude. Don't expect more any time soon… As always, leave your suggestions and love behind.
Danfictions over & out