Welcome to London § Bridges.
If you aren't yet a member, please be sure that you have read and completely understand the rules and regulations before registering. Remember to register with the first name and last name of the character you are going to roleplay.
|
 x__the plot;
| ___spookyCHEY; |
|
Head Administrator
Group: Admin
Posts: 263
Member No.: 1
Joined: 16-February 07
|
 The rhyme sat wearily in Albus’ mind like a plague of teething locusts, buzzing so loudly yet the source of the sound was indistinguishable against the hot summer’s humidity. “So tell me again,” the old voice resounded, his eyes still plastered to the window rather than to the man confined to the chair behind him, his mouth still dripping with awful serum. He hissed and screeched and convulsed in the device that kept him strapped there, but eventually the words slipped out to enlighten them all:
“London bridge is falling down, my fair lady!”
A unanimous sigh. The group had heard this simple, stupid rhyme over and over again from the moment they’d begun questioning the old crone currently incarcerated in one of the Hogwarts dungeons. It was 2:46 AM. Dumbledore was growing tired, but his face showed relentless tenacity in forcing this little miscreant to speak.
“Tell us again what we know so far, Albus,” came the voice of an equally fatigued McGonagall, holding an old-fashioned candle as if to complement her ancient lavender nightgown.
The man cleared his throat, paused a moment, shuffled his feet across the aging stone floor, and began to speak. “She was a beauty, that woman, and Salazar loved her dearly. It’s merely a wife’s tale but perhaps the prophetic value is beginning to come true…” Wistfully, he trailed off, gripping the handle of a gold-tipped cane as though it were worth millions. His knuckles were already too white for anyone to bother telling the difference. “The ashes of his mistress, the fair-haired Eleanor, were buried here in one of the dungeons of this very castle. The meaning of the rhyme that our dear friend here incessantly creeches is obscure. Most obviously, it relates to the many difficulties experienced in bridging the River Thames: London's earlier bridges did indeed "wash away" before a bridge built of "stone so strong" was constructed. It has been suggested that the "fair lady" who is "locked up" is a reference to an old practice of burying a dead virgin in the foundations of the bridge to ensure its strength through magical means, although this more plausibly refers to the muggle Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. Intriguingly, the rhyme is not confined to England and variants exist in many other western and central European countries…” His monologue subsided long enough for Minerva and the rest of the attendees at the surprise conference to let the information simmer. Some things pieced together, but for the most part the story seemed as long-winded and unnecessary as Dumbledore’s outrageous beard.
His eyes once again cast to the eager audience. “To put it simply, it has been suggested that the "fair lady" who is "locked up" is a reference to an old practice of burying a dead virgin in the foundations of the bridge to ensure its strength through magical means. Eleanor was buried here as a means of fortification for all of Hogwarts… and now that her ashes have been stolen, the castle is able to be penetrated by any force of evil that wishes to enter, including the Dark Lord himself.”
“But the message,” Minerva persisted, as dreary and slightly dim as an elderly woman should be, imploring more information from the Headmaster. “What does that have anything to do with it?”
Possibly more shocking was what the teachers had found in the very room they’d captured the writhing, spitting demon that was the Death Eater constrained before them now. Scrawled across the walls in deep red – red enough to haunt the strongest man for the rest of his life – was a solitary phrase, or a riddle at best. It made almost no sense at all despite the best efforts of the Arithmancers and Aurors and Divinators combined; all that was there was the text, plain and simple.
Build it up, build it up.
Now the key has been found–
The sanctum revealed–
And what unknown, stolen.
Hogwarts is but wood and clay, wood and clay.
Beware, your home fair lady will so easily be washed away.
“I don’t know, Minerva; that’s the troubling aspect. No one knows anything, and all we have of this criminal is the blubbering children’s game he spouts like a willing fountain.” But Dumbledore knew, now. There were things that even he couldn’t reveal to his personal staff. Hogwarts was about to be in a time more dangerous than ever before: a time of pure vulnerability. He alone couldn’t defend them. No pitiful army behind him could deflect the devastating blow that Voldemort was about to inflict.
“The second artifact… there lies your key!”
The shrill outburst from the convulsing captive on the questioning chair was unexpected but bewilderingly helpful as though a divine force had urged it through his lung system. With that, his head collapsed about his chest; clearly he was spent of any information.
Dumbledore turned to face the room, completely somber, completely worried, and completely confident as always.
“Then it is a key we must find.”
--------------------
bat with butterfly wings
this and
MARVELOUS THINGS
|
|
|
Track this topic
Receive email notification when a reply has been made to this topic and you are not active on the board.
Subscribe to this forum
Receive email notification when a new topic is posted in this forum and you are not active on the board.
Download / Print this Topic
Download this topic in different formats or view a printer friendly version.
|
0011
