Chapter 22: Blood and Bone
The room in the castle's basement served as both Elrond's laboratory and his sanctuary. Unlike the sun-drenched rooms of Hogwarts, no natural light ever reached this place, a feature Elrond likely preferred, as it kept him far from the rest of his disagreeable family.
"Why is your hair so long?" were Elrond's first words, his eyes narrowing critically. "Cut it. Immediately."
Is there some wizarding law against hair touching your ears? Solim thought with exasperation.
"Grandfather, I've never had long hair before. I just want to try it. I'll trim it later," Solim pleaded, trying to save his fledgling mane.
"Long hair is a liability!" Elrond snapped, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. "It gets in the way when brewing, it's a handhold in a fight! Cut it!" He ran a hand over his own severely cropped, brush-like hair. "Look at this! Practical! Easy to maintain! You should get a cut just like it."
Inch by inch, life after life, Solim lamented internally. Even if I die, even if I go bald, I will not cut an inch! He vowed to fight for his hair, but he knew he needed a strategic diversion.
"Grandfather," he began, shifting the subject smoothly, "since I'm back, shouldn't you tell me about Sylna? How is she?"
"I found one," Elrond said, his irritation momentarily replaced by grim satisfaction. He led Solim deeper into the inner room. "It's a stroke of luck. Most families hide their Squibs away, but I managed to hear about a boy from the Orvis family. Same age as Sylna. Same condition."
He opened a large, leather-bound book on his workbench, thicker than any common tome. He flipped to a specific page and barked at the parchment, "Hurry up and get back to me!"
Seeing Solim's fascinated stare, Elrond grunted, "Don't get any ideas. You won't be able to power one of these for a few more years."
Solim sighed and nodded in resignation. The book was a sophisticated communication device, far superior to a two-way mirror. It could connect to every other book in its linked network, allowing for multi-person conversations. But it required a significant and sustained magical output, something Solim's core couldn't yet manage.
"Now, tell me. How is Hogwarts?" Elrond asked, sinking into the chair behind his workbench.
"You don't need to ask to know it's better than Scuol," Solim replied, finding a stool for himself.
"Hmph. You would have been better off if you'd stuck it out," Elrond muttered, still disapproving of Solim's transfer. In his view, Scuol was the only place to forge a truly powerful wizard. Solim's magical outburst at age four was a prodigious sign, and Elrond believed it had been wasted.
"I couldn't stand it. The Cruciatus and Imperius Curses were one thing; I could endure them. They were... beneficial, in their own way." Solim's voice turned cold. "But after they left me that... mark... I had to return the favor."
"I've heard whispers," Elrond said, his expression grim. "They're planning to settle the score as soon as you graduate from Hogwarts. You'd best be ready." He hesitated, then added, "If you need anything, you tell me."
"Speaking of which, Grandfather, I do need a favor." Solim sat up straight, his expression serious. "This holiday. I need you to take me somewhere. Little Hangleton. There's something there I must acquire."
Elrond studied him intently.
Solim's tone left no room for argument. He wasn't just talking about the Resurrection Stone; he was talking about the Horcrux—the one that would eventually claim Dumbledore's life. As a master curse-breaker, Elrond was the perfect person to handle the dark enchantments Voldemort had woven around it. While Sylna was his primary reason for returning, fulfilling his promise to Snape was a pressing secondary objective. After March, Elrond would be gone on Council business, and the opportunity would be lost.
"You there!" Elrond and Solim turned simultaneously as the book on the workbench emitted a voice.
"Hmph. You're so 'fast.' The last time I saw you, you were a child. Now you have a grandchild," Elrond said, standing and addressing the moving portrait now visible on the page.
"Speaking of your grandson, didn't you say he was returning today?"
"Solim, come here. Say hello." Elrond beckoned him over.
"Look, this is my grandson, Solim. My pride," Elrond said, holding the book up so they wouldn't have to crane their necks.
"Hmph. I've heard of his... exploits," the man in the portrait said, his voice a dry rasp. "Tell me, boy. How certain are you?"
"Old fool, be patient," Elrond shot back before turning to Solim. "This old relic is Gilves. His grandson is in the same situation as Sylna. He's come to... ask for your help." He heavily emphasized the word 'ask.'
"Rubbish! You old bat, if this boy can truly fix young Fleg's problem, do you think I'd mistreat him? Stop your posturing!" The old man in the portrait, Gilves, was clearly cut from the same cloth as Elrond. "Boy, speak!"
"Uh..." Solim hesitated, unsure how to address him.
"Don't bother with pleasantries. He doesn't care. Just explain," Elrond advised.
"Well, Filch... he's a success. Filch is the—"
"I know who he is! Alaweto's grandson. The Squib they scrubbed from the family rolls," Gilves interrupted rudely. "Tell me how he is now. Can he cast a spell?"
"I don't know... he... right now—"
"You don't know? And you dare call it a 'success'?!" Gilves interrupted again, his voice rising.
"Old man! Let him speak! Interrupt him again, and I'll 'interrupt' you!" Elrond threatened.
Seeing the two on the verge of a full-blown argument, Solim rushed to get the words out. "He doesn't have a wand yet, so I can't be sure if he can cast standard spells. But he can channel his magic now. Professor Snape and I are certain of it." He made a mental note to let Snape take the fall if anything went wrong.
"Don't forget to bring your observations when you come with this old fool. I have matters to attend to now. Tomorrow, you and the boy come to my estate. That's settled." Without waiting for a reply, Gilves severed the connection unilaterally.
"You heard him. We leave tomorrow afternoon. Bring your notes," Elrond said, snapping the book shut in annoyance. "Oh, and you sent for your sister, I assume? Go find her. I suspect those idiot sons of Keldo have waylaid her. You know what to do."
Without a word, Solim turned and strode out.
"And take this, now that you're back!" Elrond tossed an object through the air.
Solim caught it without looking—a small, silver pin engraved with the Selwyn crest. He fastened it to his robes. With this, most of the castle's defensive enchantments would ignore him, and he wouldn't need a house-elf to bypass them.
Keldo was Solim's uncle, a son of Elrond's more powerful brother, Bred. He had three sons: Adelaide, Wright, and the more tolerable Ledham. Adelaide and Wright were bullies of the worst sort, while Ledham often tried, and failed, to curb his brothers' cruelty.
As Solim stepped from the dim basement into the cavernous main hall, the scene before him made his wand slip into his hand.
"Didn't your precious brother say he was coming back today? What's the matter? Did he abandon you too, you little Squib? Speak!" Adelaide's voice was a sneer, his long, pinched face contorted with malice.
"Brother, that's enough! If she tells her grandfather, we'll be in trouble!" Ledham pleaded, trying to pull Sylna away from where she had been knocked to the floor.
"Whose side are you on? That pathetic old man of hers? We have a grandfather too!" Adelaide turned to berate Ledham but caught sight of Solim approaching, wand held ready.
"Well, well. Look who's back," Adelaide drawled, and he and Wright drew their wands in unison. Ledham quickly helped Sylna to her feet and pulled her aside, knowing what was coming.
"I won't accept your apology," Solim said, his voice dangerously calm. "But I will accept your tears." He knew the unwritten rules; serious injury was forbidden, but making a bully cry and teaching him a lesson he wouldn't forget was perfectly acceptable.
He saw them for what they were: spoiled, vicious children. But now, he was a child, too. There would be no adults tutting about him picking on someone younger. He was free to handle this his own way.
"I thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. It seems I overestimated you. Your brain was never your strong suit," Solim taunted, knowing the next word would be the spark. "Tell me, was your father a troll?"
The spells came without warning, just as Solim expected. A jet of orange light from Adelaide, a stinging hex from Wright. Solim, already moving, deflected Adelaide's spell with a shimmering shield and sidestepped Wright's, his own wand flicking forward.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Wright stiffened like a board and toppled over with a thud.
"Well, they're at it again," Ledham muttered to a trembling Sylna. "Go to your grandfather's study. You know your brother will be fine."
Sylna nodded silently, cast one last worried glance at Solim, and hurried towards the basement.
Adelaide was on the ground, writhing. A Binding Charm held his arms and legs fast, preventing him from doing more than squirming uselessly as he tried to counter the spell.
Solim placed a foot firmly on Adelaide's backside and pressed the tip of his wand against the base of his spine.
"Haven't you always been so curious about the scar on my back?" Solim whispered, his voice cold as the castle stones. "Let me give you a closer look. Crucio."