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Advent Drabbles: Dec. 19 The New Sun

Advent Drabbles: Dec. 19 The New Sun

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December 19, 2009
Title: The New Sun
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Abraxas, Severus
Rating: G
Words: 475
Prompt: Winter Solstice.

It was no coincidence that Malfoy Manor was located in Wiltshire near Salisbury Plain. The reason it had been constructed there was because its proximity to the magical centre of Stonehenge, which the Muggles had never truly decoded, allowed it to accept some of its residual streams of earth magic. At no time was this more potent than at the Winter Solstice.

Abraxas looked around his garden at the small genteel gathering he had invited there.

At this season, he was warmer and more generous with wizards than at any other, and more angry with the muggles that draped his site on the most significant day of the year. It was on this day that the seclusion of the wizarding world was most galling. Christmas was one thing. The Winter Solstice was their time. The return of the sun and the energies generated by its young power made the time critical for various of his own spells. The first rays of the reborn sun were demanded for the potency and even effectiveness of various of the potions ingredients for which his young ward was so eager.

The place where these needs would be met most fully was at the site of the great and ancient wizarding stones themselves. Yet, as he found himself repeating so often in his mind, it was draped in Muggles. He did not mind the druids or the Gorsedd so much. They were solid citizens who would properly accept, probably serve and perhaps even worship magic, once it was revealed, once the plans of the Dark Lord were fulfilled, once he succeeded where Grindelwald had failed in Abraxas' youth. It was the younger chaotic muggles who drove up filthy and disorganised with all the trappings and privations of a population crying out for salvation. Yet they were defiant and disrespectful.

There was nothing for it but to grant what he could to those wizards who deserved so much more. He wove his own spells, as did the Dark Lord, in the chamber his forefathers had built in the dungeons, designed so that a stream of energy from the earth poured into it as water could be poured into a bowl. He helped his dark-haired dark-eyed ward lay out his materials in the centre of the circular garden for the touch of the sun's first new rays.

The young people stayed up all night there, with warm drinks, with warming spells cast on the area. Their laughter was cool, their conversation serious. He admired them again - his son and daughter-in-law, his ward and their friends, exactly as they should be: clean, pure, working for the hope that someday they would be given their birthright. This was nothing less than the entire world, and at the centre of it the stone circle that was now denied them.

I apologise that this is a day late - demands of the season...
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