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SD: CH154 - Babbling
🕑 Added 2025-03-02 05:53:24 +0000 UTC“And then Professor McGonagall was like,” I scrunched up my face, my voice coming out as a drawl. “I had to accept Potter’s request, Sybill. But I bet you’ll have fun finding another to divine their death at the end of the year.”
Bathsheda Babbling couldn’t hold back a snicker, the impersonation was so-spot on.
“I really missed that, didn’t I?” asked the professor. “Professor McGonagall’s disdain for Divination is practically legendary, from what I’ve heard.”
“It is. She’s been trying and failing to dismiss the course for good. I think part of her reason to keep teaching at Hogwarts is to see Divination dropped out of the school curriculum before she retires for good. I swear if she ever takes over as the Headmistress, that’ll be the first thing on her list.”
The runes professor laughed again.
We were in her office, which was a tad smaller compared to the other professors. I’d have claimed that she preferred it to be small and cosy and perfect for a one-on-one discussion with students, but the condition of her office screamed anything but. Every bit of the walls were etched with softly glowing runes in a mix of Nordic, Celtic and African designs, radiating a calm aura and acting as protective enchantments, while also ensuring the room was warded against eavesdropping.
Paperwork anarchy threatened the room, with half of them thrown all over the place — a focussed, mad mind at work. In the heart of the room was a compact, stone-topped workbench covered with runes carved into its edges, while books were hastily stacked on the sides without any sense of well-maintenance. Whatever Bathsheda Babbling’s abilities were, orderliness wasn’t one of them.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Potter,” said the professor, noting my line of sight. “My office is my playground, and I don’t truly entertain guests.”
“Uh, it does feel a little cramped.”
Babbling shrugged. “I keep trying new and somewhat unstable runeschemes from time to time. Not something one should attempt inside magically enlarged wizardspace. We don’t want the castle to vanish inside a gravity well now, do we?”
Memories of the burning stadium flashed before my eyes.
“No, we don’t.”
After the class was over, I allowed the Incubus power to permeate through me. I had some practice at restraining it during my stay at Greengrass Manor, but trust me, it was nothing compared to this. The Incubus Lord was a whole different form of beast, one that kept pacing angrily across the mental cage I had built around it, staring hungrily at the people around me. All those carefree teenagers with one bit of protection in the hormonal cesspools they had for minds.
All it would take was just a little nudge, and they'd tear their clothes off, and run after me in starkers, wanting to jump on my dick like it was the end of the world. As awesome as it feels to have someone swoon if I so much as breathe in their direction, the reality is anything but. Trust me.
But I had already been through a harrowing set of days, and needed the boost to pull me up. And let me tell you, the sudden shift was anything but normal. Like taking a sudden breath after holding it for far too long. Every bit of exhaustion I was feeling from the morning vanished too. Not because my body was no longer weary, but because it was no longer important, only my will was. My hesitation, my fear over the use of Perthro and Meta-Luck vanished too. Hesitation was for the weak, the vanilla people, the prey. Hesitation was for people that lacked purpose, and I knew mine.
My hunger rose.
And in that mad haze, I couldn’t see Bathsheda Babbling. All I saw was an athletically built gorgeous black woman approaching thirty, one that turned heads wherever she went. Her long legs were taut and firm, her belly flat and fit. Her arms leaned and toned. Her upturned breasts fit snugly on her fit, athletic frame. And her arse… wow. It was juicy and firm and heart-shaped and truly jaw-dropping, catching attention in whatever she wore. It looked perfect in that body-hugging robe of midnight blue, begging to be touched.
Her striking eyes and brilliant white teeth only added to the package. Her skin was smooth, like dark-chocolate, and her curly, black hair looked stylish and sexy, with the braids of gold and silver on it. And on top of that, she was fun to be around, with a biting wit and little shame at speaking her mind.
No. No, it would be too early. I told myself. But it didn’t listen.
The predator had moved into the prey’s office, ready to feed on her.
And then those damned runes at her doorway had squeezed it out of me like jelly.
It was scary as fuck, the sheer idea that some random scratches drawn on pages could cripple an Incubus Lord, when masters of Occlumency failed to protect themselves from his assault. If there was someone up there trying to teach me a little humility, they were doing a damn fine job.
Still, it did allow me to hold a casual conversation with the runes professor.
“I’ll tell you this though,” said Babbling. “As humorous as Professor McGonagall’s reactions are, they are a bit odd. From where I am from, divination lends itself well to transfiguration. In fact, students need to pass two semesters of astronomy, divination, and the physical sciences before they are allowed to take the transfiguration course.’
That was interesting, and on multiple levels.
I had, of course, known about the different institutions of magic in the world, and it was obvious that there would be disciplines that would be taught in places yet not taught elsewhere in the world. But to think that the very rules were different for magic brought forth a ton of questions in my mind.
It also said that Bathsheda Babbling had not attended Hogwarts as a student.
“Uagadou,” she answered my unasked question. “My real name is Bathsheda Nyarko, from the Asebu hills of Ghana. It’s a sparsely populated and impoverished land, with very few ley lines, so us magicals have to live in tiny covens, away from mundane eyes. Also, Ghana isn’t affiliated to the ICW, so, people like us… don’t get to come to Hogwarts.”
And was that just a teeny tiny bit of grudge I heard in her voice?
“Then…”
“I went to Uagadou, the African institution for Shamans. In fact, I’ll have you know that I was Uagadou’s premier Adinkra symbologist, and a dab hand at Kalimba Conjuring.”
I blinked, and Babbling laughed at my expression.
“Sorry, sorry, I forgot that you Britishers don’t think much about the other disciplines off your continent,” she said and I marvelled at the right mix of nonchalance and disdain in her tone. “Adinkra is the magic of symbols and glyphs. I understand that the British like to group every family of symbols into Runes, because their own system is based on Nordic runecraft. Look.”
She pointed at a set of symbols etched on the doorway that had absolutely no connection to the Elder Futhark. “Strange, she muttered,” her eyes still on the doorway. “Something activated those runes.”
“Odd,” said Babbling. “Perhaps they are reacting to something else. But yes, these are Adinkra glyphs. Look here, this is called Eban,” she said, pointing at a square with symmetrical designs resembling a gate or enclosure. “It denotes protection. Together with Gye Nyame,” she pointed at a circular, abstract shape with twists and curves. “It literally means ‘Except God’, and draws on the divine power of our Ancestors to enhance us. With Eban, it can conjure powerful defences against spiritual attackers.”
She glanced at me. “I hope you’re not in possession of anything dangerous, are you, Potter?”
‘Nothing at all,” I said. Nothing except myself that is.
“Hmmm,” she murmured to herself. “Interesting.”
“Uh, professor, you mentioned something about Conjuring? I didn’t know you had a degree in Transfiguration too.”
Babbling paused and then chuckled, walking back to sit on her chair. “Not that kind of transfiguration. Kalimba is the magic given melody form. It uses the magic of vibrations to generate constructs, weave enchantments, or say… pluck magical energy out of the vibrations of the world and weave it into defensive and offensive magic.”
I blinked. That was one scary discipline. The entire world was permeated by sound. From the greater cosmos to the atoms and molecules, everything was vibration. To be able to harvest the power of that vibration to cast magic was…
As I said, scary.
“Magic feels very exotic the moment you step out of Isles, Potter. Maybe you can try travelling the world to study magic after passing your NEWTs? I know the practice has fallen out of fashion now, since everyone wants jobs to feed themselves first. But you are well-off, are you not? I think I remember something about your House, or Houses, just last week.”
I gave her a lopsided grin. “Something like that.”
“You would enjoy Uagadou. I certainly loved it there. In fact, I was elected Mama Nyanza back to back for three years.”
“Mama — what?”
“Mama Nyanza, it’s… how do I put it? A Head of the student body elected by popular vote? I’m afraid there is no equivalent at Hogwarts. Normally, I should’ve been elected as the Oba Magistra, that is the Headmistress of Uagadou, but I can’t.”
The pieces fit together in my mind. “Because you’re the citizen of a non-ICW affiliated country?”
Babbling scowled. “Yes. Being Oba Magistra means dealing with the ICW. My home country sent me as part of a knowledge exchange program with the ICW. I landed at Hogwarts. I’ve to spend five years teaching here, enough time to acquire another Mastery from the Runeforge Hall.”
“So..Babbling? I see, you married a British wizard, I take it? Uh, sorry, that was too forward of me.”
She waved off my reluctance. “It’s alright. I married an Auror here, Henry Babbling. He was on a case involving a Zulu dark wizard, and he wanted my interpretation about some of the enchantments the Zulu carried on his person. It was… how do you put it? A whirlwind romance?”
Her shoulders drooped. “And then he died in the attack to capture the wizard, just two months after our marriage. I’ve just been Bathsheda Babbling ever since. Having a local identity is always helpful when dealing with the Ministry.”
She cupped her face. “But why am I talking about all this with you? It’s been over a year since I’ve actually opened up.” She shook her head. “Maybe I’m getting a bit too worked up.”
“Don’t worry, Professor,” I said, offering her a disarming smile. “People like to tell me things. Must be something about this face.”
Bathsheda Babbling looked at me, and I swear, she froze for just a second, before relaxing. “Yes, that — that might be right.”
Huh. The runes were good, but not perfect. It might have dampened the incubus allure, but my other perks, or perhaps, some aspect of Devil’s Charm, got through.
‘Professor,” I said. “Earlier you mentioned that every student has to choose a particular rune for the event. I was wondering… perhaps I could work with Perthro?”
Babbling scrunched her face. “Did you not pay any attention during class today, Potter? I specifically narrated that story so that people might avoid that particular rune. Tangling with the threads of destiny and chance might appeal to your inner Gryffindor, but it is anything but safe.”
“Let’s say your story about the rune captivated me.”
Babbling rolled her eyes. “I have a story about every single one of the twenty-four runic alphabets of the Elder Futhark. And then you have the Anglo-Saxon runes, the primordial runes of the proto germanic period, the gothic runes of the Ostrogoths and the Visigoths, just to name a few.”
I blinked again.
“Trust me, Potter,” she said, a little stiffly. “For a beginner in runecraft, you should just stay clear of the others and focus on something more… benign. There are 23 other runes in the Elder Futhark alone. And if you want to go exotic, the Adinkra system has 120 glyphs, none of which are as temperamental as the one you want.”
Yeah, not a chance. My greatest power — Meta-Luck, was all about upsetting Fate itself. Understanding the Perthro rune in as much detail as possible was literally on top of my to-do list right now.
Besides, just walking into the professor’s office had shown me that alluring a professor was definitely not easy, and potentially a lot of trouble if things went wrong.
Maybe I should just stick to charming students and unsatisfied pureblood ladies instead.
Mentally scoffing at the image, I held out the project I was working on. “This might be my first class at runes, but I’m no beginner.”
She took it and ruffled through the pages. “This is… hardly insignificant work. And you did this in… the summer, I imagine?”
Technically it was the last three days, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Hmm, you even made commentaries about the use of multiple runes in more esoteric magics. I note the nice little addition about spiritual communion with the dead through the use of Ingwaz and Ansuz, and that entry about Wunjo and its emphasis on healing. This.. I believe a little more detail, and you could easily submit this as your OWL project, Potter. But I wonder, if you are already this skilled at runes, why not choose it as an elective last year?”
I shrugged. “Divination is an easy OWL.”
“And… nothing else? That's the only reason?”
“Yes.”
Babbling stared at my face, as if searching for truth. Finally, she snorted. “I suppose. Perhaps you’d like to be pushed directly in fifth year with the others then?”
I shook my head. “If it’s all the same, professor. I’d rather stay in fourth year. I’m just happy not to be pushed down to third year. And then we’ve got this tournament starting up. I don’t think I can fit in an extra schedule for OWLs too. Also, I’d hate to miss your stories.”
Babbling rolled her eyes. “You’re a little charmer, aren’t you?”
I grinned.
She went through some more pages from the document I had handed her.
“Very well, I see there’s no stopping you. If you want to research the Perthro rune, then I’m afraid you won’t get much in the Library.” She paused, and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Take this to Madam Pince. It will allow you access to the Restricted Section, but only for books on runes. Make sure you study them carefully, make notes and,” she met my eyes. “No experiments without me being present. Anytime you run into an issue, anytime, just come to me first. You got that?”
“Crystal.”
I stood up. “It was nice talking to you, Professor. I’ll see you in the next class.”
The professor hummed absently, as I turned around and left. But just as I was about to leave through the doorway —
“Wait.”
I paused, and for a moment, feared that the runes on the doorway might have reacted again. “...Yes?”
“I wouldn’t have mentioned this, but given your skill, I do have a question, Potter.”
Slowly, cautiously, I turned around.
“...Yes?”
“It's not something I expect anyone that’s not a NEWT rune student to understand, but are you acquainted with the emotional spectrum?”
The emotional spectrum?
“Isn’t that like, a wavelength of different emotions that living beings can experience? With negative and positive emotions on either side of the line?”
“That’s how the muggles put it, yes. But since emotion is the foundation of magic, magical beings have a magical equivalent of the emotional spectrum. And while most emotions are fleeting, there are also what develops a person’s personality. Using sigils, one can effectively read a person’s personality. It’s how the Sorting Hat sorts new students to Hogwarts, in case you couldn’t tell.”
I… hadn’t known about that bit.
“The reason why I'm telling this is because I myself came to Hogwarts in 1992, just a year before you came to Hogwarts. Given your… position, as Boy-Who-Lived, I couldn’t help but read your personality through my runes. And I couldn’t help but note that three runes dominated over the others.”
A small pit of dread began to form in my stomach. “Which… runes?”
Sowilo, Algiz and… Perthro.”
Damn it.
“Power, defence and destiny,” I said slowly. “Makes me look like some fated warrior with great power born to defend.”
I snorted, but it came less of a snort and more of a sneer. Worse, Babbling wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
“That’s an inapt description, Potter. Sowilo is often invoked for power, yes, but the most correct description is that of a herald of power. It means that power will be available in time, when something important is to be done. Of course, if you inscribe the Sowilo rune to… say, a spell, it does, of course, add power to the casting, because that’s the sole and most important job for the spell.”
I hadn’t quite heard it put that way.
“So, what you’re telling me is, I would have power to defend, during my destined fight, whenever that is?”
“Something like that, yes,” said Babbling. “It is a peculiar read, I’ll be frank. Perhaps you should contact the British Ministry for any potential prophecies that might fit you? Being the Boy-Who-Lived, it might just fit your idiom.”
“Fit my idiom,” I repeated at the odd choice of description. “Yes, it might.”
I didn’t know what the scary part was — that Babbling had figured out all of that through a cursory rune-reading of my personality, or that she had inferred that I was a prophecy candidate, and attributed to a significant part of the prophecy too.
Neither can live while the other survives….
“When you mentioned your interest in the Perthro rune, I mused that you might have gotten someone to read you, explaining your sudden desire to research it. Weirdly, that isn’t remotely the most interesting thing about your rune reading,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I admit I did a rune-read while we were chatting, and there is a strange shift in your runes.”
Instantly, I went on alert. If this woman knew —
“What sort of shift?”
“For one, there are five runes that dominate this time. Sowilo and Perthro stay predominant.”
She grabbed her wand, and I did everything in my power not to instantly summon mine from my holster. It was only the knowledge that this woman had never once attempted any harm on Harry Potter in the books that stayed my hand.
With an ease that could only come from experience, Babbling began writing an entire series of runes on the air. I sat there, feeling surreal as the woman finished through entire sequences of twenty-three, seventeen and thirty-one lettered words, remembering just how focussed I had to be to write a very minor rune sequence while I cast necromancy, or during the ritual. Voldemort’s knowledge of course guided me through the correct way of events, but pure knowledge and intuition was no substitute to experience and sense-memory. If you want an analogy, it was like doing calligraphy with your non-dominant arm. It’s difficult not because you don’t know how to write, but because you are not used to writing with that one.
Even if I could — and I bloody would — get my hooks into this woman, and gain some powerful perks, I’d still have to learn how to write runes with such precision and speed through sheer diligence.
No free lunch, Harry. No free lunch.
By the time she was done, the floating runes dragged from one side of the wall to the next, and from our eye-level to the ceiling. It might as well be a runic barrier keeping her away from me, for all I cared.
“Interestingly, Algiz has all but vanished from the script,” she said, frowning, “Instead, there is a sudden emergence of Laguz, the rune of water, intuition, emotions, and the unconscious. Wunjo has gained prominence, symbolising vitality. But with the dominance of Sowilo, it does point in very specific directions. Can you tell me what it is?”
“That I’ve finally gotten past having the emotional equivalent of a teaspoon, and with all the summer training, I’m.. more fit and ready for the dating scene? Wait, together with Perthro, does that mean I’ll meet some great girls from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?”
“That’s… one way of interpreting things, I suppose,” she said, and I suppressed a laugh at the tic forming above her left eye.
Water represented fluidity, and emotions, the basis of all magic, was fluid, and thus, perfectly represented by the Laguz rune. Between that, and Wunjo, symbolising vitality and pleasure, and Sowilo empowering them, it all but screamed that I was developing Incubus powers.
More importantly, the combination of Laguz — Emotion and fluidity, Ansuz — Communication, Sowilo — power, and finally Perthro — Fate, also indicated another important fact.
My greatest tools in my arsenal — Living The Role and Oneiros Spindle.
But I couldn’t possibly tell her the truth, could I?
That’s two runes,” I pointed out. “You said there were three.”
“I did. And that would be… this.”
Her wand lit up, and with it, several instances of one particular rune blazed more brightly than the others.
I flinched.
“Hagalaz Inverted,” she said, observing me. “The rune of death, destruction, chaos and transformation. You can also note that the runes Ansuz, signifying communication, and Raido, symbolising journey, are far more pronounced, though certainly not enough to be dominant. With Perthro and Sowilo predominating the rune-read, it does paint a very interesting picture, don’t you think?”
For a few moments, I struggled with myself. Endless options ran through my head, from using Meta-Luck to undo the effects of the runes on the wall, to stunning the woman, obliviating her memory and dumping her body in the acromantula colony. Or even better, kill her, and use Necromancy to twist her into an inferius to serve at my command. Channelling the horcrux had granted me knowledge of some really twisted ways of using a dead brain for my own purposes.
Anything was on the table. I could no longer bluff my way out of this one.
My face revealed nothing, and neither did hers. Stalling for time, I let her continue.
“I’m an accomplished symbologist and shaman, and I can tell you, that if I wasn’t sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me, I’d have thought it impossible to have an Inverted Hagalaz and Wunjo, both sitting together, basking in the presence of Sowilo and Perthro. Life and Death, yin and yang in their extreme forms. With Ansuz and Laguz supporting both of them and pushing them to their extremes. Just… What are you, Harry Potter?”
I went with the most obvious reply, one that in the grand scheme of things, mattered the least.
“I am not an imposter.”
“Oh of course you’re not,” she said, waving the idea away as if it was nonsense. “My office is enchanted against imposters. See those glyphs there?” She pointed at the two glyphs inscribed at either end of the runescript encoded on the doorway.
“Those are Duafe and Nserewura,” she said matter-of-factly. “The first signifies cleanliness, and purity; the latter, a symbol of integrity. Used thrice, they would prevent any imposter that comes through.”
She crossed her arms, and an almost smug expression formed on her face. “But I have to ask, just what have you done to yourself, Harry Potter? Your rune-read shows you cloaked in the shadow of death, enshrouding you like a hooded cloak, and at the same time, paints you as a blazing forest fire, one that should draw me in like a moth to your proverbial fire. And yet here you are, neither, yet standing before me. It’s an interesting puzzle, and while I’m quite certain you won’t attack me, no matter how much your fingers inch for that wand. Yes, I’m quite aware. I am just… curious. What are you?”
I scowled. This… I had not anticipated. Were all this crazy things happening because I fucked around with the Perthro rune?
“What does… this knowledge mean to you?”
“As I said, curiosity.”
“Your curiosity requires me to unravel my greatest secret. What stops me from walking away?”
Babbling crossed her arms across her chest, sitting on her chair without the slightest deviation from her composure. Either she was too confident in the knowledge that I wouldn’t attack her based on my rune-read, or she had enough faith for the innate protections of her office to protect against whatever I cast at her. Both inferences were terrifying.
Babbling was supposed to be the Elective teacher that gave a ton of homework that Hermione did in the Gryffindor common room while Harry Potter and Ron Weasley played chess. She wasn’t supposed to be this… dangerous.
And then she did something even more confusing.
Bathsheda Babbling pouted.
“I’m not trying to blackmail you, Potter. It’s purely academic curiosity. You, standing there, talking to me, stalking the halls of Hogwarts… it’s like a walking-breathing contradiction to everything I’ve learned of my craft. I… I want to study you. Who knows when I might get another opportunity like this?”
“I’m not your personal guinea pig, Professor.”
“Well, I was hoping you would,” she said with a teasing smile. “At least a little. Now stop dancing around things, Potter. What’s it you’re really after? Anyone competent enough to analyse your notes can claim that you can pass your OWLs with or without me. Yet you joined this class. You approached me for a reason, didn’t you? What is it? What do you truly want from me? Why not try an open request?”
“And you would… be willing to accept that?”
Babbling shrugged. “Make it, and then we’ll see.”
My frown deepened. This wasn’t the first time I had to rough talk my way through something or someone. Most of the time, it had been with people way above my pay grade. This was the first time that my opponent was being well… so polite.
It was surreal. Confusing. Dangerous.
“If… If I show you, then I’ll require two things. First, an Oath of Silence —”
“Of course,” she said easily, as if it were the sort of thing she’d have done just for the asking.
“The second thing, you take me as your apprentice. Nothing formal. Just some extra tutoring to speeden me up for last year’s material, plus a little more to finish the fifth year material as well.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“I’ll keep up,” I said, waving off her concerns. “And once you’ve judged my capabilities to be good enough, I want you to teach me Adinkra sigil craft and Kalimba Conjuration.”
“Offer my personal expertise in exchange for the faint chance of discovering something unique,” murmured Babbling. You drive a hard bargain, Potter. But something like that will take a significant portion of my time. My other projects will stagnate.”
“I’m not asking you to do it for free,” I stressed. “One thousand galleons —”
“Money can’t buy everything —”
“—per year, for as long as I am apprenticing under you.”
Babbling paused right there.
“I have checked the salaries Hogwarts is paying you, Professor. This is slightly more than that.’
Babbling tilted her head slowly, studying me carefully, but couldn’t divine my intentions. “And what if… you’re unable to learn this craft?”
“Then I suppose I have just lost myself some thousand galleons, and you only need to concern yourself with teaching me Runes as per the syllabus.”
She stared at me with a frightening intensity before leaning back and nodding.
“The terms are satisfactory. Draw up a contract. I assume you have a solicitor? When you are ready, give it to me, and I’ll sign it, and execute the oaths.
“Excellent,” I said. “Good day, Professor.”
