Chapter 285: The Will to achieve Greatness
Darcie took out the ball of crumpled papers and gawked at them under the light of the fireball in her palm.
It seemed to her as if someone had stuffed these parchments into the wall in supreme haste, not caring for the effect time would have on the contents itself.
Suddenly, Darcie realized her heart was thumping loudly, and her left hand, holding the papers, was trembling with anxiety; with excitement. She brought the now marble-sized fireball closer to the hole but found no hint of anything within it. The silver-white glow had vanished, and no matter how much she waited or called to it, no whisper responded to her voice.
"Dobby, are you alright?" she asked again, looking at the house-elf. "Get up! Someone will come, I am afraid. Hurry!"
Dobby pushed himself to his feet and slapped his red cushion cover many times to dust it off. Once he made sure that there was not one stain that had remained, Dobby lifted his head and said, "Dobby must punish himself for dirtying the cover, Miss Darcie."
Then, the house-elf put his hands against the wall and banged his head on it.
She should have seen it coming. "Dobby!" Darcie hissed, burying her voice. "Not now! It's OK. Let's go."
Dobby didn't look good and kept muttering he must have banged his head at least two more times. Even his ears had drooped, now hanging down his shoulders like two pieces of lifeless clothes.
Darcie brought the old, flaky papers to her room, the house-elf following her like a shadow.
As she lit the candles and put the papers on the table, a tickling sensation bubbled up inside her chest.
Never had Darcie felt so curious and enchanted by something before. Books had always satiated her thirst for knowledge, but it was something she was supposed to do. The only thing that had come close to this feeling in her heart was the time when she had decided to learn about Wands.
"Dobby, bring me a glass of water," she said absentmindedly, searching for a safe way to straighten the parchments without damaging them any further.
The house-elf snapped his fingers and a glass of water appeared on the table.
What were these? Why were these papers in the Buttery and within a wall? How old were they? Questions begot more questions as Darcie wetted her throat.
She took a deep breath, and with as much gentleness as she could muster in her tiny fingers, she unfolded the creases, pinching the papers at two ends.
She didn't know how much time it took her to undo the parchments, twisted at bad angles. When she was done and leaned back on the chair for a breath, she heard Dobby's snores coming from under the table. The house-elf must have fallen asleep at some point, wrapping his arms around the table's leg.
Darcie brought her attention to the documents again. Now that she had parted them from each other, she could count there were six pieces of parchments, equally ancient to touch and mysterious beyond imagination.
The first parchment on the top was full of incomprehensible runic writing as if ants were crawling over it. Darcie did not recognize it, but she knew it was related to runes, for she had seen such languages in several books on magical history. Covens and cults, older than civilization itself, were mentioned in some books that had developed some of the first ancient runes. Darcie had been fascinated by them, and her desire to learn more about them had no limit, but further books on these topics came under the category of field specialization, and those weren't issued to common wizarding folks. Nor were they available in shops.
As she saw the very first page, and the runic writing, an old flame lit up in her heart, her eyes burning to know more, to understand the meaning hidden behind these misshapen letters.
Darcie carefully lifted the page and put it aside. One more similar page welcomed her. As she carried on, she found that there were five pages full of runic writings, but somehow independent of each other. She didn't know how she could tell that, but there was an instinct within her that told her these five pages contained five different meanings.
And then her eyes landed on the last page.
Her eyes widened. This page had writing on it as well, but it was English, its letters curved beautifully like coils of a snake.
Above those words, there was a sign. Painted in yellow, it both repulsed and attracted Darcie. For long she looked at it, and then her eyes went back to the words written in English under it.
— The Yellow Sign - a path to unparalleled greatness —
"The Yellow Sign…" Darcie repeated, her green eyes reflecting the unworldly image of that painted figure. "… greatness."
This was all Darcie ever wanted, not Power. Not Wealth. And not even Status. Only Greatness. All the books she had read, and the grand wizards and witches she had read about, were not great because of one thing. Some were great duelists, some were great potions masters, some were the greatest healers of their times, and some were great dark wizards. Dark, yes. But great, anyway.
And thus, Darcie had decided to pursue greatness above all.
At this moment, the memories of those condescending eyes that other magical folks had given her all the time passed by her mind. The accusing whispers against her family, the hidden meaning within the news articles, and the sheer malice people had associated with the name Malfoy. She recalled it all.
Little as she was, Darcie had come to know that there was a good deal of false knowledge in this world, pursuing which led to nothing but a dead end. Yet, in this instance, as she looked at those runic writing, the yellow sign, and the one comprehensible sentence under it, Darcie knew here lay the greatest opportunity of a lifetime.
Wasn't this like the tale where a child stumbled upon an ordinary stone and found it was a powerful source of magic later? And wasn't this like the fable of a young princess finding a rusty locket, which turned out to be the resting place of an old witch?
Yes, this was entirely like that.
She just knew if she were to translate these five pages and get to understand the yellow sign, she would achieve Greatness.
If it was anything like those magical chronicles, then this was the beginning of her story, her tale.
The tale of Darcie Malfoy!
Now that thought was worthy for her to smile over.
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