Plot Twist [GEORGE WEASLEY]

21.

The two students lounged in the armchairs. Two blankets had appeared when they settled in. Books were scattered on the floor, open to specific pages. Amara had developed a system; George skims through books and she writes the necessary information. She wrote quite slow, as her hand cramped from doing homework that day.

So far, ten pages were filled in Amara's notebook. She kept smearing ink on her hand. She had managed to get some on her pajamas as well. Ink blacked out faces of puppies on her pants. She hoped it would wash away eventually. 

The concept of this room seemed inconceivable. It appeared to mimic your desires. Like the blanket appeared when Amara felt cold. The same occurred with her needing something to write. She had gotten her notebook but, not her quill. Yet, one popped up next to her. 

At the moment, a steaming mug of cocoa materialized before their eyes. Amara knew she had not thought of that. She shot an accusing look at George. He shrugged, not caring. "I was craving it. I can't stop thinking about it," George said, as he took a sip.

Amara turned her attention back to the book on her lap. Her finger traced the sentences. The paper felt fragile and thin. It could tear if she was not careful. The words were dark black. Notes complimented the margins.

Her eyes sharpened at one thing. She patted George's shoulder, aggressive. George took her hand and gently laid it on the armrest. He peered over to the book. "Isn't this strange?" Amara's voice rose, excited.

George squinted. "This text is very small," remarked George. "The print in those days were tiny."

Rolling her eyes, Amara began reading. "790 A.D brought the awful introduction of the object. A large-scale incident occurred when a wizard used the powers of this object to diminish magic from the dark-skinned and female individuals. The origin of this object isn't known. It seemed to be created by means of dark magic," Amara paused. 

"Passed through pure of skin and pure of blood possibly. None knows of what it looks like. Some believe it to be a myth."

George scratched his chin. He tapped the text, nodding. "I saw more about who could possibly own this object.  It's somewhere..." He bent down to the floor to scrutinize the books which were situated there. 

He brought up a book to Amara's lap. Someone seemed to have drawn a rectangle around a specific passage. Very thickly. It had bold letters signifying its importance. 'BLOOD RUNS THICKER THAN WATER'.

"This is just a poor attempt to be cool and ominous," Amara chuckled. "What does this even say?"

"It's my turn to read. Ahem," George cleared his throat. "Reports of a dark wizard 'trapping' magic into an object originating from west of Wales. Occupants of Foxmoor remember the name of the man who swallowed their magic and pride. Witnesses know of him as Oweyn Crawgyll-"

"Wait. I want to write this down," Amara scrawled messily. "Okay continue."

"Witnesses know of him as Oweyn Crawgyll. He has a son and two daughters. At the time of writing, his son is alive, reluctant to offer a word. His two daughters, however, had shown signs of magic and been beheaded for that purpose. The passage ends there," George shut the book.

Amara regarded the information. If they could trace Crawgyll somehow to the latest descendant, they could get closer. She wondered if there were any more books with family trees. Some of the family trees ran for millennia. Her heart told her to stay here. If this was one of the books. There were more to scrounge through for more. But, then Amara regarded George's tired eyes. 

"We should go to sleep. We've been here forever. Besides, you look like shit."

George laughed. "Okay, point taken."