Forbidden Lore

Forbidden Lore

Chapter Six

In the day and a half that followed my conversation (if you can call it that) with that man, I laid around rather listlessly, waiting for something else to happen. But, things were definitely better than they'd been before; my unpleasant encounter with the man who had seemed no more than a tall shadow had made things seem better than they actually were. Contact with another living, breathing person had given me renewed hope.

It was mid afternoon (according to my pocket watch) and I was lying on my stomach on the narrow pallet that was my bed, absently kicking my feet against the wall in a soothing rhythm. The high heals of the leather boots I was wearing were making black marks on the whitewashed wall, but I couldn't have cared less. After repeating the same rhythm for ten minutes, I realized that it was a song. After another minute or so of silent contemplation, I was able to dredge the song up from the depths of my mind.

"Andante" by Johan Christian Bach. I thought, temporarily employing my rather extensive knowledge of music.

To explain my extensive knowledge of music, it was, to put it simply, my hobby. To be a tad more specific, over the years, while I moved from home to home, country to country (and, yes, I did move from country to country), music was often my comfort. I developed a broad mental library of music, as well as a very refined taste. I knew good music from bad music, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I was actually rather sophisticated when it came to the arts; I knew music, and theatre, and a bit about ballet, though not enough for it to be useful. Contrary to popular belief, I did care about things like that, and, to be perfectly honest (and a wee bit vain) I had a decent voice and was good at the piano (if you ignored my appalling refusal to practice). I wanted to learn to play the guitar, but, much to my unhappiness, I was dreadful at it. The same went for the flute, the clarinet, and the violin. I suppose I was a one instrument type of person, well, two, if you'd count my voice.

I unconsciously began humming the song I was tapping out with the heals of my shoes. Which, I might add, were very scuffed and battered by this point.

"I must buy a new pair of shoes as soon as I get out of here," I said distractedly, interrupting my humming as I traced abstract patterns on the blanket, momentarily forgetting the promise I'd made to myself that I'd stop talking to myself.

I rolled over on to my back, propping my head up on my arm. I started singing softly, Hava Nagila, this time. I'd lived in Jerusalem, Israel for a brief period of time, a very brief period of time, about two months, back when I was seven. And that was only because my guardian at the time had been a British ministry diplomat who had been sent to Jerusalem to smooth over a misunderstanding. I had actually enjoyed my time there, all except for the violence that broke out occasionally. In the end, the Palestinian intifada, or uprising, was what forced the social workers to move me to a different, more...secure, home.

So, basically, that little bit of personal history is an explanation as to how it was that I knew an Israeli folk song in it's entirety; and was able to pronounce the majority of the words correctly. I wish I could claim that I could speak Hebrew, but, sadly, beyond the words to that and a few other songs (I didn't know what the Hebrew words were in English, mind), the words for "hello", "goodbye", "yes", "no", "thank you", "you're welcome", and "I'm sorry", I didn't speak the language of the Israelites.

The door opened. I sat up in surprise. I really hadn't been expecting that to happen. Actually, I hadn't been expecting to see anyone for a few days yet. The shadow man had given me the message (without going as far as to actually say it) that I was going to be alone for several more days yet. So, being suddenly startled by someone walking in the door was very unsettling.

"And you are?" I asked coldly; all that practice at being emotionless had paid off, I was able to cover my surprise well.

"I don't need to tell you anything," the man said, "it's time for you to learn why you're here. You have five minutes to make yourself presentable."

With that, he walked back out, shutting the door firmly.

"All right," I muttered sarcastically, "just come and order me around like some kind of common servant. I don't mind, no, not at all."

I stood up, straightened my clothes, and carefully combed my fingers through my hair until it bore some resemblance to how it ordinarily looked. With a feeling of dread forming in the pit of my stomach, I walked over to the door and rapped on it with my knuckles.

The man opened the door and said, "Ready? Fine, let's go, than," he bowed mockingly, "ladies first."

Well, I thought, if that's the way you want to play.

"Of course, sir," I said, equally sarcastic in my own right, and dipping a mock curtsy. I sneered at him, trés Malfoy, and stalked through the opening.

Shaking his head a bit, the man closed the door after me and pushed ahead.

"That was rude, you know," I remarked coolly.

"I don't give a damn," he retorted.

"Friendly, aren't we?" I said with fake perkiness and a hint of good cheer.

"Silence!" he hissed.

I walked in silence for a moment, and then asked, "I'd like to know your name, would you tell me?"

He sighed heavily, "You never give up, do you?" I shook my head negatively, "It's Cyprus."

"Cyprus," I repeated, "that's very interesting, unusual."

"No more unusual than Raven," he said and I could have sworn that I heard a note of amusement creep into his usually cold voice.

I favored him with a measured, appraising look before saying, "Well, now, that's certainly a matter of opinion...Cyprus."

He didn't respond, so we walked on in silence. I occasionally snuck glances at him, wondering who exactly this tall man was. I also wondered who had brought me to that place; I was hoping it wasn't Voldemort. Somehow, I really didn't think I could handle the stress of that situation, were it to come up.

After a few more moments, Cyprus slowed a bit. I cast a questioning look in his direction.

"We're almost there," he whispered, "it's time for you to put on your best manners."

"No one's died," he said softly, "yet."

"That's reassuring," I muttered.

I believe he was about to answer when we suddenly came to a door.

"Oooh" I whispered sarcastically, "it's a door."

"Would you be still?" Cyprus hissed; his voice laced with frustration. Then he added, "Can you at least try and take your life seriously for a minute?"

"'Life is too important to take seriously,'" I said in reply then, at his puzzled look, said, "Corky Siegel, it's a quote."

"I see, why do you persist with such nonsense?"

As I made to answer, the door opened slowly and I was roughly shoved into the dimly lit room. I could vaguely see the outline of a tall man standing near the far wall. I couldn't be sure, given the darkness, but I thought he had his back to us.

"Hello, Isis," this man said softly, his voice little more than a whisper, "how good it is to have you back with us."

I narrowed my eyes in puzzlement, a million thoughts flashed through my head at this strange greeting. The most prominent of these was: he called me Isis.

It took me a second to compose an answer, several things came to mind, but in the end, I said, "All right, I just want to know two things: who are you and what is it that you want?"

"Oh? Is that really all you wish to know, Isis?" He sounded as though he was highly amused with my bravado.

"For the moment, yes. Now, will you tell me or no?"

"Who am I?" he mused, "That's a long story, my dear, yes, a very long story. But, why not? If you really want to know, I suppose it couldn't hurt anything." He paused; the door closed and light filled the room. He still didn't turn to look at me, so I couldn't see his face, but he had shoulder length black hair.

"Well?"

"My name is Alexandros, is that all you wanted?"

"Not quite," I responded, "could you be a tad more specific. Who are you?"

"I'm all that was, all that is, and, perhaps, all that is yet to be."

I sighed with exasperation. And I thought I was good at annoying people, this man had me beat by a long run!

"Is that all you have to say?" I asked, my tone weary and a bit frustrated.

"Isis, tell me exactly what it is that you want to hear."

"No, it's not what I want to hear, it's what you're willing to say."

He turned suddenly to look at me, and my breath caught in my throat. This man, this Alexandros, he looked like me. He had the same angular face with the high cheekbones and thin nose; his lips were thin and pale, as mine were; he had unusually pale skin. The only noticeable difference was his eyes; they were slate gray, not the weird silvery-green of my own.

For the fourth time that day, I asked, "who are you?"

Alexandros looked at me in silent contemplation for almost a full minute before responding. When he did, his voice was soft.

"I think you already know, Isis, you're simply seeking confirmation."

"Perhaps, but I want to hear it from you, I need to hear it from you. And, my name's not Isis!"

"I see," he hesitated, "in that case, Isis," he completely disregarded my last statement, "you are my daughter."

I looked at him in stunned silence, wondering if this was just some elaborate joke. If it was, it wasn't very funny.

"This is not a joke, Isis," he said as though he'd read my mind.

"How did you know I was thinking that?"

"It was an educated guess. This is not a joke, nor is it a lie, I am indeed your father."

"Well, than, where the hell have you been since I was two years old?"

"Away, it was not my intent to leave you that way. No, for a while, out of necessity, yes, but, forever, never."

"Really?" one could practically see the sarcasm drip off my words.

"Yes, I never meant to leave for that long. It was meant to be a simple task, short and simple. But," he sighed, "the days turned into months, and the months into years, and, before I knew it, 14 years had passed. And you, you my beautiful, intelligent daughter, you had grown into a young woman, without me here to see it. Now, I wish to start over, to try to be a father to you again."

"Wait a moment," I interrupted him, "first, you leave me to be raised in 12, count them, 12 foster homes, then, you kidnap me and leave me alone in a very small room for god knows how many days, and now, now, you tell me you're my father and expect everything to be okay?" I managed to finish that without breaking down in tears and/or shouting.

"Please, Isis, please, give me a chance."

I gritted my teeth and snarled, "For the last time, my name's not Isis!"

"Yes it is; that's what I named you. What do you call yourself?"

"Raven, my name is Raven. It's always been Raven and it always will be Raven. So, I'd like you to stop calling me Isis."

"Raven?" he said in disbelief, "Raven? What kind of name is that?"

"It's a fine name," I said defensively, "it's mine."

"Perhaps for some people, but not for you. You deserve better than that. Isis, yes, Isis, the name of a queen."

"I always thought Isis was a goddess," I said.

"She was, Isis was an ancient Egyptian goddess, the wife of Osiris and mother of Horus. I believe she was also the goddess of fertility."

"Ah, and that is somehow a more appropriate name for me?"

"Of course it is; you deserve a regal name such as that."

"Do I?" my voice was faint; the reality of the situation was starting to hit home.

"Yes," he looked at me closely, "Isis, are you all right?"

"I think so,"

"Perhaps you should lie down," concern filled his voice.

I nodded, then swayed slightly and collapsed in a dead faint. The last thing I saw was my father rushing forward and grabbing my arms. Then I slid into deep, velvety unconsciousness.

When I came to, I was not in the same little room I'd been in the last time I'd woken from complete unconsciousness. In fact, the room I was in was far from it. It was large, quite spacious, with a dark green carpet; tapestry covered stone walls, and gorgeous wooden furniture. I was lying in an immense bed with a black velvet bed spread and more pillows than I'd ever seen in my life.

I sat up to get a better look at the room. There were windows all along one wall, windows with heavy brocade and velvet curtains over them. The windows caught my attention, I really wanted to open the curtains and see the world outside that place that had become my prison. After a few seconds of debating with myself over whether it would be safe to open the drapery, my desire to see natural light (be it moonlight or sunlight) overwhelmed my caution, and I got out of bed, practically flying to the nearest window.

Almost eagerly, I pulled the weighty drapes aside and looked out. My heart sank; I hadn't the foggiest idea where I was. I was obviously in a big house, correction: a big stone house. The grounds that surrounded it were huge and green; the sky was clear and a pale blue that looked rather washed out and sickly. It suited my current mood perfectly; the site of a completely unfamiliar landscape had shot my good cheer to hell.

I refocused on the scene outside my window and promptly noticed that there were iron bars over the outside of the window.

"I thought he said that I'm his daughter," I murmured, "if that's so, than why are there bars over the windows?"

With a sharp, sudden movement, I rushed to the next window and pulled the curtains apart, there were bars over that window too. I repeated this with all five windows in the room; there were bars over every one.

"No!" I whispered in horror, lifting my trembling hand to my mouth.

This situation was bad, very bad. You see I had a terrible fear of being locked up that way. The sight of bars over a window was enough to completely terrify me. I don't have the faintest idea why it bothered me as much as it did; I was just like that.

I crossed the room to the door in a couple of long running steps, tried the handle, and, when it didn't open, pounded on it with the sides of my fists.

"Let me out!" I shouted, near tears from my terror, "The door's locked! Let me out! Cyprus? Someone? Anyone at all? Damn it, let me out of here!"

I pounded the door one last time, and then sank to the floor in hysterical tears of panic and fury. I couldn't understand why I was locked up when I hadn't done anything to anyone there.

"Please," I said between sobs, "please, someone, let me out." My voice trailed off slightly, "let me out." I whispered once more.

I leaned against the door, my sobs subsiding slowly. I rested my head on the smooth wood, sniffling miserably. Then, I heard footsteps coming towards the door. To avoid being hit by it, I got up and moved over to the bed, sitting down heavily.

The door slid open smoothly, silently, and Alexandros, the man who claimed to be my father, walked in.

"Isis," he said, concern creeping into his voice. "Are you all right? I heard shouting."

"I don't like being locked up," I said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I apologize, I had no idea that you had such an aversion to being locked up. You seemed to handle it fine before."

"That was different, completely different. Here, I can see outside and I can see the bars over the windows; it scares me to see such things because iron bars over a window are a sign of captivity. Before, I couldn't see outside, and there were no bars to hold me in, only a locked door. I want to leave now, please, let me leave."

"You wish to leave now, Isis?" he sounded a bit hurt, "now, when we've only just begun to get to know one another?"

"I'm sorry, really I am, but I can't take being locked up like this. If you truly want me to stay, don't lock me up anymore. If we can establish that I will never be locked in again, then, and only then, will I consider staying."

He looked at me for a moment, as though contemplating his response to such a statement. Finally, he said calmly, "That can be arranged. I can grant you almost unlimited access to the manor. Will this do?"

"I suppose," I said softly, then, "will you tell me about yourself? I need to know."

"Yes," he nodded, "that's only fair. After all, I know so much about your life."

"To begin with, what should I call you?"

"I'd like it if you could call me father,"

"At least he's honest," I muttered.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing, I suppose that would be all right, father." I said hesitantly.

My father sat in an armchair by one window. He settled back, getting comfortable. I curled my legs up under me and waited patiently.

"Well," he began, "where to begin?"

"The beginning is always smart," I said.

"So it is, so it is." He paused, "well, to begin with, I am not a wizard,"

"You're not?" I said, than stopped for him to continue.

"No, I most certainly am not. I am not a muggle either; do not make that mistake. I'm a mage, a void mage, to be more specific."

"What in the name of hell is a void mage?"

"A void mage is a mage that deals in the fate of this universe and dwells partially in the realm of chaos. I am a master void mage."

"Wait, you deal in the fate of this universe?"

"Yes, there are several, you know, all living side by side. They rarely, if ever cross. I deal in the fate of this particular universe, but I have been in a couple of others. And, don't ask about the realm of chaos, it is impossible to explain unless you have been there yourself."

"If you're a void mage, how is it that I'm a witch?"

"Your mother, she was a witch, a damn good one, too. A potions master, or mistress, as the case may be. Are you good at potion brewing?"

"Yes, it's my best subject. Why is it that I'm just a witch? One would think that the mage blood would be dominant."

"They're equal, actually, you have some mage powers; of this I am quite certain. They simply have not manifested themselves yet. They may be quite weak, but, then again, they could be stronger than your wizard powers."

"Okay, what exactly would those powers be?"

"It differs depending upon the individual. Whatever powers choose to show themselves will be void mage powers of some sort, probably enough for you to get in and out of the realm of chaos, but not much more."

"So, I'll be able to get into the realm of chaos?" I asked, then I said, "That'll be interesting."

"Yes, it is that," he nodded.

"What about my mother?"

"She was a very beautiful woman, I loved her very much."

"What was her name?" I asked wistfully, wishing I'd had a chance to know her.

"Demetria, Demetria Snape,"

"Snape!?" my jaw dropped, "you mean, as in Severus Snape?"

"Yes," he gave me a curious look, "she was his older sister, why?"

"He's my potions teacher!" I said in disbelief, "I'm related to my potions teacher?"

He looked thoughtful, "That would be so, I've never really thought about it before."

"Weird, maybe that's why we were getting along so well," I said softly to myself, then I said, "tell me about my mother, please."

"She was wonderful, sweet and gentle, but she had a horrible temper. I believe that is the one sure thing her and Severus shared. The gods know they didn't look alike. They both had black hair, but that was it. Her eyes were like yours, silver-green. And her face was softly oval." He smiled sadly at the memories.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"She was murdered by Voldemort and his fucking death eaters!" he hissed, suddenly furious.

"No!" I gasped.

"She was, it was awful, I was the one who found her,"

"Bloody hell," I whispered, shocked and sad.

"Yes," his voice was bitter, "that's why I don't believe that there is a pattern to the universe, I don't believe that there is a god. Because, if there is a pattern and a god, then she, for some reason deserved to die, and she did not, she did not."

"I can see that," I murmured, trying to placate him without appearing to do so.

Then, just as in that dream I'd had, the world went mad. I really don't know what happened, whatever it was just did. The stone manor shook violently.

My father jerked in surprise and flew to his feet and towards the door. Right before he left, he turned to me and said.

"Your name is Isis Demetria Petralona, your mother and I gave you that name and I want you to keep it. And, remember something for me, don't allow yourself to be overcome with a need for revenge, Voldemort is not your fight, he's Harry Potter's fight, and the others' who are with him, he's their fight. You are a Petralona, you are half void mage; you are not part of this particular fight. Now, don't stay here anymore, flee for your life, find a fireplace and go back to Hogwarts. Just go!" He hesitated long enough to fling a drawstring bag at me before turning sharply and running down the hall.

"Wait!" I called out, he turned impatiently to look at me.

"Well?"

"What happens if something goes wrong?"

"Things cannot possibly go wrong," he said confidently before rushing off.

"'The major difference between a thing that might go wrong and a thing that cannot possibly go wrong is that when a thing that cannot possibly go wrong goes wrong it usually turns out to be impossible to get at or repair.'" I muttered.

I stood still for a moment longer, but then another large boom shook the manor and I left the bedroom in search of a fireplace. To my intense surprise, the door swung shut after me, as though the house itself were alive. For all I knew, it was.

I paused a moment outside the door, attempting to get my bearings. Unfortunately, the manor chose that particular moment to shake again, so I broke into a run down the corridor. The majority of the doors flew open as I passed, I assumed that he ones that didn't open were locked and therefore couldn't. After passing several doors, I came to one that had a fire blazing in the grate. Skidding to a halt, I went into the room and walked towards the fireplace.

Before I could reach the huge brick fireplace, the room shook again and I was thrown against a low table to my right.

"Ow," I muttered, rubbing my thigh where I could feel the bruise forming. Just then, a pungent smell wafted into the room and I felt like I was choking.

I recovered from the stumble quickly and, given the vicious smell in the air, took a few quick, jogging steps up to the fire. It was lavender. A little strange, but, who was I to judge?

Opening the bag, I discovered a great deal of floo powder. Throwing a handful in, I said loudly and clearly, "Professor Snape's office, Hogwarts!"

A few moments later, I tumbled face first into Snape's office and, feeling decidedly light-headed, allowed myself to relax against the rug. Within thirty seconds, I was sound asleep.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital wing and feeling worse than I ever had in my life.