Ferox Angelus

Chapter 3 – Cassandra

***

The things we don’t know at all aren’t meant to be known. The things that we know deep inside our hearts are meant to be admitted by our soul. The things we could know are only known if we truly look.

***

"Draco. Draco, are you listening to me?" Lucius Malfoy poked a finger in Draco’s face, and shook him. Draco looked up to his father’s face blankly.

"Yes father,"he replied monotonously. "Yes father, I’m listening. What were you saying?"

"I said, you must be careful this year at Hogwarts. Make sure that fool of a headmaster, Dumbledore doesn’t discriminate against you—make sure you are not overlooked or ignored because you are part of a greater organization—the Death Eaters."

"I’m a Death Eater Jr.," said Draco, annoyed. "I’m not dumb—old enough to join the full one yet, Father."

Lucius didn’t seem to hear him. He held a piece of glass in his hand and watched as the sunlight bounced off its reflective surface. "Do you know what this is, young Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "No, father."

"It’s the thing that will destroy Harry Potter and the legacy that’s been competing with the Death Eaters for years— Lord Voldemort will surely praise me for this object, for it will fulfill his greatest wish. It is the magical, prophesied necklace of Ravenclaw. Once I find the stone, Harry Potter will die." Lucius’s lips curled into a cold smirk, his fingers tightening the grip on the necklace.

Draco leaned in for a closer examination—it seemed to be made out of sapphire, glossed over with glass. The chain was simple and furnished with a gold colour, but there were parts of it where the material had rusted, so he could tell it was made of some kind of metal.

"Necklace of Ravenclaw?" Draco snorted. "Is that some forgotten legend? Seems a long shot, doesn’t it?"

"That’s what you think," said Lucius quietly. "I have examined it carefully—every hour, it seems to change colours—exactly as it was prophesied. I do not doubt the great words of the famous prophesier Cassandra, young Draco, and neither should you."

"Cassandra? You believe the old bat?" Draco sneered, folding his arms. "Why are you so sure it’s just not a charm on the necklace? How do you know you’re not being fooled?"

"I cannot be fooled," said Lucius, anger rising in his voice. "I am certain. All I need is the stone of Hufflepuff—then Harry Potter will die." He rubbed a finger over the necklace, and slipped it into his robe pocket. "And I need you to find it for me, young Draco. It is your first assignment for me as a Death Eater."

"The stone of Hufflepuff? Where am I supposed to find that?" Draco made a face and tapped his fingers idly against the window.

"Pay attention," demanded Lucius. "When the stone and the necklace collide, it will be the end for Harry. You must find that stone—to find the stone, you must visit the burial grounds."

"Burial grounds?" sputtered Draco. "Burial grounds?"

"The burial grounds of the Four Founders," repeated Lucius impatiently. "I will take you there, but you must find it. Helga Hufflepuff was said to have buried it somewhere near there—you will find it."

"Exactly why do we want to kill Harry Potter anyway?" It was something that he had meant to ask for a long time—he knew Harry was a hairy, idiotic git and everything, but it didn’t seem like a good enough reason for Lord Voldemort to be chasing after him.

"He has too much of a chance of being an Angox," Lucius said. "His mother was believed to be a full Seer— it was confirmed that she was 1/4th Angox, though. James—that idiot—was 1/4th, too. You don’t need to guess that Harry’s ½."

"I can add, you know," said Draco irritatedly. "And what’s an Angox?"

Lucius sighed. "Your younger generation has been heavily cloaked with ignorance. Angox is an older term for – what do you call them these days? Syrens?"

Draco’s skeptical attitude was gone in his tone of voice. "Syrens? Harry Potter may be a Syren?"

"Not a full one, young Draco. Do not be so surprised. Haven’t you seen him perform extremely difficult spells, even for full-grown wizards? Have you not ever suspected that he was moving things without meaning to? Of course, a full one would destroy instead of simply move things."

"No wonder," Draco repeated silently with awe. "How will it kill him?"

"Ask no more questions," snapped Lucius. "I shall take you to the burial grounds in two hours. Prepare for it, Draco. It will be the most important mission you shall ever have."

***

"What are you doing today?" asked Nike groggily, poking at her cereal unenthusiastically "Ew, what is that?"

"I have some business I must attend to," said Severus, ignoring Nike’s comment. "What are you doing today?"

"What I do everyday. Nothing." She sighed heavily and looked up to his eyes hopefully, as if she wanted to be included in whatever Severus was doing.

"What do you want me to do about that? What am I supposed to do, make friends for you?"

"You could at least introduce me to the neighbors or something, you know..."

"I don’t talk to those idiots. Ever."

"Aw, come on, please?"

"No. You make up your own activities for the day and I shall make my own. I have a meeting planned at noon and I shall return in the afternoon. Whatever you do between those times isn’t my business," said Severus sternly, not expecting a response.

"Apparently you haven’t taken many lessons in fatherhood," muttered Nike silently under her breath. Severus apparently didn’t hear her, as he was finishing his toast with large bites.

"Really, what am I going to do today? I’ve done nothing for the whole past month. Flobberworms are leading much more interesting lives than me," pleaded Nike desperately.

"Again, your business, not mine," said Severus harshly, grabbing his cloak and pulling out his wand. "I have to go now. Whatever you do during the day is your choice. I’ve left you some money, but it’s for the whole week so don’t spend it right away. When you go out, lock the windows and doors—"

"I have no friends here. I doubt you can take me to see Draco Malfoy again. I have no where to go!" Nike was yelling now, but Severus didn’t seem to hear her. He left swiftly and shut the door softly behind him.

Nike scoffed and thumped around angrily, crashing down onto the sofa, pulling out the Hogwarts schoolbooks she had been reading for the last month. Severus’s stash of Dark Arts books seemed a little suspicious and she avoided them with all costs, as if she were afraid to invade his privacy.

There were more than Dark Arts books that made Nike suspicious of Severus—there was also the locked, rusty old box buried in his backyard. She had looked through her Ancient Runes textbook, but it was impossible to match any of the strange symbols to the ones in her book.

Severus, on the outside, didn’t seem to be the kind of person to keep a shattering, life-threatening secret, but you couldn’t always judge things on what they seemed to be. After all, Nike thought, he was secretive enough to have kept her mother’s identity from her all these years.

***

"Does anybody want to play Quidditch?" asked Harry hopefully, slightly surprised at how silent the Weasleys and Hermione were being. They had not said a word to each other during breakfast, and they all looked quite gloomy and depressed.

"Uh, Harry—it’s not really the right time," explained Hermione uncertainly, biting her lip as if to keep herself from saying more. "Maybe we should—wait a while?"

"Wait a bit? Huh—" Harry was about to ask Hermione if she really implied that she would be playing, but Bill cut him off.

"Professor Dumbledore is coming over, Harry," he said quietly. "He needs to talk to you."

The grim tone of Bill’s voice told Harry that Professor Dumbledore wasn’t coming to the Burrow to say that Lord Voldemort had been finally defeated for all eternity. His face dropped and all the Weasleys and Hermione stared at him anxiously, as if there were something seriously wrong.

"He needs to talk to me?" Harry repeated. "Why?"

"He just—needs to talk to you dear," said Mrs. Weasley, biting her lip. "Nothing to worry about. He’s coming at noon, so you, Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione can play Quidditch until then."

Harry looked around at everyone’s faces. Hermione was looking away, her eyes transfixed on the Weasley’s grandfather clock, her hands clenched in fists, as if she were sincerely hoping for something. Ron was fidgeting nervously and looked as if he didn’t know quite how to act under the circumstances. Even Fred and George looked serious.

"Is it about Voldemort?" he asked finally, slowly.

It was as if his words had cut an open wound in the silence. Hermione looked uncertain, and the Weasleys were all staring at him with unbelievable shock.

"Say You-Know-Who," said Ron, his voice quivering.

"No....Harry...it is not about...him." Mrs. Weasley began biting her lip uncertainly and propped herself up against the counter. "It’s alright Harry, you don’t need to worry about him while you’re here."

"It’s alright," whispered Harry. "I know what’s going to happen, Mrs. Weasley—you don’t need to pretend." The melodrama of his voice was a shock to everybody. He looked around quietly, eyeing each person carefully and sighed. "I mean it. Please, don’t try to pretend anymore."

"We’re not pretending," argued Ron, his voice quieter than usual. "Harry, we’re just… concerned. We don’t want you to worry about it so much while you’re here."

"You’re pretending that it’s not happening," replied Harry, strangely calm. He hadn’t planned on mentioning it, but the strange mood that had overtaken him was more than overpowering. "You haven’t mentioned a word of Cedric’s funeral ever since I’ve gotten here. Hermione, I know you know that I got an invitation over the summer."

They simply all stared at him blankly, and even Hermione was at a loss for words.

***

Draco stared at his environment blankly, trying to take in all the wonders and strangeness all at once. The yew trees rustled in the slight breeze, and cut through his cloak.

"This is where the Four Founders are buried?" he said in awe, his gray eye sweeping over the flat landscape. "I thought they were rich."

"This place was considered very expensive in the old wizarding days," explained Lucius, wrinkling his nose with slight disgust. "You have a map, don’t you?"

Draco stared at the piece of paper with a bunch of what seemed to look like chicken scratches.

"Good," said Lucius. He smiled coldly at Draco and Apparated without another word.

Draco swept his eyes over the landscape again, and felt himself shudder as he read the words on the gravestone,

"Here lies Helga Hufflepuff

Second of the Hogwarts Four

Forever missed, forever loved



Fidelitas, Amicitia, Ultio ultionis."

He didn’t know Latin very well, but he was pretty sure that the first word meant "loyalty." It was sewn onto the label of everything he owned: "Superbia, Vinco, Fidelitas", the words on the Malfoy family emblem.

"Loyalty," he muttered. "Of course. How Hufflepuff-y." He stared at the grave, its words carved primitively in old, Gothic lettering. A pile of ashes lied in front of the gravestone, and he sniffed and smelled the fading scent of roses. "Roses?" he asked aloud.

He felt the pile of ashes, and knew it wasn’t a pile of ashes after all. It was a pile of burnt roses—the petals had shriveled up but the scent was intoxicating. A fundamental instinct told him to dig. He brushed aside the burnt rose ashes, feeling for anything that might’ve been the ‘stone of Hufflepuff.’

He didn’t feel anything under his fingers. Instead, he bit his lip to keep himself from getting up and walking away. The grave felt a bit creepy, especially the yew trees that crinkled every time a breeze swept over the gravesite.

Finally deciding that there was nothing interesting at Hufflepuff’s grave, he moved to Slytherin’s grave. He gave a little smile before attempting to read the fading and peeled letters on the gravestone.

"Salazar Slytherin,

A great man of his word

First of the Hogwarts Four

A lesson to us all



Fidelitas, Ultio ultionis, Superbia."

Draco gave out a little snicker. It was exactly as he thought it would be—the inscription could’ve been taken both ways, just as the real Salazar could’ve been.

However, there was something under his inscription that was beaten by the weather. It looked as if the inscription hadn’t been that well carved anyway, almost as if the carver hadn’t intended anybody to read it properly.

"Loved and haunted forever by—" he murmured, pressing his finger against the gravestone. "Forever haunted? By who? What kind of a thing is that to put a gravestone?"

"By whom, my dear. You mean by whom."

***

"Harry? Do you need help with your –uh, homework?" Hermione knocked nervously on Ron’s door, where Harry had been for the last hour. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys were nervously anticipating the arrival of Dumbledore, each doing their own activity somewhere downstairs

"If you want," mumbled Harry, looking up to her with quickly dried eyes. "I’m sorry for the—outburst, if that’s what you want to talk about. I don’t know what’s gone over me."

"It’s just hitting you now, isn’t it?" asked Hermione carefully, as if the slightest error in wording the question would blow up the world.

"Maybe," murmured Harry, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I don’t know. I’m just so sick of people pretending that everything’s going to be all right. It’s not. I know it’s not. I know I’m going to eventually die—"

"Don’t talk like that!"

"Why not? You’re a Muggle-born, you know. Why should I even bother be friends with you if you’re eventually just going to be killed by a group of crazy psychos armed each with a piece of wood?"

"Harry, relax! It’s not going to happen. Dumbledore…he owled me this summer. I’m going to be okay, Harry, really, I am."

"He owled you? You’re really going to be—okay?" asked Harry, quieting the rising bubble of frustration and anger in his chest.

Hermione chewed her lip uncertainly, and threw her arms around Harry, hugging him tight. "I’m going to be okay, Harry. What I’m worried about is if you’re going to be okay."

"Eventually," he replied, his voice a bit muffled. "Eventually, Hermione. Eventually I’ll be okay again."

***

"By whom, my dear. You mean by whom."

Draco spun around wildly, searching for the source of the voice. "What...?"

"By whom, my dear. You were using improper grammar. You do attend school, don’t you? They don’t teach things like that anymore. Now they’ve got all this Arithmancy and Ancient Runes riffraff."

Draco was kneeling down, looking upwards to the tired eyes of an old, elderly looking woman. "I didn’t know people lived here."

"I don’t, sweetheart. I simply enjoy strolls here every now and then." The woman smiled, brushing aside a strand of her bright silver hair. "These graves calm my sick heart."

Strongly suspecting that he was speaking to a Muggle, Draco coughed and stood up. "You know about the Founders?"

"Why, in my days at Hogwarts, they had a class separate to learn about the Founders Four. Quite enjoyable, it was—always did like that Professor Maglock. A cute one, he was." The woman smiled brightly, walking towards Draco with an outstretched hand. "I’ve never seen you around here before."

"That would be because I’m not of one who thinks that taking walks to a creepy old crappy gravesite is relaxing."

The woman frowned. "You’ve got that kind of new generation attitude, son. And I don’t like it."

Draco sneered, taking a closer look at the woman. Her silver hair reached all the way down to her waist, and a few strands were neatly tucked behind her ear. She wore very old and shabby robes of pale green, and he was very surprised to see that she was barefoot. She was supporting herself with an old cane.

"Respect your elders. Where are your manners?" The woman threateningly waved her cane in his face. "Honestly, the generations are becoming more and more degrading—"

"Excuse me? I’m a Malfoy."

"I wouldn’t care if you were the direct descendant of Merlin himself," the woman snapped. "You shouldn’t talk that way to your elders."

"I repeat what I just said. I’m a Malfoy."

"Malfoy or no Malfoy, I demand an apology." The woman poked her cane threateningly in Draco’s face, and he sneered, unimpressed.

"You dare hit me with that? I thought you were magical."

"Oh, but it is magical, my dear," the woman said brightly, smiling. "See, my husband works at Hogwarts and he confiscates items from mischief-makers. This cane emits a Stunning spell."

Draco froze and paused to stare at the cane –it did seem strangely familiar. If Filch, who was the only one who could’ve had the full power to confiscate items and be allowed to keep them, had really confiscated that—then didn’t it mean that this was Filch’s wife?

"You’re Mrs. Filch?" Draco stared again. Mrs. Filch seemed so much older than Filch himself.

"My name is Patricia D’Argent-Filch," she snapped. "I prefer you call me Ms. D’Argent-Filch."

"So you are Mrs. Filch." Draco stared at her with amusement—Filch had always been deadly afraid of Draco’s father, even when he was not a governor of the school. "Has your husband ever told about a certain... Lucius Malfoy?"

Mrs. Filch looked as if she was thinking for a moment, and then she stamped her cane down on the ground and frowned severely. "You can’t be his... son?"

"You should’ve paid attention when I told you I was a Malfoy," said Draco crossly.

Mrs. Filch bit her lip uncertainly, as if she didn’t know how to react. She certainly did seem to be humbled though, thought Draco triumphantly. "What are you ... doing here?" she asked finally.

Draco paused before answering her question. "I’m—researching the Founders for an essay."

"An essay?" Mrs. Filch raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Doesn’t your father just buy them for you? Or pay people to write them for you?"

"Watch it," warned Draco. "I’m not supposed to be associating with ... your kind of people, so I can’t been seen here with you. You need to disappear or something, please."

Mrs. Filch snorted. "Where are your manners, boy?"

"Would you please leave?"

She stared uncertainly at the Malfoy family emblem that was sewed upon Draco’s robes, and tapped the ground with her wand grumpily, turning around and headed off into the direction of the forest of yew trees.

Draco smiled coldly, and looked down at Slytherin’s grave, an ice-chilling chill running through him.

***

"Professor Dumbledore—come in," urged Mrs. Weasley, greeting the old man hastily. "Harry is having his doubts and I’m afraid—oh, Albus. It’s been so hard on him. Does he have to do this?"

"It is purely his decision, Molly," replied Professor Dumbledore. "I am not threatening him with anything, but the boy has a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong—I trust that he will choose correctly. I hate to do it as well, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley invited him into the Burrow’s small and crowded kitchen, where the other Weasleys were waiting impatiently with anxious faces. "Please, sit down, Albus. I’ll go up and get him—oh no need, here comes him and Hermione now."

When Harry and Hermione had entered the kitchen, Ron’s face darkened. Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore with pleading eyes, as if he were begging him to have good news instead of the bad news that he was expecting.

"Hello, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore quietly, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone. It had been gone for quite a while now, the events of the Triwizard Tournament had occurred.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore. You—have... news for me?"

"It does not give me pleasure to start off an already grim conversation with even more grim news, but there has been five more muggle attacks by the Death Eaters. One was particularly near your aunt and uncle’s house, Harry." He pulled out a wrinkled Daily Prophet, with a big photo of a winking Dark Mark hovering eerily above a pile of rubble.

Harry immediately looked alarmed, even though he felt as though the Dursleys had deserved an attack so close to them. "How many were—killed?"

"10, Harry. The family was particularly big, and a Ministry witch was killed when trying to get rid of the hovering Dark Mark." The powerful aura that Harry had felt around Professor Dumbledore last year proceeding the events of the Triwizard Tournament was letting itself be known again.

Harry said nothing.

"I know you will have expectations for the assignment I am about to give you, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, clearing his throat. "I assure you, your safety will be our first priority and you do not have to participate if you do not wish to. However, I wish to repeat what I said to you last time—there will be a time where you have to choose between what is easy and what is right."

"You don’t have to worry, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry quietly. "I will do whatever it takes."

Professor Dumbledore smiled sadly and sad down tiredly. "Harry, I had no doubt that you would choose that. However, I warn you—the assignment is dangerous, risky, and there might not even be a point to it after all. However, we cannot take the chance if there is a point."

"What is the assignment, Professor?" Harry asked, biting his lip. Hermione threw up a supportive smile and Mrs. Weasley was patting him on the back lovingly.

"Do you know the Legend of the Hogwarts Four, Harry?" Harry shook his head. "In the beginning, just after Hogwarts was founded, they had a problem. They didn’t have the Hogwarts four—they had the Hogwarts five."

"Hogwarts—Five?"

"Hogwarts Five," repeated Professor Dumbledore, nodding. "Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Cassandra Craulin—they were all remarkable men and women of their time. However, they didn’t have enough money to build five houses—Cassandra ended up ‘sharing’ a house with Helga Hufflepuff. But soon, she began to take no participation in the Hogwarts Founders activities—and she was kicked out. Of course, it’s very hard to kick an original Founder out of their own school without causing much cursing and violence—but they had done it."

Professor Dumbledore paused, as if he were trying to decide whether Harry was ready to hear the next part. "Cassandra ended up cursing the school, and – somewhat like Salazar Slytherin, she had a secret place of the castle that no one knew about."

"So—it’s another Chamber of Secrets?" asked Harry, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Of course not. Hogwarts only has room for one," said Professor Dumbledore lightly. "It’s not quite a chamber, but it is believed to the – common room and dormitories of the house she never had. Cassandra Craulin was—a Seer and she had wish magic. It is very complex and it would take me years to explain it fully, but she had the ability to get whatever she wanted by simply wishing to the full extent of her heart and concentrating on it night and day, for at least a year.

"It is a troublesome power. Even though the Founders had no money for a fifth house, Cassandra created hers, purely magic. Unfortunately, it was right before she was kicked out of the group that she had fully created it. It may seem rather unbelievable to you, Harry, but I am sure you are used to that. The house is cursed."

"Cursed?" repeated Harry. "What kind of curse? Why wouldn’t Cassandra just – wish for money?" He stole a glance at Hermione, and saw that her eyes were sparking wildly, a kind of smile on her face that she got only when something had clicked in her mind.

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "She wanted the house more than the money, Harry. We’re not sure about what kind of curse. For all we know, it could be wish magic. The wish magic would stay effective... forever. There is no way to reverse it, unless the wisher wishes to remove it. Unfortunately, Cassandra’s dead so we can’t do that."

"So... what do I have to do with all this?" Harry was almost afraid to ask.

"The houses cannot be entered by one who does not have one of the Four Founders blood in their veins, Harry." Professor Dumbledore peered into Harry’s eyes, looking very honest yet painstakingly desperate. "We need you to open the chamber before Lord Voldemort can gain entrance to Hogwarts through there, Harry."

Harry watched as the Weasleys flinched at the sound of his name, feeling very numb. Ron was looking at Harry sympathetically, while Hermione looked worried and deep in thought.

Harry took a deep breath. "How would you know that I have Godric Gryffindor’s blood?"

" I… A lot of people have known it for a long time," said Professor Dumbledore quietly. "You won’t go alone—we can’t risk that. If we find any more, they shall attend with you—"

"Who else do you think is coming?" asked Harry quickly.

Professor Dumbledore sighed exasperatedly. "I can’t tell you now, Harry. I will, however, let you know as soon as I find out. This mission is risky and requires careful planning, as we cannot afford for anything to go wrong. Sealing off the chamber is vital to protecting Hogwarts and the refugee camp I fear it will become."

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the Weasley’s old and stained kitchen counters. His mind was a whirling pool of confusion. He knew he would agree to do it, yet there was a part of him that wondered if he really needed to become the world’s hero again. His life had been scarred enough last time—was he really dumb enough to do it again?

"Yes Professor," said Harry quickly, before he could think about it again. "Yes Professor, I’ll do it..."

Professor Dumbledore smiled tiredly. "Harry, I’m giving you one last chance to recognize the kind of life you will lead from now on. It is not glamorous or easy. You are only a young child, but you are giving yourself up to very serious commitments. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?"

Harry could feel Mrs. Weasley’s soft hands on his shoulder, patting him worriedly. "You don’t have to do this, Harry," whispered Mrs. Weasley softly. "Professor Dumbledore can get other people. You don’t need to put yourself in danger again...."

Harry looked up to Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, and felt a comforting sense of security. Here in the Burrow, he was loved. They truly cared about him and his safety. Yet he was one thing they would never understand – The Boy Who Lived.

"Yes Professor," he said again, nodding numbly. "I’m sure."