Serpent Lady

Over the course of the next month, Ophelia spent many hours dedicating herself to thoroughly reading her schoolbooks. She wanted to make sure she was as well-prepared as possible, and so she rarely left her house, instead choosing to curl up in her favorite black velvet overstuffed armchair, her copy of Hogwarts, A History balanced on the arm.

Her parents would often come and check in on her, smiling proudly as she reeled off the twelve uses of dragon's blood, or the names of the first five Death Eaters caught after Voldemort's downfall, but they always seemed a bit preoccupied. Although they never neglected her, she got the distinct feeling that there was something very wrong, but they refused to comment, smiling instead and insisting that they were just busy.

As the month drew to a close, she found herself becoming rather nervous, and engrossed herself in her new Potions book, staying up until two or three in the morning, raiding her mother's supply cupboard (as her supplies were still well-packed and waiting for their trip to Hogwarts). In addition, she amused herself by learning several spells from another surprise book her parents had passed on to her: a well-worn copy of Hexes and Curses (Intermediate and Advanced) by Melanie Malediciae that had once belonged to her mother.

On the morning of August 31^st, Ophelia came down the staircase, her nose buried in Charms and Incantations for the Intermediate Witch by Carmen Docenti (her third and final surprise book from her parents). She heard her mother clear her throat, and looked up from her book to see the entire breakfast room filled with silver balloons and streamers.

"Surprise!" her parents cried, each holding out a hand to her as she gaped in astonishment.

"As today is your last day here, we thought we'd make it a special one," her father explained to her, his arm around her shoulders. "So we had the house-elves make all your favorite foods, and we thought we'd spend the day relaxing together."

Ophelia grinned, excited by the mounds of beautiful, fragrant fruit glowing temptingly on the table. "Sounds fabulous!" she breathed, laying her book down on the table before seating herself comfortably in one of the dining chairs.

"Uh, Silvia, haven't we forgotten something?" asked Damien, winking conspiratorially at his wife.

"Why, whatever could you mean, Damien?" Silvia questioned, a vaguely perplexed look on her face.

Ophelia looked suspiciously from mother to father. "What are you two up to?" she asked.

"Nothing!" her parents chorused innocently.

"Ha!" Ophelia replied. "That's total bosh! I wouldn't believe that in a million years!"

"And you'd be wise not to," said a new voice. Ophelia jumped up from her chair, running across the room and straight into the arms of a tall gentleman.

"Surprise!" grinned the new arrival, his brown eyes sparkling exactly like their father's.

"Darcy!" Ophelia squealed in his ear, causing his eyebrows to furrow ever so slightly.

"Goodness, Eel, you haven't changed much, have you?" he teased, mussing her impeccable curls...or trying to, anyhow. She grinned cheekily at his perturbed expression when he was unable to mess up her hair.

"Firm hold spell, chapter seven," she said mischievously, winking at him. "Ensures that hair remains neat and tangle-free at all times."

"That's my girl!" he cried, lifting her up into the air and swinging her around his head. Their parents watched fondly as Ophelia and Darcy laughed and hugged each other again before he finally set her down.

"So, Eel, you ready for the big day?" Darcy asked, settling into one of the chairs.

"Most definitely," she grinned confidently, reaching for the heaping bowl of berries at her right hand. "I am a bit nervous, of course..."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," he reassured her, taking a big swig of pumpkin juice from his pewter goblet. "Mmm, British pumpkin juice...so much better than that German garbage. Honestly, Dad, I don't know how you survived on that--"

"Darcy..." Damien interrupted him warningly.

"--garbage," Darcy finished, flashing his dimples.

Silvia laughed at the playfully wounded expression on Damien's face. "I told you, my love," she informed Damien gently, "we brought our children up on British food, and it is British food they crave."

"Especially British fruit," Ophelia piped up, her mouth full of raspberries. "There is nothing better than Scottish raspberries."

"Are you sure?" asked Darcy mischievously, tossing a beautifully wrapped package across the table at her. "I picked this up on my way through." Ophelia gently untied the glittery silver ribbon and a huge hunk of fragrant Swiss chocolate fell out, prompting an envious moan from Silvia.

"No worries, Mum," Darcy grinned, tossing a similarly wrapped package to her.

Five chocolate-filled minutes later, the entire family was satiated and laughing like old times. In a very adult manner, Ophelia sat back and studied her brother carefully. Dark, wavy locks, the same pitch black as her own curls, fell wildly about Darcy's face, settling softly about his shoulders. Laughing brown eyes framed by spiky black lashes sparkled with merriment in an easily tanned face. His 6'4", highly muscled frame stretched out in his chair, tight black shirt hiding none of his lean, athletic build. His big hands rested on the table, the calloused palms betraying his years of experience with German dragons.

Her attention turned to her father, nearly as tall and athletic as Darcy, his well-chiseled jaw and aristocratic nose making him appear far younger than his 44 years. Hair the mahogany color of his wand curled impeccably just into his eyes, which mirrored Darcy's exactly. His regal posture and slightly haughty tilt to his head stemmed from his proper upbringing (his parents were both aristocrats), but the playful gleam in his eyes betrayed his playful and often mischievous personality. She followed their gaze to the youthful, classically beautiful face of her Welsh-Scottish mother. Her emerald eyes glowed fiercely atop her high cheekbones, standing out against her creamy porcelain skin. In stark contrast was her midnight black hair which waved gently down her back almost to her waist. Her tall, slim frame unfolded itself suddenly from its chair, and Ophelia drew herself back from her observations, her attention grabbed by the curious looks she was receiving.

"What are you thinking about, my love?" her mother asked gently, her loving smile turned upon Ophelia like a warm sunbeam.

"I was thinking that this is how I will always remember you," she said quietly, her voice low and melodious. "This is my perfect memory."

Darcy laughed. "Such things you say, Eel," he teased, his hand moving quickly across the table to rest on hers, but his eyes shone brightly as he gazed at her, his look saying, "I know exactly what you mean."

About an hour later, the family had retired to the sitting room. Ophelia was settled comfortably on the floor, cushioned by the thick carpet. Her parents were seated on the black velvet sofa, while her brother was perched on the arm. Darcy was in the process of telling his family all about his latest work.

"...but Gehelt, he's a tough one," he was saying. "I got scorched pretty badly the first time Georg and I tried to herd him into the pasture. I have yet to ride him, but I don't think it'll be too long."

Damien grinned proudly at his son. "I always knew you'd do well...just imagine! My only son riding a Hungarian Horntail! You'll be famous before long!"

Silvia nudged her husband gently, her brow furrowed slightly, and Damien shut up immediately. Ophelia tossed a swift glance to her brother, and was relieved to see that he, too, looked concerned.

The expression on his face changed suddenly as he stood up, striding meaningfully toward his huge bag. "Gifts!" he announced, ripping the bag open. Ophelia gasped audibly as she glimpsed the huge stack of presents glinting temptingly.

"You first, Mum," Darcy grinned, passing his mother a small, black velvet-covered box. She flipped the lid open, revealing a glittery green hairclip nestled in black silk. She gasped as she picked it up, fingering the delicate craftsmanship. "Darcy, it's exquisite!" she breathed.

He smiled proudly. "Gathered the scales myself...from a Northern Spiketail."

Damien looked up sharply. "Those are so rare - where'd you find one?"

Darcy winked. "I do work with dragons, Dad," he replied. "I got the scales as soon as they'd fallen, and then a friend of mine made the clip."

Ophelia studied her brother's face as he said that, gathering that this 'friend' was probably his lover...or one of them, anyhow. He caught her eye and smiled innocently before seizing a long, thin package and tossing it to his father.

"I thought you'd appreciate this," he mentioned by way of explanation as Damien peeled the tissue paper away to reveal an intricately carved longbow. He whistled in admiration, holding the weapon up so it glinted in the afternoon sunlight.

"I made this one myself," Darcy said, a hint of pride entering his voice. "One of the blokes showed me how to treat hornbeam so it'd make a good bow, and Georg taught me how to carve it."

Damien expertly strung the bow with a practiced hand, and thumbed the string, filling the room with a clear, musical twang!

"Graphorn tail hair," Darcy grinned, "same as your wand, Dad. That one put up quite a fight.

"You plucked it yourself?" Damien gaped, almost dropping the bow. Darcy's smug grin was all the answer needed. As Damien studied the bow with new respect and wonder, Darcy extracted another package from his bag.

"Arrows," he said as Damien unwrapped a charmingly rustic quiver filled with well-crafted arrows. "The feathers are raven, in case you were wondering, and the points are silver."

Damien stared at his son, his eyes moist. "I don't know what to say..." He trailed off.

Darcy waved his hand dismissively. "Just don't expect me to top this for your birthday," he grinned, prompting a chuckle from all those present.

Finally, he gently passed a bag to Ophelia. She pulled at the black tissue paper, revealing three items. Two were spell books, one entitled Gem and Gem-Enhanced Magick for the Intermediate Witch by Gemma Pluviarcus, and the other named Wandless Magick: Controlling and Directing Your Inner Powers (Level Three) by Stacey Sinenstrum. He had also thoughtfully included a huge sack of assorted gems and crystals. She hugged him excitedly, overwhelmed. He grinned and patted her hair, saying nothing.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. The family sat down to one last meal together before Ophelia went off to school, enjoying each others' company as well as the luscious food. At ten o'clock, Silvia gently sent Ophelia to bed, reminding her that they had a busy day ahead of them. Too excited to sleep, Ophelia lay in bed, staring up at her canopy and wondering how many others were doing the exact same thing, jumping up periodically to make sure she had everything all ready. Duvessa kept shooting her odd glances from her perch on the windowsill.

At about 2 AM, there was a quiet knock on the door. Ophelia snapped upright, padding softly to the door and easing it open.

"I knew you wouldn't be sleeping," Darcy said quietly as he slid in through the door and coaxed it shut before perching himself on the edge of her bed.

"You know me far too well," Ophelia conceded playfully, sitting beside him and ruffling his unkempt hair. "I like it long," she commented as an afterthought, stretching out an especially curly lock and then letting it spring back into position.

He caught her hand. "Ophelia, I need to talk to you about something," he said very seriously. She sat up straight, instantly attentive, knowing the use of her full name meant he was worried about something.

"I know you've noticed how weird Mum and Dad have been acting lately," h e started. "I noticed it within about give minutes of being here. They're upset about something, and it's something big."

"They were whispering about something the day we went to Diagon Alley," Ophelia recalled, "after we ran into his cousin."

"Cousin?" Darcy asked curiously.

"Lucius Malfoy," Ophelia replied.

Darcy's face darkened. "He's Dad's cousin?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. "That man is nothing but trouble, and so is his wife," he spat vehemently. "Their son is going to turn out to be a little shit too - pardon the language, darling," he added hastily. Ophelia blinked passively, so Darcy grabbed her hands.

"What else do you know?" he insisted.

"Dad told me to keep an eye on Draco," she said slowly. "He said that Lucius probably beat him, and he wanted me to try and make friends with him, to help him along as much as possible."

Darcy blinked in horror. "Beat him?" he cried angrily, before remembering himself and quickly lowering his voice. "Beat him?" he repeated in a furious whisper, his eyes flashing with hatred. "I detest that Malfoy more and more every day." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I take it back about Draco. Dad's absolutely right, Eel. Befriend him, do all you can to make sure he has one good influence in his life, anything to prevent him from turning into a horribly evil person and selling his soul to Voldemort. The poor kid has enough to deal with, living with that ogre."

Ophelia laughed, but her eyes remained deathly serious. "I'll do everything I can," she vowed sincerely.

Darcy smiled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I know you will, love," he told her. "I won't pretend it will be easy...years of being bullied tends to turn one into a bully, so young Malfoy will probably be a lot to handle..."

"Dad said as much," Ophelia said wryly, "but I think I'm up to the challenge."

Darcy grinned. "That's my girl," he said over his shoulder as he reached down and picked up a bag off the floor. He held it out to her, gesturing for her to open it. She did so slowly, pulling out a shining black orb that resembled volcanic glass, but almost seemed to be alive.

"What is it?" she breathed in wonder. He took it from her, holding it carefully in the palm of his hand.

"It's an Orb of Cruoris," he replied quietly. "It allows the two people whose blood are contained in the orb to communicate freely, mind-to-mind."

Ophelia blinked. "I don't understand," she said meekly. Darcy just smiled, seized her hand, and before she could protest, sliced her palm open with the dagger he'd hastily snatched from his boot. She yelped in surprise, but held still, teeth gritted against the pain, as he turned her hand sideways, allowing her blood to flow freely over the surface of the orb.

To her utter and complete surprise, the orb almost seemed to open up, accepting every drop of her blood into its depths. After a few moments, he released her hand and turned his dagger on his own palm, allowing his blood to mix with hers in the depths of the orb.

Before their eyes, the orb closed itself up, glowing fiercely, raised itself about three feet off the bed, and, like a living cell, pinched away in the middle, forming two smaller orbs. Instantly, the glow faded, and the two orbs dropped like rocks, bouncing a couple times and then coming to rest, butted up against each other.

Ophelia, her cheeks pinched, her face stark white, looked between her brother, whose expression almost perfectly matched hers, and the orbs. Tentatively, she reached down to touch the orb closer to her, and found it red-hot.

"Ow!" she shrieked, in unison with Darcy.

Her head snapped up and she stared at him.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded quickly.

"It hurt!" he cried defensively.

"But you didn't..." she trailed off, realizing the implications. She shut her eyes and gently touched her orb again, making very sure not to burn herself, but finding it cool to the touch.

"I can feel you..." she said in wonder, new thoughts and feelings flooding over her.

And I you, said a voice in her mind. Her eyes flew open, and Darcy winked at her, his hand just resting on his own orb.

It's incredible! she thought, her mind whirling with the knowledge that she could now communicate with her brother whenever she so desired. Darcy flinched, taking his hand off the orb and rubbing his head.

"What's wrong?" she asked quickly, taking her own hand away from her orb and catching his hand tightly, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Talk softer," he grumbled, smacking her hand playfully. "No need to yell inside my head...I can hear you quite well."

Her jaw dropped, and she started whacking his shoulder in mock anger. "Don't scare me like that!" He just grinned boyishly, ruffling her hair.

"Sweetheart," he told her seriously, "now, I will always be reachable. I'll carry my orb with me wherever I go, and since these things glow and vibrate when one user is trying to contact the other, that should keep me alerted at all times. I want you to keep yours somewhere easily accessible but sufficiently secret, and don't ever hesitate to contact me if you need me for anything at all."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore," she said in mock irritation, but immediately palmed the orb and settled it carefully in her trunk, cushioned by her winter robes. "Don't worry, I'll make sure it gets the attention it needs."

Darcy grinned with satisfaction, crossing the room and pulling her into a bear hug. "I'm proud of you, Eel," he said quietly, patting the back of her head. Ophelia buried her face in his chest, savoring his familiar scent, and smiled sadly, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'll miss you," she whispered, just like she had done not so long ago when he'd gone off to Germany for the first time.

He released her, holding her back at arm's length, and held up his orb, his eyes twinkling.

"Now you won't have to."