Angela Cross and the End All Spell

Angela Cross and the End-All Spell

--a Harry Potter Universe fanfiction--

Chapter One

**The Little Book of Spells**

It started in a small town, six years ago...

Price Delgado looked at the worn tome in his bony, spindly hands, and grinned gleefully. Dusty and moldy and water-damaged, the thin book was bound in unimpressive blackish-red leather, its pages lined with scratched and age-worn gold trim. At first glance, one would think the book was nothing special, maybe an old encyclopedia chapter with no label or someone's notebook that had been thrown out with the trash or lost in a gutter. But the gleam in Delgado's deep, black eyes said that this was something more, something very, very special.

"Yesssssss...." he hissed, "I finally found it. After all these years, it's in my very own hands!" The man was careful not to make too much of a ruckus, for this was a precarious time for him : he was vulnerable right now, and if his enemies knew where he was or what he had found, he doubted he would be able to make it to the door at the end of the antique shop. But he couldn't hold back the shivers of anticipation and ran his fingers along the leather.

It was his! Centuries of hunting, and of all the tombs he had opened, all the graves and dungeons and hidden chambers and ancient kingdoms he had ransacked, it was in a tiny, unimpressive antique shop in Coweta, Oklahoma, just waiting for someone to pick it up casually and walk out with it.

The shop was indeed tiny, no more than four rows of wooden stalls selling what to most might be considered junk. The particle-board ceiling hung low, a fact that made Delgado uncomfortable when he had first walked in; his tall, lanky body, pale skin draped in black robes, had to hunch slightly so he wouldn't scrape any of the chipped and rickety chandeliers, and on a couple of occasions as he hunted through the shop he had banged his head on a booth outcropping or an old gas lamp for sale. It was an annoying reminder that he was vulnerable in this form, but that only helped to bring him elated joy when he glanced on a bookshelf in a ratty booth stinking of potpourri and saw the tome he had been hunting sitting casually between a half-missing copy of Green Eggs and Ham and last year's edition of A Dummy's Guide to Fishing, for soon he would be vulnerable no more.

The man grinned wider and wider as he caressed the book, and had anyone seen that smile it would have brought pinpricks running along their skin; his teeth were tiny and spaced far apart from each other, looking as though they should have long ago fallen out of their sockets for lack of foothold, and that, along with his stiff, black hair that didn't move no matter what angle he tilted his head at, gave the impression of someone or something wholly unnatural.

Delgado, taking in a deep breath and remembering that this was the most dangerous time of his existence, straightened up as best he could and turned towards the door. As he walked slowly, he noticed his own fingers drumming along the book in his hands, and could feel his heart racing, thumping hard in his chest. Just one spell, he thought to himself, I could open it and just get a taste. But again he had to resist : the book's contents were much too powerful, and if a single spell made its way into his mind then the entire magical community would be smashing in through the door instantly before he could look up (or worse, before he could utter the incantation he'd learned). No, he would have to be strong and wait until he made it outside, where he could escape and then study the book at his leisure, drinking in each word slowly like a fine wine. Eyes squinting as he repressed his glee, he made his way to the exit, winding past a patron with a large wicker basket and a little girl in tow, over the old, wooly carpeting, and reached his arm for the door.

He stopped abruptly, a mere foot from his objective, as the cashier nonchalantly poked an unusually-long broomstick out from side of the checkout counter, blocking the door and his path out. "Where the hell do ya think yer goin'?" she asked him in a thick, southern drawl. The woman, a fat country bumpkin with a bleached-blonde beehive and jeans that were two sizes too small for her plump waist, looked up from her Soap Opera Digest absently, broomstick still in the other hand, and continued curtly with, "Five dollars."

Delgado's demeanor flipped immediately : where he had once carried a wide grin on his face, his entire visage curled into a vicious snarl, and he glared at the woman. Looking back at the door, he started to move forward again, determined to open the door and head out regardless, when the broomstick suddenly dropped to the ground, followed by a sharp chik-chak noise and the smell of greasy metal. Turning again to the woman, he could see she was prepared for thieves and shoplifters, as she was now brandishing a double-barreled shotgun that had been strapped below the counter, pointing it casually in his direction as though she had done this many-a-time.

"Five dollars," she repeated, this time with a wrinkled frown on her pasty forehead.

No magic, no magic, no magic..., he repeated to himself, over and over in his head, gritting his teeth sharply as his fingers twitched in anticipation of unleashing a torrent of curses upon the one remaining obstacle to his goal. His jaw shot with sharp pain from the grinding of teeth, again reminding Delgado that he was vulnerable, and after staring at the fat cashier for a full minute, he breathed in deeply and exhaled. He could do this, it was just a minor annoyance. He could get through this without drawing attention to himself.

Delgado backed away from the door, fingers gripped tightly around the book, though the woman did not relax her grip on the weapon she carried. Gathering his composure, Price backed around to the front of the checkout counter and placed the book gently on the glass tabletop. He then slid his arm into his cloak's sleeve and pulled out a thick coin made out of gold, dropping it on the counter before her with a loud clatter. "Will this suffice?" he hissed, his solid-black eyes squinting furiously at her, almost in the hope that he could will her to keel over dead without him uttering an incantation.

The lady picked up the coin, but to Delgado's annoyance she didn't seem in the least bit impressed by it. The coin was newly minted, with a magical beast emblazoned upon it and a serial number carved along its outer rim. The top of the coin quoted One Galleon. Squeezing the coin between her beefy fingers, the lady put the coin back on the counter and asked, "What's this s'posda be?"

Delgado's heart skipped a beat. He looked at the coin nervously, then put his finger to his mouth, thinking pensively. Wizard money, he thought to himself, All I have is wizard money! It was a little bit of a predicament he was in, for the man remembered he carried no Muggle money on him at all. Muggles used scraps of paper with pictures of their leaders on it as currency, and any coins they used were made out of worthless alloy-metals. But surely a pure-gold coin like a galleon would impress the fat lady enough...

The woman continued to look at Delgado annoyedly.

"Madam," he said through clenched teeth, trying as best he could to be civil and failing admirably, "this is money. I wish to purchase this book."

"Money?" She looked at the coin again, then sat back in her creaky wooden chair, gun still held precariously, and returned his look of annoyance. "American currency only."

Delgado bent over the counter, patience already worn dangerously thin. "This is GOLD, madam, it's obviously worth the price of this tattered little book." He spat slightly as he emphasized his words. "I suggest you take it."

"I don' like yer tone, fella," she responded, obviously not intimidated by him at all. "Five dollars, American. You don' like it, you go somewhar else."

For a moment Delgado glanced back at the door, then at the weapon in the woman's possession. All he'd need is to be outside and he could Apparate home before the Ministry of Magic could stop him; perhaps he could dodge her fire, or the wound he'd receive might be light enough that it wouldn't impede his escape. Thoughts of escape quickly faded though : as he noted before, the store was tiny, there would be no way he could dodge her in any real sense. And he had come too far to lose everything at the end of a fat woman's muzzle. As he looked back at her, he could see the woman knew what he was considering, and decided he had better play her game or he'd never return home with his prize.

"Perhaps, a trade?" he suggested, trying to force a smile on his face, as he remained bent over the glass counter.

"Whatcha got?" the woman responded flatly, gun still poised at the ready.

Slowly putting his right hand in his black cloak and raising his left hand in the air non-threateningly, he pulled out a small, leather bag held together by a gold-wire drawstring. As he tugged gently on the wire it unraveled itself as though it were cloth cord, returning to its bent, wiry form when it had completed opening. Lifting the bag, Delgado poured a handful of shiny gemstones of various shapes and colors onto the glass countertop. Opals, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, even some gemstones that gleamed with inner light and fire, poured into a pile the size of a grapefruit in front of the woman.

Again, to the thin man's dismay, the fat woman did not look even remotely impressed. Delgado's mouth began to hang agape as he wondered what the problem was, when the woman answered that question for him.

"We got enough costume jewelry, havin' enough trouble offloadin' what I got already." With that, she motioned at the glass table with her gun before returning its aim to its original target.

Within the glass counter were all sorts of gems of various colors. A single glance and Delgado could tell every one of them were glass fakes.

"I can assure you, madam," he said with increasing rage, "these are quite real. If you could just look - "

"Don' need any costume jewelry," she interrupted matter-of-factly, "That stuff's real then ya oughta have five bucks on ya. I ain't no fool."

Delgado immediately felt heady and dizzy, like he was going to suffocate for lack of air all of a sudden, and ran his hand against his face, frustrated beyond all comprehension. He was finding himself in a more murderous mood than usual, and was beginning to feel nauseous at what should have been the easiest of all his quests for the book. His patience long gone, he slammed his hands down on the table, scattering the gemstones everywhere, and snarled at the woman, "It is just a book, you miserable cow! Take the gems and let me pass!"

"What did you call me, you stringy beanpole?" she hissed back, an equally murderous glare suddenly shooting from her own puffy eyes. Apparently Delgado had just pushed one button too many, but at this point he couldn't have cared less.

Shoving the remaining gems on the counter back over the edge and onto the woman's thick lap, he moved his face forward at her, now ignoring the two wide barrels of the gun, and any composure he had was gone. Tinkling almost musically, the gems sprayed all over the carpeting, under the woman's chair and under the counter. "Take them! Take them all! You could buy ten castles with this one gem alone!" he shouted, pointing at the woman's thick, puffy feet where a marble-sized black gemstone glistened with what appeared to be a small constellation inside of it. "That book, it's worthless to a rotten Muggle like yourself!!"

"Git outta my store!" she growled fiercely in response, dropping her magazine and putting both hands on the weapon.

"I'm taking that book!" he replied furiously.

"I said GIT OUT!" she yelled back.

"Not without that book!" he screamed, now almost hoarse, black eyes smoldering as he stared furiously at her, and in a wild and feral manner he snatched his arm at the book, prepared to make a mad dash for the door and take his chances with the store owner.

Instead, his hand hit empty glass.

For a moment, the store went dead silent to him. The woman was straightening up in her chair slowly, but his attention was no longer on her. Delgado looked at where his hand had flung, and to his shock, there was nothing there. Everything was happening in slow motion to him now, and he desperately scanned the counter to see where the book was.

Nothing.

A sudden, unstoppable wave of panic swept over him. His fingers went numb and his guts twisted into a fierce knot. It was all happening so slowly and yet everything was falling apart so fast. Where was the book? WHERE???

Then, as he whirled around swiftly, seeing if the book had perhaps fallen off the counter during his angry tirade with the woman, he saw it.

Blackish-red leather, opened wide, gold-trim pages glistening dully in the fluorescent light of the shop with a pair of small hands holding each side of the book. Behind the book was a small, confused face, a pair of green eyes scanning what was in front of her, slightly scowling at the pages trying to make sense of what she saw.

Delgado froze on the spot. The woman getting up with a deadly weapon, the Ministry of Magic, even the prospect of spending the rest of his long life in Azkaban... These were things that suddenly mattered nothing to the tall, pale man. Though the store had gone deathly silent, he flinched as he heard the rustle of paper and saw a page flip in the little girl's hand.

Then another. And another. And another.

She was skimming through, barely paying attention to what she was looking at.

And the sight of it was all it took. Delgado felt as though he was dying with every turn of the page, as the harsh realization that centuries of hunting were wasted, each flip of the page a sharp, painful reminder. Yet he was in so much shock it felt like an eternity before he could move, and in a sudden flash of unnatural speed, he twisted and grabbed for the book, trying to desperately stop her before she got any farther.

Time suddenly was moving normally for him, and Delgado had the book in his hands once again, a shocked little girl with strawberry-blonde hair looking through her hands at what used to be a book and was now a tall and foreboding man in all black, looking at her as though he was death incarnate.

The little girl's response to him as he turned the book in a panic to look into it himself : "What language was that written in? Was it Japanese? I'd like to learn Japanese some day," she said in a friendly manner.

But to Delgado's immeasurable dismay, there was no Japanese in the book. In fact, there was no writing of any sort in the book at all. Terror washed over him as he ignored the raving of the shop owner behind him, flipping through every page of the book maddeningly.

Empty. Next page. Empty. Next one. Empty. Next. Empty.

All the way from beginning to end, the book was completely devoid of any words. Delgado, suddenly numb, dropped the book out of his hands and to the ground, and if it had been possible his face would have gone even paler.

Maybe... maybe it hadn't been the book? Perhaps he had the wrong store, the book he was trying to purchase was just a look-alike, a copy, a bad coincidence?

... No. He could feel the aura of power that had radiated from it when he picked it out of the booth. And he could feel the power it carried, but it was no longer coming from the book.

He looked down, still numb in shock, and saw the confused face of the five-year old girl looking back at him. She had no idea what she had just done.

Behind the girl, a woman who looked enough like her to obviously be her mother was turning around, and saw the book on the ground, as well as the little girl's stare at the man and his shocked expression as he looked at the ceiling dully. She carried a small wicker basket in her arm with a variety of books and knick-knacks piled within it. "Angela!" she said reproachfully, an Okie accent escaping as she spoke, grabbing the little girl's arm, "don't take things I don't need off the counter."

Angela looked at her mother, then at the man, She wasn't sure what she did wrong, but whatever she had done had seriously distressed the man. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else she could do to help him feel better.

Slowly, fire began to creep back into Price Delgado's belly, but it was not one of triumph or pleasure like he had experienced before, the sensation that he felt he should have been experiencing at this moment. No, this time it was pure murderous intent. "You're sorry," he said, his voice sharp as glass, "You're... sorry." He bared his teeth as he talked, and the lights in the store began to flicker. "That book, my book... You read it. You sucked every page dry without even thinking...!" His eyes were wide with unequaled rage. The store began to tremble slightly, and Angela, now seeing this towering man come slowly at her, backed off and quickly scurried behind her mother.

The shopkeeper had apparently had enough and jammed her gun in his side, but as soon as she did Delgado flung his arm around and in one quick motion swatted the weapon across the store and into a potted plant in the shop corner.

"Centuries... CENTURIES of searching, and you RUINED it!" His voice was a scream now, and both Angela and her mother began to back off from the man. Across the store, glass trinkets here and there could be heard cracking, and then the glass countertop exploded, glass flying up and becoming embedded in the particleboard ceiling from the force. "AND! YOU'RE! SORRY??!!"

Delgado raised his arms, and suddenly green light began to fill his bony fingers. Winds began to whip around the room out of nowhere, and the contents of the store began to fling around wildly in midair. Weaponless, the store owner that was so cool and collected just moments before screamed and bolted out the door into the street, shouting for the police and waving her flabby arms about desperately. Angela and her mother backed against the wall, confused an terrified, their only route out now blocked by a man that was looking more and more monstrous with each passing second. "I'LL DESTROY YOU!!!" he shouted, spitting violently and fire beginning to pour from his eyes, which were now glowing like red-hot coals.

And with a deep and echoing resonance he began to chant. "AVADA-"

Before he could even finish saying whatever he was going to say, the door to the little shop flung open explosively and in the blink of an eye a troupe of humongous, viciously-spiked armor suits were inside, slamming Delgado to the ground violently and knocking over almost all the booths in the shop with the impact. Despite their enormous size, they had somehow made it through the small door with no trouble at all, though it had been so fast it was hard to say if they even used the door or it had just been the wind that flung it open. The green glow poured out of his hands into the floor as his spell flustered and dissipated, unfinished. One of the armored suits, which the little girl quickly noticed was empty yet moved with ferocious power, pulled what appeared to be a gray ball of Silly Putty out of nowhere and slapped it on Delgado's face. Immediately the putty spread out over his mouth and wrapped itself firmly all the way around his head, so all the could be heard from the man besides his desperate and crazed struggle was muffled screaming coming through his nose.

Roughly, the armors yanked Delgado up off the ground by his arms as he desperately tried to reach up and pull the putty off his face, but the grip of the armored behemoths was far too strong, and without even turning to face Angela and her mother, they headed for the door and brutally dragged him out, kicking and silently screaming. Angela saw that despite all his struggling, his eyes never left hers, a killing-gaze billowing within them.

As the suits of armor left with their new prisoner, a man stepped into the room. He was a tall and thin man with the first stages of balding beginning to creep along his fiery red hair. Green robes flowed around him as he walked, though they were somewhat ragged looking, and a pair of small spectacles were perched upon his nose.

"Tsk tsk tsk, what a mess," he said, surveying the damage to the shop with a genuinely disappointed look on his face. "So many interesting little trinkets, too." He bent down and picked up a broken lamp that had fallen off a table, a lamp that looked suspiciously like a woman's leg laced in stocking. He stood up, holding it curiously, trying to figure out exactly what was in his hands, and then giving up turned to Angela and her mother and presented it to them questioningly.

"I apologize if I'm a little ignorant here, but maybe you could tell me what this thing is?" he asked curiously. The two just stared back at him, shivering slightly and wide-eyed in shock, mouths hanging agape. The man, looking slightly disappointed that he wouldn't get an answer, placed the lamp back on the ground carefully and cleared his throat. "Ahem, my apologies," he said courteously in a British accent, "It's just I don't get a chance to see so many unique Muggle items in one place and, well... But, I digress," he said, bowing apologetically. "Right, I'm Arthur Weasley of the Ministry of Magic. I'm sorry about this whole instance, but I can assure you two ladies that this situation is being well taken-care of, and when we're done here you won't even worry your pretty heads over this incident another sec-"

Stopping in mid-sentence, Arthur Weasley caught a glimpse of the little leather-bound book that had fallen where Delgado had dropped it. "Ah, dear me, nasty piece of dark magic this is. How it floated around for so long I'll never know, I-"

As he bent down to pick up the book, he once again stopped in mid-sentence, and a sudden look of panic flooded over his face. Fearing this strange man might lose his temper like the last one, Angela and her mother back away again, nowhere to go except farther against the wall behind them. Angela was clinging tightly to her mother's leg.

Weasley, squinting carefully as though he was trying not to see what was on the pages, opened the book slightly, then after a moment more widely, until he desperately opened it completely, his eyes wide and open. The look of fear hadn't left his face.

"Oh dear," he whispered, "Oh dear oh dear oh dear..." He trailed off, repeating Oh dear to himself as he carefully flipped through the book. When he seemed satisfied (or perhaps dissatisfied) that he wouldn't find anything, he closed the book carefully and returned his gaze to Angela. "Well," he said almost piteously with a worried look on his face, "I guess we can see what got Mr. Delgado so upset."

Twenty minutes had passed, Angela and her mother still inside the shop looking nervously about, remaining silent. Mr. Weasley had told them to stay put for a moment, which they weren't about to challenge given the two large armored suits that now stood outside the doorway like immobile guards. He had then left, but not before pulling what appeared to be a long silver lamp with a small opal-like gemstone on the end that glowed softly in beats and placing it in front of the shop. Angela noticed that everyone who walked by the decimated shop and the steel guardians didn't even glance at them, as though they didn't realize they were there.

Eventually, Mr. Weasley returned with a small, portly man in a pinstriped cloak wearing a bowler hat. The man casually walked into the shop holding the book Mr. Weasley had picked up moments before, and, removing his hat, walked up to the girls. Angela, still clinging to her mom's leg, looked at the new man carefully, and he regarded her with the same interest. "This is the girl, you say?" he asked Mr. Weasley, also in a British accent.

"Afraid so, Deputy Fudge," Weasley responded. The two exchanged worried glances at her.

Angela's mother finally spoke up. "What's going on here??" she asked wildly, shooting piercing gazes at the two men and grasping onto Angela as though she would float away with the next stiff breeze.

"Permit me to introduce myself, madam. I am Cornelius Fudge, deputy head of the Ministry of Magic, and this is my employee Arthur Weasley, who heads up Muggle affairs." Weasley blanched slightly as being referred to as nothing but an employee, while Deputy-Minister Fudge continued. "It seems your daughter (she is your daughter, I am assuming) has gotten herself into quite a predicament," he said, waving the leather book around, though gently as though he was being careful with it, "as she has inadvertently read the Book of Black." He shook his head again, growing more and more distressed as he thought about it. "Oh, this is quite a predicament..." Weasley nodded in agreement.

"What? What in the world are you talking about?!" Angela's mother shouted, almost in hysterics, "Who the heck are you people? What just happened in here??"

In a very businesslike manner, the minister reached into his robe and pulled out a long shaft of highly-polished wood, some sort of wand, and held it up in front of himself, directing his gaze on the two girls.

"I'm afraid I can't really get into specifics regarding it. Not at this moment, I am sorry to say," he said, "But we will be in touch with you not too long into the future. Just beware," he added, directing his gaze specifically at the mother, "your daughter is probably the most dangerous being on the planet at the moment.

"Obliviate!" he tacked on with a quick whirl of his wand, and a sudden bright flash of red light enveloped the whole room.

And then almost immediately, Angela and her mother were wondering why they were backed against a wall in the antique shop. The fat cashier gave them a quick glance as she looked up from her magazine, sitting casually behind the counter (which seemed to be cleaner than usual), and then returned to reading. Angela's mother scratched her head confusedly and then shrugged it off and picked up her basket filled with the usual junk she'd buy from these places, placing it on the counter as the cashier began to ring her up.

And Angela, also slightly confused, decided to instead return to seeing if there were any good dolls or books that she may have missed when they had first come in...

Books... The little girl squinted a moment, like a book was suddenly on her mind but she couldn't place how or why, some small leather-bound book with gold trim and no pictures inside, just a lot of strange, scribbly words and patterns that kept disappearing as she looked at them. Her head began to hurt a little, and she decided she wasn't interested in looking at dolls or books, she just wanted to lie down and rest.

And with that, Angela and her mother stepped out of the small shop and continued their day together, while across the street stood two men in long robes who watched the little girl carefully and with great trepidation.

"Send an owl to Dumbledore," said Fudge, his forehead scrunched and his lips pursed, "Judging from her age, it'll be about six years before she'll be able to start school. We want to make sure to be prepared."

Weasley nodded, still watching the girl, and in the blink of an eye they were gone.