Ancient Prophesy

Chapter Four

When daytime and nighttime are equal, when sun is at greatest and least,
The four lesser Sabbats are summoned, again Witches gather in feast.

A predawn light filtered through the curtains partially drawn around Raven’s bed. Even that low light felt like a blinding ray to her throbbing head. When she could focus again, she found herself lying on her left side, right arm wrapped and gently resting on a pillow next to her. Her body ached as though—well—she had never hurt like this before and was not quite sure why she hurt at all. Her brain seemed to be in slow motion and—she really had to pee.

Sitting up in the bed next to her, books and papers scattered around him, Raven saw a young man who she struggled to remember. He was reading intently from a large leather bound book and twirling a small quill between two fingers. Raven noted that there were no lamps anywhere; he was reading by light cast from wall sconces aglow with flame.

“Please tell me I’m still in the 21^st century, because I really don’t want to use a bed pan right now.”

Harry looked up with a start and flashed a knowing grin at her.

“Good morning,” he spoke quietly.

Raven slowly looked around. “Morning— yes. Good—well I’m still, ah—here? And my head feels like it split in two. Not my definition of good.”

“I know the feeling.” He spoke softly again, his hand reaching up unconsciously to touch his forehead. “Seems like I’m in here a lot for that.”

He smiled reflectively and Raven found herself strangely drawn into it. A smile of an old soul, her mother would say.

Mother! Suddenly last night’s events clicked into place as the memories rushed forth. Sitting up quickly, clutching the covers tightly to her body, Raven struggled to stand up, her voice rising alarmingly.

“Where are my clothes?” Raven asked, as she kicked out her legs, which were tangled in the spill of covers. “I’ve got to get out of here—the painting—above the fireplace—who is she?” The words all came tumbling out in a breathless rush, and as she looked frantically about her, the room began to spin.

Harry watched her with a mix of humor and concern on his face. “You need to slow down and—” But before he could finish, he found himself jumping from his bed to catch the unsteady tangle of blankets, legs and Raven.

For the second time, his arm found her bare back as he supported her weight while she regained her footing. She pushed back from him, but he held her tight with an ease of strength that unsettled her.

“Please, let me go.” She spoke more forcefully than she felt, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Not if you’re going to fall. One concussion a week is Madam Pomfrey’s limit around here.” He smiled at her again. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m not going to let you go tearing off again either. Snape will kill you. The last time I saw him this angry I’d just screwed him out of the Order of Merlin First Class.”

His gaze held hers the whole time he spoke, and Raven found herself again drawn into their lipid green depths. She blinked to break the hold they held over her, and asked him again as calmly as her beating heart would allow to release her. Under different circumstances she might choose to stay in his arms all day like this, but she felt uncharacteristically frightened and vulnerable.

“My name’s Harry—and you are?” he spoke, as he scooped her up, blankets and all, and deposited her lightly on the bed.

“Raven—Raven Klause.”

“Claws? Like grrr, animal?” He looked puzzled.

“No, like Santa Clause with a K.”

“Oh,” was all he said. But Raven could tell he was still puzzled for some reason. He turned to the table next to her, and with one word and a tap of a wand he pulled from nowhere, Raven watched with disbelief as he handed her a now steaming goblet of liquid.

“You need to drink this. We couldn’t wake you earlier, and Madam Pomfrey is quite beside herself. Um—sorry about—no dressing gown.” He looked away as she took the drink. “But Madam Pomfrey had a poultice on you all night to heal some of the bruising. I’ll go get you a robe.”

Raven had not seen a man blush in a long time, and she felt sorry for causing him any discomfort. “Thank you,” she responded quietly, quite certain that she felt a rush of heat through her cheeks as well. Why she would blush she didn’t know. Modesty flew out the window in the theatrical world, and Raven had been in enough productions to accept that nudity was nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, coed dressing rooms could be fun! But this young man unsettled her and she was uncertain as to why.

Looking down into the goblet to hide her own blush, Raven inhaled the fumes and grimaced. She knew it was black tea—Lapsang Souchong—the unmistakable smoky fragrance could not be anything else. Why anyone would choose Lapsang as a medicinal base was beyond her. Well, she remembered drinking some last night; they wouldn’t bother to fix her up only to poison her later, would they?

She had no idea who these people were or where she was, but—somehow the words spoken to her last night by both Harry and the man they called Headmaster Dumbledore reassured her: I promise you no harm will come to you from anyone in this room. But the visions of the day before vexed her; the dizzying speed, the venomous hatred with which the tall, lean man had pursued her; he had blended this tea and Raven realized with a start that he was not in the room at the time Dumbledore swore to her safety.

“I’m sure it tastes as bad as it smells, most potions do if they are any good at all.” Headmaster Dumbledore stood at the foot of her bed looking over half-moon spectacles as if he had read her mind.

The morning light now filtered fully through the windows and framed the stately image of Albus Dumbledore. His hands were folded into the sleeves of his starry robe, and his long, white beard glowed like corn silk in the golden rays of the morning sun. Every fairytale story of castles, bold knights and good magicians that had been told to her as a child could be summed up in the vision of this one man. Raven drank her tea.

“ARRGH! Someone needs to teach that man how to brew herbs that taste better than this.” She swallowed again, draining the cup to a snicker of laughter from Madam Pomfrey and Harry, who had just arrived with a bed gown in hand.

“Yes, I’ve tried to tell him that for years, but to no avail.” Spoke Dumbledore.

“Well to start, he needs to stop using Lapsang; Oolong is a much better choice. He used Digitalis and Echinacea. Both those flowers mix much better with Orange Pekoe but I suspect the Eupatorium—Mum called it bone set—would cancel out the milder taste. Do you know why,” she looked quizzically at Madam Pomfrey who was staring down at her in disbelief, “he used Dicentra and Pulmonaria? Unless I’ve broken ribs in my back and he was afraid I’d punctured a lung. Bleeding Heart and Lungwort are the botanical names, and both promote healing in the circulatory systems and increase circulation to injured tissue.”

This time it was Dumbledore’s turn to chuckle. “My dear, while I have no doubt now that your mother’s love for botanicals has clearly found a home in you, Professor Snape will never change the way he brews potions, whether you’re Ezmarelda’s daughter or not.”

This time it was Raven’s turn to stare in disbelief. “I told Harry my name, but not my mother’s. Can I assume, then, that she knew you?”

“Yes, she was a student here.” He paused reflectively, looking wistfully inward. “I know your mother’s name very well; however, I’ve as yet to speak with Harry this morning, so I would be pleased to learn your name too.”

“Raven Klause—K-L-A-U-S-E.” Harry spelled it out for him and gave Professor Dumbledore a quizzical smile that Raven could not help but notice.

In a tone that was no longer pleasant, Raven spoke out forcefully to the trio around her. “Well, then, everyone has me at a distinct disadvantage; because I may know your names, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t even know how in the name of Hades I got here! So unless someone starts explaining things to me soon, I’ll just have to embarrass both myself and Harry again and attempt to leave, with or without the gown he’s holding!’

“I assure you I will answer as many questions as I am able,” said Dumbledore. He smiled down at her calmly, but Raven could see there was more truth to be spoken here. “I must first ask you some questions though. Please allow Madam Pomfrey to assist you in dressing. And Harry,” he paused. “I’m sure you would love to stretch your legs. Would you see to getting Raven and myself some breakfast? Tea and toast I think; scones would be too heavy right now. The House Elves should just be getting things started fresh.” He looked at Raven as if seeing someone else and spoke again. “Your mother liked honey with her tea, can I assume that’s acceptable for you as well?”

Nodding her head yes, she looked at Harry. “Bring the whole tea pot, please. I think I’m going to need it.”

Harry looked between the two questioningly, but kept his thoughts to himself. Dumbledore knew this woman. Harry had no doubts on that fact. He could also clearly tell that something was troubling the Headmaster, but what? Dumbledore could summon tea with a flick of his wrist. Harry turned quietly away from them and reflected on it as he left for the kitchens.

Madam Pomfrey pulled the curtain closed with a billowing snap and, looking angry, handed Raven a bedpan. “Tea and toast! You need rest, not a breakfast date with the Headmaster!” Raven returned the grimace.

Picking up a small jar of purple ointment, Madam Pomfrey scowled to herself as she applied it expertly to the gash on Raven’s forehead. It stung, and Raven winced as Madam Pomfrey applied a dressing pad and secured it in place, mumbling to herself the whole time about the dangers of late.

“St. Mungo’s Hospital sees less action than I do, thanks to Professor Snape. His first- years are here more times than I can count. I think he lets them blow each other up just to make my job more difficult.”

Raven was unsure whether Madam Pomfrey was talking to herself or not. Regardless, Raven had a vulgar comment about the man they called Professor Snape, but did not have a chance to voice it. The green stuff being applied to her back distracted her, and she was startled that she knew what it was.

“Mum makes this for the sports masseuse at the Meadow Lands. It’s the only thing that he’ll use on the Giants after a bad bruise or sprain.”

Madam Pomfrey stopped applying the Potentilla Poultice and looked with disbelief and shock at Raven.

“Why would anyone want to put a poultice on a giant? Even if you could get close enough to one, most likely they would just kill you anyway.”

Raven just stared at her.

A chuckle came from outside the curtain and, to Madam Pomfrey’s annoyance, Raven leaned forward and peeked around. “We’re talking apples and oranges aren’t we?” she asked with curiosity. “Because if not, then—”

Professor Dumbledore held up his hand to stop her. “Poppy dear, I believe she refers to an American sports team,” he raised his eyebrows in a knowing arch. “—not what we know as giants.”

“Sir, please, where am I?” Raven asked. “Because—well—look, you two are talking giants as in fairy tales, and though I’ve never been in a castle, I’m quite sure this is the real thing. Now, unless you’re planning on shouting abracadabra and then waving a wand at me to send me home, I need some answers. Then, I need to get home, because Roy will be worried to death that I’ve disappeared again.” This came out in a rush as Madam Pomfrey pulled her back behind the curtain, forcing a dressing gown over her head and handing her a robe.

“I’m certain your mother will be just as worried when she learns where you are.” He spoke not to her, but down towards his steepled fingers, as if unsure of how much his face would reveal.

“My mother was found dead on the floor of our shop three weeks ago. Now I’m looking for the answers by myself—answers she would never give me. Instead I found only more questions, and a raving lunatic that almost killed me. I simply want the truth about my mother, and about myself”

“Alas, I too wish for the simplicity you speak of, but by no means can I give you that.” He sounded worried, or maybe just tired; either way she didn’t like the answer.

“Well then, start at the beginning because that’s simple enough, isn’t it? I don’t want to sound disrespectful, sir; but I hurt, I’m afraid, and I have a gut feeling that what you’re avoiding telling me is the same thing my mother’s avoided telling me for the last 19 years of my life!”

Raven emerged from behind the curtain, standing as tall as she could. She had opened that trunk for answers, and answers she would have. Her knees were weak and her head ached, but she looked Professor Dumbledore square in the eye, daring him to deny her the answers she sought.

“The beginning is over a thousand years ago,” Dumbledore said evenly.

“Then start with that painting over the fireplace; who is she?”

“Come, walk with me, and we will help each other figure out where this story starts, and where it will end.” He looped his arm gently through hers, and guided her toward the door at the end of the ward. His pace was slow, but Raven suspected this was not for his sake but for hers.

The door to the ward shut slowly behind them, blocking out the aggravated remarks coming from Madam Pomfrey. Clearly she felt Raven should not go for a stroll so soon into her recovery. Dumbledore—in an obvious attempt to drown out the disparaging remarks filtering through the door about her lack of authority in the care of her patients— hummed a tuneful little ditty. Raven looked sideways at Dumbledore, and felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Ah, at last, a glimmer of a smile on that face of yours.” He spoke with quiet laughter energizing the air around him. “Hogwarts needs more laughter right now.”

“Hogwarts? Sounds to me like we have found a place to start.” Raven continued to look at him, head tilted and eyebrows arched in challenge, awaiting an answer.

With a grand sweep of his gracefully aged hands, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore turned to her an announced, “Welcome, Miss Ravenclaw, to your ancestral home: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

A look of puzzlement came over Raven’s face. “My name is Raven Klause, not Ravenclaw.” Raven said. But her voice was far from convincing. In fact, she was starting to sound as uncertain as she felt. Visions from the night before burned images into her brain. The painting of over the fireplace. The brass nameplate. Rowena Ravenclaw. Her mother’s face. Puzzlement turned to a shocked look of understanding as the first piece of her history fell into place.

“And if you mother saw to your education like I believe she did, you’ll be able to tell me what a Hogwarts is.”

The shock turned to a smile as she replied. “A Hogwarts is a type of lily, and a very majestic one at that.” A wistful glaze touched her eyes; she no longer saw Dumbledore while she spoke, but rather memories of a child and mother hand-in-hand. “Mum would take us to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. I think the Hogwarts was the first flower I knew by genus name-- Liliaceae. Two hundred species and she could name them all. Hogwarts was her favorite; now I know why.”

She felt tears well up and she blinked the vision away. Dumbledore continued with a knowing look. “You, Raven, are the last living descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Over a thousand years ago, the four greatest witches and wizards of the age shared a dream: to create a school where young people of the wizarding world could study and be trained in the magical arts they needed to become skilled, fully-trained wizards. These four great wizards and witches each founded one of the houses of the school that they worked together to create.”

They continued on in silence for a moment, while Raven absorbed this first piece of information. When she paused again, she felt her stomach tighten with the inability to put into words what she wanted to say. And she always had something to say. Turning and looking at Dumbledore again, Raven spoke slowly, as though the words about to come out of her mouth would somehow be lost in the translation from her brain. But nothing brilliant came out. In fact, it sounded quite stupid: “My—mother—was—a witch?”

He raised his silver brow and chuckled at her. “Not just any witch, my dear. Your mother was a Ravenclaw, and a brilliant one at that. Rowena Ravenclaw sought out students of sharp wit, with a strong desire to learn. Your mother lived up to the family name.” He paused here as if uncertain how next to proceed. “While she was a student, we felt it best to conceal her ancestry. Many people would be uncomfortable with the revelation, and Ezmarelda wanted a chance to be herself, just as any young woman would.”

They reached the top of a wide marble staircase leading down to the enormous double oak doors of the Entrance Hall. Raven recognized them as the ones she had tried to escape through the day before. The large cavernous room, lit by torches and morning sun, greeted her like a fairytale picture. The ceiling, so high that she could barley see to the top, should not exist in the reality of any architecture she knew.

A cluster of black-robed students emerged from stairs below and to her right; stairs to the dungeon of the Lunatic. She reminded herself to avoid that stairwell at all costs. Double doors to the right led into the Great Hall, and the smell of bacon caused her stomach to rumble with protest at the lack of food.

Her stomach made her uncomfortable, but not as much as the stares cast in her direction. More students filtered down from a staircase to the left, with crests on their robes reading Hufflepuff.

They spoke “Good morning, Headmaster,” to Dumbledore several times, and in Raven’s opinion appeared quite nervous at her presence.

“I must look like death warmed over, with the way they’re staring at me.” Raven lifted her wrapped arm, touched the bandage on her head and winced. She felt she’d about reached the limits of her energy, and her bare feet were feeling very cold on the smooth stone floor.

To her great surprise, Dumbledore addressed just that fact. “Nothing makes me feel better than a hot cup of tea and a warm pair of socks. It’s time I got you both.” With that, he linked a supporting arm around her waist, and headed to another staircase to their left.