Ancient Prophesy

Chapter Nine

For two are the mystical pillars, that stand at the gate of the shrine,
And two are the powers of Nature, the forms and the forces divine.

Harry did not know what the relationship between Raven and Roy entailed, but he could tell from Raven's end of the conversation that Roy wanted to reach through the phone line and strangle her. Doing her best to assure him of her safety, she begged him not to tell anyone where she was and convinced him to mail her the requested items from home to an address provided to them by Professor Lupin. Harry listened as Raven calmly explained what she could. Her story had been a half-truth, for they were going in search of information on her birth; she just left out the true reason why. Roy had run Cedarwood and Sage in her absence and promised immediately to transfer funds to the bank Ezmarelda had used for transactions with Elizabeth O’Connor. With any luck, she would then be able to retrieve the money with Mrs. O’Connor's assistance. Swearing her undying love and loyalty for his help and silence, she had bid him goodbye and breathed a great sigh of relief as she hung up the phone.

Harry told her repeatedly not to worry about the money, but she insisted she would pay him back for everything he purchased for her. And purchase they did. For the rest of the afternoon they played tourist. Whether national treasure or a shopping attraction, Raven made sure he saw it. He had to admit Big Ben and London Bridge were impressive. Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abby both paled in comparison with Hogwarts, but for Muggle structures they held up quite well. Even shopping for clothes in Harrod's turned into a treat.

Living in Dudley's old things for years, or the few jumpers Mrs. Weasley provided for him, had left him desperate for decent clothes to teach in. Raven made it her personal mission to ‘professorize’ him as she called it, and in the end he had to admit he didn't look half bad. Several pair of trousers and a multitude of rich earth-tone shirts later, he walked down Portabella Road feeling better about himself than he had in years. Raven had changed into a tailored shift-dress of light blue with a matching sweater thrown over her shoulders. Keenly aware of what she wore before—nothing, a hospital gown, and in her words, garb of a call girl from the south side--he had done his best to avoid looking right at her. Dressed in this simple elegant style, he now found himself unable to stop looking at her. An evening breeze rippled her hair, causing it to shimmer in the glow of the evening sun, her smile glowing even brighter.

“Harry, I can't believe the time I've had today. Mum and I argued for years about me coming to Europe to study. I never understood her refusal to even consider it until now,” she admitted sadly, tucking back a blowing lock of hair. As they continued to stroll down the street she bumped his shoulder with hers in a friendly gesture and tried to hide the aching look that had slipped into her eyes. “I haven't thanked you for everything you've done for me these last few days. You've been a wonderful friend.”

“What term did Fredrick use, the slave of duty? Besides,” he said, bumping her back, “I should be thanking you. I don't remember the last time I did something just for the fun of it.”

Her mouth twitched as she tried to be serious. “And your idea of fun was making that mummy in the museum sit up and scare the life out of those poor people. The guard was furious with you. How did you know he was a wizard?”

“Bill, that's Weasley brother number one, works in Egypt as a curse breaker. Gathers all sorts of treasures for Gringott's Bank. He took the lot of us on a personal tour of the British Museum's Egyptian exhibit just before the start of school last summer. They had a couple of crates come in with some nasty curses attached to them and Bill was called in to open them up. He showed me that spell. The wizards of Egypt used it all the time to scare away tomb robbers.”

“The Weasleys sound like a wonderful family. Ron behaves like a big prat though. Is he always like that?”

“No, not really. He gets worked up and lets his temper get the best of him, but you couldn't ask for a better mate.”

“You two are really close aren't you?” She asked

Too close, Harry thought, but simply answered, “Yes.” They were in a middle of a war together and Ron was as big a target as himself. It was because of him that the entire Weasley family was a target now. He hated it. Filaments of conversation drifted in and out of his memory—Charlie's voice, Sirius growling back in response, Ron refusing to hear reason, Hermione's sobbing pleas at all of them to hush.

“They tortured you once, Ron, they won't let you live to escape again! Don't you get it man; they know you. You step one foot on Malfoy's property and your dead. He'll have to deal with Hagrid's death when he wakes, do you want him responsible for yours too?”

“Charlie, it's my job. Whether anyone likes it or not, I'm an Auror. You fight using your dragons, I fight using my wand!”

“And I've got a hell of a lot more training than you do, you pigheaded lout. Will you listen to me!

“Charlie you have no idea what Harry and I have seen and done because of Voldemort…”

“No, Ron that's where your wrong—it's because of Harry you've had to see it!”

Charlie was right. Something as simple as a stroll down the streets of London put him and everyone with him in danger. He looked around, the delight of the evening fading with the sun.

“I'm sorry if I've said something I shouldn't have,” Raven said quietly. “Remember, I'm good at reading faces and yours just told me a whole lot.” She smiled kindly at him and continued. “At least Mum managed to hide for the last 20 years, you've been right out here in the open haven't you?”

“Until recently, no.” He gave a short, cynical laugh. “The problem is Voldemort's got lousy aim—keeps killing everyone around me.”

“Hmm…in that case I hope you're a good teacher.”

At this he stopped walking and turned to face her. The last traces of the evening sun kissed her face with a blood red glow, chilling him to his core. She smiled a wicked grin that he knew wasn't hers and spoke in a low black-velvet voice, “you better show me all you can, because I don't plan on getting killed.”

~*~

The setting sun led to thoughts of dinner and home. Heading back to the Leaky Caldron for the return trip to Hogwarts, they found themselves drawn into a small street café by the sounds of music drifting with the evening mist. The food was delicious, the conversation lively, and by the end of the first set each felt they knew the other a great deal better. Brought together by circumstances neither controlled, the newly forged friendship gave stability to an otherwise chaotic few days. Neither of them wanting the evening to end, they strolled slowly back to the Cauldron, finding it almost deserted of patrons.

Raven knew she had no desire to return to Hogwarts in the conditions she was in. A full stomach and a head light from wine, she was afraid the results would be disastrous if she were to travel by Floo.

“There's no sense arguing with me, Harry. I have no desire to go back tonight just to throw up a beautiful dinner and flop onto a narrow hospital cot. And you know if you make me step into the fireplace now that's exactly what will happen! I'll even pay for your room,” she added for good measure lest he get the wrong impression of her intentions.

“For the last time, stop worrying about money. I'm worried about your safety here.”

“There's almost no one around. Tom said he has no guests for the night and I'm so wound up I'm not ready to sleep yet. Let's stay. Besides we'll get an early start for Ravenglass in the morning. The concierge at the Savoy can handle renting a car for us. Your money and ID—my driving skills,” at this she winked, “and we'll be there by mid-afternoon.” She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet like a small child begging for her hearts desire. “Oh, please Harry, nothing will happen.”

“How am I supposed to say no to you?” He said with a glint of amusement.

“You can't,” she replied sounding quite sure of herself.

Raven followed Harry and Tom the innkeeper up the handsome wooden staircase to their rooms. Handing them keys to the brass numbered doors he told them not to hesitate to ask for anything, bowed and left.

“Raven grinned and dangled the key labeled 13 in the air. “Good thing I'm not superstitious,” she remarked casually.

“Give it time—you will be.”

Bidding him goodnight, she stepped into her room and closed the door on a nervous looking Harry. Inside was a very comfortable looking bed. The headboard, made of highly polished oak, glowed amber in the light of a cheerfully crackling fire. A small dressing table sat across from a wardrobe whose mirrored door reflected the firelight splashing the room in wavering light. Washing up and changing into a simple tea shirt and shorts, she picked up the satchel of Ministry documents Harry had left with her to look over. Sitting on the bed, she began flipping through the thick sheets of parchment, wishing all the while for a reading light.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” she remarked to no one in particular. “I can't read a thing like this.” Gathering the papers together she threw a sweater over her shoulders and headed downstairs.

~*~

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Severus sighed deeply and allowed his stiff shoulders to slump forward. The long day had turned into an even longer evening, and he looked forward to the relaxation his private chamber afforded him. Summoned early to an emergency staff meeting he dreaded attending, he had looked for an excuse to beg out of it. Feeling like he would rather face a summons from Voldemort than try to face Dumbledore stone faced and steady, he had walked as slowly as possible, stopping at every opportunity that availed itself. Transgressions, imagined or real, brought students swift punishment with subtracted house points or detention. By the time he arrived twenty minutes late, he had three students cleaning, two grating buzzard talons, and had subtracted a total of 45 points from three houses, including his own.

Not bad for a mornings work, he reflected, but not good enough to cause him to miss the meeting. He was correct in his assumption that it was about Raven. What he hadn't counted on was her becoming his problem. He was too disturbed with the thought to be able to sit calmly; it was rare that anything upset him this thoroughly. He paced back and forth in the tiny staff room, all the while wishing Dumbledore would just blurt out for all to know who and what Raven really was. It would certainly save him the trouble of admitting it. But the revelation never came. Actually, the only comment directed at him had been by Minerva, who told him in no uncertain terms that his pacing was driving her mad and to sit down before she turned him into something she could step on, thus putting them all out of their misery. Smirking back at her he settled in the only chair available—to the left of Dumbledore. Saying a silent prayer to St. Michael to come and slay him quickly, he sat in brooding silence while the staff discussed the best way to train Raven.

Dumbledore informed them that Raven was the daughter of Ezmarelda Ravenclaw but as yet untrained as a witch; the other instructors agreed to help where they could. They now knew who she was—almost, but not what she was. The largest burden of her training, as his so-called Apprentice, fell to him. Just what he needed, a 19-year-old first year underfoot who thought she knew the art of potion making.

Questions of how Ezmarelda had escaped and survived all these years went unanswered, for truthfully Dumbledore had no answers for them. Severus had his own questions, but bit them back, for no one here could answer them either.

“There's liability in training her and there's liability in Voldemort discovering who she is,” he told the headmaster after everyone had left the room.

“There is far more liability in her facing Voldemort untrained and unable to defend herself,” Dumbledore told him, closing the matter completely.

Not only was he to play tutor but nursemaid as well. Guest quarters for Slytherin House were to serve as her private chambers. Located adjacent to his office through a secondary door, he had used the rooms as a private lab and retreat away from prying eyes. All proper furnishing had been removed ages ago to make way for workbenches and supplies. He had kept a small cot in the back to which he escaped occasionally while a potion necessitated a wait. Now this was to be her space and all equipment, supplies and papers needed relocating.

The House Elves stopped coming down to clean the rooms in this hall ages ago. Not that he would know anything about that. A small smirk surfaced quickly on his face. Completely fake, the pickled elf in a jar had worked its magic, ridding him of their constant interference with his work. That had meant cleaning the two chambers by him self. Cleaning and decorating a room for a nineteen year old American who just happened to be his daughter. It wasn't that he minded cleaning. Muggle-style housekeeping lent itself to a quiet satisfaction he enjoyed; the energy expended soothed his raw nerves. But the job had taken the rest of the day, putting him behind on another project that needed to be finished at the proper time, lest a week's worth of work go to waste.

If he had to say so, however, he had out done himself in the rooms preparation and looked perversely forward to her reaction to it. The slate floor, cleaned and polished, was now warm from the roaring fire in the hearth. A wool throw rug, woven in a scene of a forest hunt, had been laid beside the carved Mahogany bed to keep her feet warm from the early morning chill. One borrowed pair of socks would hardly keep her feet warm this winter. He had managed to locate several satin sheets and a down quilt left in storage due to the unfortunate accident of a previous instructor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Their rich wine color had pleased him, and as he had made the bed he silently thanked the fates that they were not lilac or fuchsia.

Commandeering the old wardrobe in the staff room, he had made two fifth year Slytherin boys remove the Boggart from inside and haul the piece down to the dungeons for him. The Boggart, he instructed them, was to be placed in Potter's office; after all he was the new Dark Arts teacher.

Placing several magical wards on the lock of the door that lead to his private office, he had left through the main entrance to what was now Raven's apartment and had headed to the classroom to finish the Wolfsbane potion and await her arrival.

That had been three hours ago. Now with the time approaching midnight he cursed himself for the effort he'd spent on her. He had just left Dumbledore's office to express his concern that Raven had yet to return from London.

“Not to worry, Severus, they're staying at the Cauldron tonight. Harry just talked with me a moment ago. They want to get an early start to Ravenglass and felt there was no reason to return here tonight.”

“No reason! Headmaster you know as well as I that there is every reason for them to be back here.”

“Severus, if they can gather any information from Elizabeth O’Connor that will assist us with filling in the missing pieces of Raven's past, then the risk will be worth it. Any chance given to us, any information that will tell us of Voldemort's plans are necessary if we hope to defeat him.”

Stretching again to ease the knots in his shoulders, he cursed himself for his cowardice, cursed Raven for her existence, and cursed Dumbledore for not seeing. Reaching his door, he unlocked it with a curtly muttered word and a tap of his wand. Entering his personal chamber, he sat on the edge of his bed, removed a boot and hurled it across the room. Removing the second, he repeated the gesture and lay back in misery on his bed.

~*~

Amidst the darkness the Lady is stirring, gently awakening from frozen dreams. All the world has awaited this moment: the return of the Maiden, and Her promised the defeat of Voleur De Mort on coming Midsummer Night's Eve.

The French phrase among Helga's faded writing stopped her cold. Picking up the quill she had borrowed, she copied down the words voleur de mort on the parchment in front of her, a small shiver running through her as she did so. Voldemort. Helga's ‘thief of death’ could only be Voldemort.

She continued translating what she could reading the notations made by those before her who had also attempted the difficult job. Truly, she was a novice to this, but the last hour suddenly seemed worth her effort. Helga had actually used his name. How, Raven wondered, could a woman gone from the earth nearly a millennium before have done so?

She shuffled the papers before her, looking for the second paragraph of the journal page. Translated by someone else, Raven checked the original wording and changed the word ‘God’ to ‘blessed father’. Helga wasn't referring to a deity, she believed, but rather a man set apart or cursed. In Helga's time it was a common term of anger or frustration to call someone accursed and she was quite certain this was what Helga meant. Noting on her own parchment what she had changed, she smiled to herself at the thought of the blessed quill in her hand. Her chest shook with silent laughter at her own joke. Oh, for a pencil and a steno pad!

Dark her surroundings, and cold be the night. But by thy labor, blessed father, has reborn the Maiden and child. The most honored son shall return with the sunrise again, knowing Two will be One.

She smiled at her success, and reached for the mug of tea at the corner of the table. Realizing it was gone she looked up, startled to see a man standing next to her holding it.

“Smile like that more often,” he drawled, “it's really quite lovely.” Handing her a drink that looked suspiciously like something Roy would like, he sat down at the table and motioned to the barmaid to bring his drink over to them. A boisterous group of men had come in a few moments ago and Raven noted that he had been among them. The older of his companions appeared to be deep in conversation at a table in the back and the younger group had bellied up to the bar, giving the evening barmaid a rough time. Tom was nowhere to be seen and Raven realized ruefully she was the only other person in the room.

Well, worse men hit on her at home, and this one seemed so sure of himself she hated to be rude. Smiling again, she removed the frilly umbrella and sipped cautiously at the offered drink. Mai Tai—Blaha! Oh, she had to introduce this man to Roy for sure. Tall and self-assured, his Apollo features stood in stark relief against the backdrop of the glowing amber fire. His white-blond hair had turned honey-gold in the firelight and Raven noted his manner of dress spoke wealth. A black satin shirt and charcoal gray trousers coordinated with a tailed cloak, fastened at his throat by a silver dragon clasp, ruby eyes flashing.

“Thank you, but for a bedtime drink, the tea works fine.”

“It's far to early to go to bed, our celebration is just getting started.” He's eyes scanned the table appraising her and the work before her. “Tell me how such a lovely American found herself in such a lowly place as this.”

“You're here.” Raven shot back, brows raised in question. “And what makes you so sure I'm an American?” Casually she gathered up the pile of translations and graphs before her and placed them in the satchel by her feet.

“Your manner of dress for one, your speech as well.” He volunteered a note of smugness to his tone. “Hopefully a pleasure trip? I'd be delighted to show you better accommodations than these.”

I'm sure you would, Raven thought. Certainly sure of himself, Raven wondered whether to be charmed by him or cautious of his approach. Before she could respond either way, the group of men from the back approached. Two left through the front entrance but the third stopped at the table and addressed the man with her.

“My business is done here, Draco. Wallace and Goyle are returning tonight. All reports are in and we need to be at our best in the morning, come along.”

“In a moment, Father. I'll Apparate when my business is finished.”

With a scowl the older gentleman look down at him. “I expect you to be prepared for the meeting tomorrow.”

“As I always am. I said I'd join you when my business is finished.” Not even bothering to look up, his response was spoken to his father but his eyes remained on Raven. With a startling pop the man was gone, leaving behind the arrogant young man.

Cautious. Oh yes, she needed to be cautious with this one. “I'm sure I'll be just fine here, my companion has retired for the evening and I'm sure I should do the same.“

“But we haven't finished our drinks.” He held his long arm high in a toast, the colored liquid swirling with the motion. “To fathers,” he said sarcastically, throwing the last of the liquor down his throat.

She sipped again slowly at the sweet drink and shuttered as she swallowed. “To fathers, who ever they may be.”

“The drink is not to your pleasure, I take it? Allow me to order us something else? An American favorite perhaps.”

“I don't know about American but certainly my mother's—Glenfiddich.”

“Muggle mash?” He choked in distaste. “And Scottish no less. Are you trying to poison me?”

“Actually its Muggle malt scotch, and I like it just fine.”

“If I may improve on your suggestion?” With out waiting for her to answer he turned to the barmaid and in an authoritative voice ordered two Magical Maddogs.

Raven cringed inside; Glenfiddich had been a bluff. She hadn't really expected him to take her up on the offer. Hoping this drink tasted similar to the cheap Mad Dog 20/20 the homeless in the park guzzled like water, she watched the barmaid pour out two jiggers of a scarlet liquid. The color certainly looked like wine; however, the wafting smoke that poured over the edge and floated around the base of the glasses did not.

Placing the glasses down in front of them, the barmaid turned to leave, only to be stopped as Draco, with a casual toss of his hand, dropped several gold coins on her tray and ordered her to “leave the bottle.” Again, lifting his glass in the air, his eyes took on a faraway fanatical look and he raised a toast with the words, “to the future.” Swallowing quickly, he grinned and began blowing crimson smoke rings one by one into the air.

Trying to follow his lead, Raven threw back the drink. Smooth as scotch with the kick of schnapps, Raven found her lungs full of smoke. Exhaling quickly she coughed blowing a straight shaft of the pink smoke into the air before her.

Swallowing a second shot quickly, Draco leaned forward over the table and blew several more rings directly at Ravens shaft of smoke. Draco's rings surrounded her smoke and, coupling together, the structure drifted languidly upward, dissipating in the air above them.

The three men standing at the bar laughed raucously, and applauded Draco's performance. The tallest and ugliest of them spoke: “Are you going to show her how else you score, Draco?”

“Shut up Crabbe, go away and take the other two lumps with you.”

With disbelief, Raven watched the men pick up their drinks and dutifully remove themselves to a table at the back of the inn. Looking back to the table, she watched as Draco refilled her glass and held it out for her to take. “Really, I've had enough, and I also need to be up early tomorrow; but thank you anyway.”

“But I've paid for a bottle and I never drink alone,” he responded, picking up his glass as if to toast again. “I'd drink to the loveliness before me but I've yet to know your name.”

“Raven.”

His manicured brow raised in appreciation of the uniqueness of the name. “Raven, the omen of change. Bird of war and bringer of destiny into the world.” Closing his eyes, Raven could see him focusing on something in the depths of his mind. Tipping the glass into his open mouth he swallowed drew a breath and exhaled. Pink smoke coalesced over the table, twisting, forming, and flapping before her. Wings unfurled, talons curled and a raven rose in flight to soar over their heads. With a rasping caw it dissipated, the sound of its cry echoing through the room. A smug smile of satisfaction on his face, he filled her glass and pushed it toward her.

“Interesting drinking game; and to think, I thought quarter bounce was tough.” She paused, gathered the words to her and recited—In aetibulum in qui natum—Draconis! With a deep breath she threw the drink down her throat, waited while the smoke filled her lungs and blew, all the while thinking as hard as she could of a dragon.

A blast of pink frothy smoke billowed out of her lungs, engulfing the head and shoulders of Draco. Well if she wanted to look like a dragon then she had succeeded; however, that had not been her goal. Stifling a laugh, she watched in amusement as Draco's long arms waved back and forth, brushing the pink fluff from off him. He looked like some exotic bird trying to take flight.

“And what were you trying to accomplish by that? I'll never get this all off me.” With an irritated brush of his hand he ran his fingers through the silken blond strands of his hair, now coated in pink. Slowly it began to dissipate as he brushed off his face and garments.

“I'm so sorry,” she said a bit irritably. “I didn't intended on blowing like a dragon, I tried to blow one.”

“Producing what you want is quite simple really, controlling the animation is another trick all together. The magic in the drink allows you to create what you want, getting the object to move requires proper positioning of the mouth and tongue. Shall I show you how?”

“No. I think I'll just stick with the Mai Tai, thank you.” This one definitely was sure of himself, Raven noted. Mouth and tongue, over her dead body!

“Really, even Crabbe back there can't screw this up. Just think of what you want to produce, blow and the magic forms it for you,” Draco replied, pushing the issue. Lifting the bottle he poured two more drinks. Handing the glass to her, he brazenly instructed her to try again.

Not certain what annoyed her more, her inability to produce something or his arrogance at being able to, Raven accepted the drink. If a magician could pull a rabbit out of a hat surely she could produce one from smoke. Swallowing quickly before she changed her mind, a vision of Bugs Bunny tight in her thoughts, she exhaled and opened her eyes.

Ducking to the side, Draco barely missed the pink fume that barreled across the table and down to the floor. Frothing like white caps on a lake the smoke poured across the inn, dissipating slowly down the cracks and seams of the wooden floorboards. The men in the back burst into laughter again as Draco stomped the last strands of Raven's failed attempt from his feet.

With a look thrown over his shoulders, Draco silenced the laughter. Raising his glass with the order, “Watch,” he swallowed, smiled smugly and blew a snake straight from a nightmare. Fangs barred, it coiled back and then lunged directly at Raven. With a startled cry she threw up her hands and grabbed reflexively at the vision before her. As her fingers made contact, the smoke radiated a blinding flash and exploded in a shower of crimson sparks, shaking the walls around them. Knocked from his chair by the force of the explosion, Draco tumbled to a crouching position with his wand drawn.

Raven, shocked at finding herself on her feet, took several steps backward away from the very startled looking Draco. Shifting his position, Draco pointed his wand at her and she watched as his look of shock turned to anger. What had just happened? Clearly he did not expect an explosion any more than she expected a snake.

Standing up from their table, Draco's companions looked at him in confusion as if waiting further instructions on what to do, while the barmaid peered cautiously around Raven's shoulder, staring terrified at the now-armed wizards. Tom came bursting out of the backroom door, nightshirt half buttoned, wand thrust forward in his shaking hand. His attention focused on Draco and his posture stiffened noticeably. “I don't want any trouble Mr. Malfoy. You and your boys can just be headed home now, thank you.”

“Malfoy? You're a Malfoy!” Raven uttered in shock disbelief.

“Yes, but the better question is, who are you? Or, perhaps better yet, what?” He started slowly to his feet. “Trouble? The trouble as I see it is the Demones standing next to you.” Walking from the back, their wands at a ready stance, Draco's companions positioned themselves behind him like a flank of guards.

“And you'd be the expert on Demons now, wouldn't you Malfoy?” Spinning around, the startled group of men looked up and watched as a shape stepped out of the shadows of the balcony into the torchlight of the inn. With only a pair of pajama bottoms on and a wand in his hand, Harry stood starring down at the group below him. Eyes wide and hair wild, he sounded much calmer than he looked. “Tom, please take Raven out of here. Malfoy and I have a few words to exchange.”

Wands began to move, men began to scatter, and before Raven realized what Tom intended to do, she found herself seized around the waist, hauled backward off her feet, and dumped unceremoniously behind the bar. “Expelliarmus!” Harry's voice boomed down around them while shouts of “Impedimenta!” and “Serpensortia!” rang around her. Looking up, she could see Harry clearly as he reached out and deftly caught several wands hurling toward him. Sending another volley of spells out in front of him, he jumped over the rail and landed cat like on a table below him. Unfortunately the sight of a wizard hurdling over the bar replaced the sight of Harry and Raven found herself face to face with Malfoy again. Boxed in behind the bar, the only way out was up and over the top. Jumping up she threw herself on to the bar and scrambled down its center toward the backroom door. Malfoy lunged after her and managed to grab hold of her ankle, sliding her back to him on the polished surface. Kicking hard, she landed a blow to his chest that sent him flying back into the wall of glassware and liquor bottles. A shout of “Stupefy!” caught her attention but not before the spell hit her, sending her careening off the slick surface landing her behind the bar again amongst the shards of glass and the waiting wand of Draco Malfoy.

“Raven!” Harry shouted out, but Malfoy had already gained his footing and seized hold of her hair, hauling her up to stand in front of him.

“I must say,” Draco fumed, tightening his grip on her hair, “that your choice of companions leaves something to be desired. And I was beginning to think you might have a chance with me.”

“Fat chance!” she spat back, struggling to loosen the hold he had on her. His hands wound further into her hair, tightening at the base of her neck. Leaning in, he hissed in her ear. “Just what type of Demon are you?” Struggling again, she felt a sharp sting on her left ear. With a flick of his wrist he had swatted her earlobe with his wand like a horseman with a crop. Tracing its tip down the side of her neck, he pulled her closer to him and again whispered for her to stop struggling or he would give her a reason to squirm.

Looking about at the scene before her, Raven for the first time realized the power of a wand in trained hands. Stupefy only succeeded in knocking her down; Tom however, lay prone on the floor, a trickle of blood seeping from his nose and mouth. A huge snake lay coiled around the body of the barmaid, who was either dead or unconscious from fright. The man called Crabbe had taken refuge behind several upturned tables, while the third man lay stiff and unmoving at the feet of Harry Potter.

“Let her go, Malfoy!” Harry spoke quietly threw clinched teeth. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Really now, Potter. You expect me to believe that? The very fact that she's here with you interests me.”

Raven felt herself being moved in front of Draco, a shield keeping Harry at bay. His wand tip, now pressed tightly into the side of her throat, had begun to burn her at the point of contact. A slow creeping pain began to flow down her shoulder and into her left arm and chest where her heart had started beating unbearably fast. The now familiar blur of vision began, and Raven struggled with herself not to lose consciousness.

Reaching up slowly she touched the wand with her fingertips and took a deep calming breath. The magical cores I use would all be drained of their energy in the hands of the geal sorcie're. Ollivander's words drifted into her fogging brain as she concentrated on the energy being pulled into her hand. A low vibration began by her ear, becoming louder as it filled her body.

“Now Malfoy, or else!”

“You drew on me Potter; I only wanted to enjoy a few drinks with the lady and she cast a spell that…” He stopped mid-sentence as a series of popping noises filled the inn. Everything happened in an instant. A piercing buzz energized the air around her. Draco pulled her tighter to him, backing away from several robed wizards each with his wand out. Every wand was pointed at them now, while Harry slowly advanced on Malfoy.

“Harry, step back,” a familiar voice outside of her vision ordered. The only thing she saw now was the look of anguish on Harry's face as Malfoy hauled her further away from him and closer to the entrance of Diagon Alley. Crabbe had joined them and Raven knew Malfoy had no intention of letting her go. With a final shuddering breath she closed her fist over Malfoy's wand and dropped with all her weight to the floor. Malfoy stumbled as he was dragged down, landing on his stomach in front of her. The noise now emanating from the wand still clutched between the two of them had reached a crescendo, vibrating through everyone in the room like rolling thunder. Rays of strange black light began emanating from between their closed fists, negative flashes in the light of the room. Releasing the hold on his wand, Draco rolled away from her, and with a cold and calculating look apparated away.

With a series of blinding flashes Raven's hair rippled as though a powerful electrical current coursed into the room. Then in a single pulse, a ring of energy exploded outward knocking everyone off their feet. The wand in Raven's hand burst into innumerable shards of wood as she slipped into unconsciousness on the floor.

~*~

“I think she's coming around now.”

“She was drinking Maddog; I'm surprise she's alive—that stuff will put a grown wizard to bed for a week if they're not careful.”

“She didn't know what it was, Ron.”

He snorted indignantly “Harry, c'mon, she was drinking with Malfoy. How much more do we need to know?”

Lying on the floor, her head cradled on something soft, Raven found that her eyes still refused to open. Swallowing away the acrid taste in her mouth she realized it was working at least, and struggled to form coherent speech. Speaking as loud as her ringing ears would allow Raven, answered Ron's accusation. “I didn't know—he was a Malfoy.”

“Like there's a lot of Dracos in the world.”

“No—no one told me his first name,” she stammered back, her brain still sending faulty signals to her mouth.

“Caught on now, have you?” Ron replied sarcastically.

“It's okay,” Harry said, before Ron could say any thing more. “Forget it.”

“No,” said Ron “She shouldn't've—“

“Forget it,” Harry said sharply. “She didn't know. Raven, can you sit up?”

“I'd like to get my eye lids to open first, thank you. What just happened?”

“I'll tell you what happened; you almost got Harry and everyone in here killed with that little stunt you just pulled.”

“Ron! She had no way to know that there's a spell added to Maddog, and no way to know what would happen when she grabbed Malfoy's wand.”

“Harry, she could have gotten you killed!”

“No, I could have gotten her killed!” Harry snapped back. “Malfoy hadn't touched her until he saw me. I should have taken her back to Hogwarts.”

“After what I just saw she shouldn't be allowed at Hogwarts!” Ron yelled back in anger.

This remark gave Raven the incentive she needed to force open her eyes. Rolling to her side she struggled to push herself into a sitting position. Finding herself leaning into Harry as he helped steady her, she realized he had been the something soft cradling her head. “You know, Weasley, no one asked you to pop in here and save me. I was doing just fine by myself. So why don't you go capture Malfoy and leave me alone.” Cursing, he threw up his hand in frustration and walked several feet away.

Coming over to them, a middle-aged witch in flannel gray robes knelt next to her with a very sympathetic look on her face. “We'd love nothing better than to go after Malfoy, but as it stands you're the one who caused the disturbance. If we were to arrest him he would claim nothing but self-defense, and that in turn would force us to charge you and Mr. Potter. And—I don't want to be the one to do that. We've interviewed both witnesses and they claim you're the one who caused the first explosion we registered at the Ministry. I'm from the Department of Magical Regulation, and after what I just saw in that second blast, you're the one who we should be questioning now.”

Not knowing what to say to the woman, Raven turned to Harry for help. ”He threw a snake in my face! I don't know how I stopped it, I just did. It was trying to bite my face off.”

“And just how much Maddog did you consume tonight, miss?”

“I'm not drunk!” She shouted angrily, her voice echoing in her own head.

“No, I don't believe you are—which also gives us something to question you about. I've seen Magical Maddog take down even the most skilled wizards.” With a glance over at Ron glaring menacingly at them, she turned back to Raven and Harry. “Mr. Weasley has vouched for you tonight. As an Auror, his authority in this situation ranks over ours; but please, let's not be blasting apart any more wands tonight.” Reaching out, she helped Harry stand Raven on her feet and offered one more parting comment: “The Malfoys doesn't like to be toyed with. I saw the way he looked at you when he Disapparated, and I also saw what you did to his wand. Watch your back.”

As Harry began to help her to a chair, Raven shrugged him off, walking on her own. This was not like her. She just didn't understand this world yet, and it was driving her mad. With a little snort of disgust at herself and her apparent inability to remain conscious for more than a day at a time, she sank painfully into the chair. Her hand looked like it had been used as a rasp. Flecked with splinters, blood and tiny blisters along the tips of her fingers, it felt like it had been stung by a dozen wasps.

“Here. Let me fix that for you,” Harry remarked quietly, reaching out for her hand.

“No! This is ridiculous. I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Harry. I couldn't sleep and wanted to do more work on the translation before we went to Ravenglass in the morning. If I'd known who he was—he just walked over with a drink while I was working and—”

“Raven, Malfoy's used to getting his way. The word no doesn't exist for him.”

“But that's just it, I didn't tell him no. He was very charming and I let my curiosity get the best of me. I'm bad for that.” Shaking her head she continued. “Look, why don't you go throw some cold water or something on Ron before he spontaneously combusts over there. I'm fine.”

Getting up, she walked away from him and over to the sink behind the bar, picking her way carefully through the smashed glass and bottles. Reaching the sink, she began to wash her hand in the soothing cold water, removing tiny splinters of wood and ash with her nails. Damn it hurt, but she wasn't going to have Harry patching her up again. Not with Ron watching. He was still casting glances at her over Harry's shoulder as the two spoke. Clearly, Ron cared deeply for Harry and considered her a threat to his safety. Chastising herself at her carelessness, she carefully wrapped a bar cloth around her hand and tucked the ends under. She knew now what power lay in magic, and she vowed she would learn to control that power.