Ancient Prophesy

Chapter 10

And do what thou wilt be the challenge, so be it in love that harms none,
For this is the only commandment, By Magick of old be it done.

"Master Draco sir--the time is to be getting up. Please sir--the father is coming and you is to be dressed already."

A long arm snaked out from the blankets and in a flash its hand grasped the throat of the pleading house elf. Startled, a squeak escaped his mouth before the viselike grip around the elf's throat began to tighten. Draco lifted the small creature up, his legs kicking convulsively from want of air. Looking out from under the covers with a pale face and bloodshot eyes, Draco snarled to be left alone and then heaved the nearly limp elf across the room. Landing in a heap of arms, legs, and rags in front of the bedroom door, the elf lay still as the door opened, pushing his little body to the side and making way for the ominous presence of Lucius Malfoy as he stepped into the room.

With four long strides he closed the distance between the door and his son--eyes still closed in bed. In a repetition of the scene just played out, Lucius' fist closed around Draco's throat as he snatched the young man from the bed and stood him on his feet.

"Our Lord is a much less patient man than I, Draco. You go to join with him today, and I suggest it is not in silk boxers--get dressed." Grabbing the neatly laid out garments from the settee, Lucius Malfoy heaved the pile of cloths at Draco, turned and strode out of the room.

Blinking hard, Draco bent to retrieve the pile of black at his feet. The light hurt his eyes, his eyes hurt his head and he still couldn't feel his feet. Every thing else churned and burned, either from last night's events or the realization that this morning he would be called upon to swear loyalty to Lord Voldemort.

Stumbling to the loo, he knew getting ready without his wand would not be easy. He certainly couldn't ask his father for a spell to cure his hangover. That would mean explaining what had happened to him last night. Not only had he missed the chance to personally deliver Harry Potter into the hands of Lord Voldemort this morning, he had lost his wand as well. Revenge is a dish best served cold, he reflected, looking at himself in the mirror as he splashed icy water from the basin onto his face and hair. He would find out who Potter's little pet was and he would have his revenge.

~*~

True to her word, Raven refused to travel by Floo to Ravenglass. Harry could only stand back and watch her performance in awe. She had, in no uncertain terms, told him to do what ever magic necessary to change his Muggle ID into a proper drivers license and then to play along with whatever she said or did.

"I don't think this is strictly legal in the Muggle or Wizard world, Raven."

"We do this all the time, Harry," she whispered in his ear from behind him as they stood just outside the line to the front desk, waiting for just the right moment to begin her performance.

"Well, not the magic part," she corrected. "If you want into a hotel night club after show time, or prime tickets to something sold out, you need to make the concierge your best friend. And we did that yesterday with the tip I made you leave. He already thinks I lost my ID and that we're guests here, now he just needs a name and room number to go with that thought. If we wait long enough in the lobby and listen carefully then we'll have a name and a room number to use. Helps if it's a suite number--then they think you've got money."

"I do have money," Harry replied over his shoulder, not certain why he felt the need to tell her this once again.

"Euros?" She whispered back, her breath tickling the nape of his neck.

She needed to stop that--it was driving him mad. That and her manner of dress. He shouldn't be noticing things like that, he reminded himself as he turned and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her to stand in front of him.

When they had left the Caldron early that morning she had been dressed in a simple black skirt and button-down jumper with her hair pulled back in a band at the nape of her neck. Upon reaching the Savoy, though, she had begun her transformation into character.

Hiking up her skirt, she added a good ten inches to her already lengthy legs. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of her sweater, she had reached in and tightened the straps of the bra she had purchased (much to Harry's chagrin) the day before. The black lace peeked provocatively out from the sweater now, and Harry couldn't help but wonder just how often she had used this trick. Next, she had pulled her hair loose from its band and piled it up into a fashionable twist, pinning it in place with three cocktail stirs stolen from the closed piano bar in the lounge. Lastly, she had removed the gold-chain strap from off her new handbag and tied it bolero style around her neck. No longer a purse strap, it was now an expensive gold bauble. To complete the transformation she needed a name and room number.

Twenty minutes latter she had it. Linking her arm into Harry's she casually strolled to the concierge's desk and, with the same accent she had referred to the day before as 'snob Long Island,' she launched into her role of Ms. Rebecca Nurse, room 1692. Within the hour, Harry found himself pulling away from the Savoy in a two-seater BMW convertible--happily arranged for her by the concierge--with one Rebecca Nurse at the wheel.

"You are unbelievable--I can't believe we just got away with that." Harry said.

"We're not there yet. I had the rental agency print out a trip map to the Lake District, but that doesn't mean I know how to get there. You, sir, need to start navigating me out of here." Tossing him the paperwork in her hand she began to expertly weave in and out of the congested London traffic.

~*~

"Please...Hermione. Pleeeease!"

"Ron--no! I don't have time." Turning her back to him, she placed two plates on the kitchen counter.

"Pretty please--it's for Harry."

"No, it's for you."

"But it's for Harry's safety."

"For heaven's sake Ron, Harry's been taking care of himself all his life."

"See--that's even more of a reason for me to want to help out now."

"Ron..." Reaching up over the sink for two beakers, she hung her head in exasperation.

"Pleeeease," he said again, this time wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in for a quick kiss on the back of the neck.

"Stop it, I haven't even showered yet."

"If this is how you smell in the morning, I'd love to find out how you smell at night," he mumbled into her hair tugging playfully at the tie of her robe.

"Ron!" Picking up her wand from off the kitchen counter, Hermione reached over her shoulder, thumped him on the head with it, and slipped out from his embrace.

Breaking the charms she had placed on her apartment door, Ron had slipped his way into Hermione's apartment early that morning. Ironically, it had been Hermione who had shown him his first spell for opening locked doors. A fact he pointed out to her as she threw him out of her bedroom until she could get properly dressed. Knowing she could do the research he needed while he was in the field, he had pleaded with her through the closed bedroom door until she had emerged completely wrapped in a long, thick chenille robe. Due back at the Malfoy site by noon, his time for departure was quickly approaching, but he had yet to get her to agree to his request. Not from lack of effort, he reflected.

Researching spells for the Ministry of Magic, Hermione had access to any and all files the Ministry possessed. She had taken the position at the behest of Headmaster Dumbledore. As a top graduate of Hogwarts she had many positions available to her but chose instead to assist Dumbledore in the surveillance of The Ministry of Magic--specifically Cornelius Fudge. Now Ron wanted her to research The Hufflepuff Prophecy, White Witches and Raven.

"For heaven's sake Ron, just because you think she's a White Witch doesn't mean she's out to harm Harry. He's a Parselmouth and you don't see him practicing the Dark Arts now, do you?" Hermione said, the exasperation clear in her voice.

"She is a White Witch. What I saw last night proved it. She shows up in Snape's classroom, and she was with Draco Malfoy last night drinking Maddog! What am I suppose to thing, love?" Taking the two breakfast plates from her hands, he set them on the table and pulled her close to him again, nuzzling the hollow of her neck.

Sighing deeply, she leaned into him. He could be so persuasive when he wanted to. That, and she realized long ago the uselessness of arguing with him once he had an idea in his head. "I'll see what I can find. I've got some connections in New York at the United Nations Magical Liaison Office. Maybe they can check out--Raven's?--story for me. If Ezmarelda Ravenclaw entered the U.S. they should have some record of her emigration even if she did live as a Muggle. The problem is you can't Apparate with a child so she may not have traveled at all through the normal checkpoints. Oohhh," she said in frustration, running her hands through her hair. "You couldn't make this any more difficult could you?"

"You know I've always loved you for your mind." Ron said kissing her forehead.

"Humph--liar. I thought it was my body you were after when you tried to slip into bed with me this morning."

Running his own hands through her tangle of hair, still loose and untamed from sleep, he kissed her lips and whispered into them, "I can love both can't I?"

~*~

The drive across the countryside started as a pleasant experience for Raven and Harry. As the towns and traffic thinned, Raven insisted on Harry taking the wheel so she could show him how to drive. Definitely not the thrill of riding his Nimbus, but driving still gave him a feeling of independence he found enjoyable. He, in turn, began her instructions in the basic Defense Spells. She certainly knew Stupefy by now, but that would hardly protect her against a Death Eater. She wanted more--as much as he could cram into a five-hour trip. Though she couldn't practice with a wand, she committed to memory the wording of the spells and repeated them back to Harry with their expected results. Several mistakes and corrections later, she memorized her first lesson much to Harry's amazement.

"Really, I've got a working knowledge of Latin already, as well as some basics in Gaelic and Old Anglic. The words themselves--I know. Remembering what they all do will be the hard part," she laughed, pulling her blowing hair back into the band from which it had escaped.

Windblown and smiling, she looked in her element and Harry wondered for the first time what she would be like on a broom.

"I can't believe you remembered everything as quickly as you did," he said, shaking his head and trying to get the image of Raven on his broom out of his mind.

"Blame it on my mother," she snorted. "The older I got, the more useful the knowledge became. The more I learned the more she let me work beside her in Cedarwood. Little by little she showed me how to blend and mix everything. She always insisted on me knowing both the botanical and common name of everything we worked with. I couldn't touch a thing on my own unless I could repeat from memory the entire list of ingredients and how properly to blend them together. Memory is not a gift but a skill," she mimicked in her mother's highland lilt.

"From there I just started getting interested in languages, and found I had a gift for them. By my senior year of school I had taken enough Advanced Placement courses and summer college programs that I tested out of my freshman year at NYU. Then I talked my way into an internship at Cambridge this summer with the Director of Linguistics Studies, Dr. Zuck. I would have started school on September 2^nd, but Mum died on the 1^st. And to think," she added bitterly, "I just thought Mum was crazy wanting me to learn all the Latin crap. But I didn't want to disappoint her. I wanted to make her proud--I want her to be proud of me here too." She swallowed hard and turned to look at Harry, sensing a change in his posture. She found the more she got to know him the easier she could read his quick mood shifts.

"I was supposed to start teaching the second," Harry remarked grimly. "They went for me on the first as well."

Raven nodded her head in silence, sensing reluctance on his part to talk about what had happened that night. Surprisingly he continued, and Raven sat quietly listening as Harry began to recount the details of his attack.

"Somehow they knew Hagrid and I were going into the Forbidden Forest. He was helping me round up an Erkling for the second year Defense classes. Lupin had a Pogrebin for me already. We had walked about twenty minutes in, when suddenly there were six Death Eaters surrounding us."

He stopped here and Raven wondered if he would continue. His features hardened and his eyes, normally so soft and soulful, took on a vacant look that concerned her.

"I tried to get Hagrid to run--to leave them to me. But he wouldn't listen, the stubborn fool--just stepped in front of me and said, "over my dead body." They hit us both with the Imperious Curse. It only took one Death Eater to control Hagrid; he never did have a head for magic. That's the curse I used on you in Dumbledore's office. I've been able to break that spell's hold since my fourth year, but this time--they were ready--somehow linked with one another." He shook his head as he tried to find the right words to describe what had happened.

"I still don't know how but there were three of them together--taking me, in me. I couldn't stop them this time. They forced us to walk for a while and we ended up in a clearing I'd been in several years back. I knew then there was no escaping this time."

He quickly looked at her before turning his eyes back to the road ahead of him. She knew he wasn't seeing the countryside that surrounded them, but rather the Forest and the death it had held.

"Have you ever seen a twelve foot tarantula? It's called an Acromantula." He paused and turned again, long enough to watch her reaction to this statement. "You don't want to."

"They forced Hagrid to walk into the middle of the Acromantula colony residing in the clearing. Aragog was the leader of the colony and a friend of Hagrid's. Hagrid hatched him from an egg almost fifty years ago. Aragog had no reason to suspect Hagrid or even know about the Imperious Curse. The Death Eaters sent Hagrid into the colony with the orders to kill their leader. All I could do was stand there and watch from the trees as Hagrid walked up to Aragog and put an arrow from his crossbow straight through him."

Raven continued to watch Harry as his knuckles grew white upon the wheel. She thought about taking the wheel and steering the car to the side of the road but she didn't want to startle him, breaking the daze from which he spoke. She was certain he no longer saw the road but rather Hagrid's death unfolding before him.

"Most of the colony's population descended from Aragog. What would you expect them to do? They attacked Hagrid straight out. He didn't even try to stop them--just stood there as they bit into him and then began to feed on him."

Swallowing hard, his throat contracted and quivered with emotion. "The Death Eater must have released him then, because he turned to look at me and yelled not to give up--that he was proud to have called me his friend. They made me stay there and watch as he was torn apart piece by piece and eaten."

Reaching out, she tried to wipe away for him the tears running down his cheeks. Shrugging her off, he quickly wiped his face on his shoulders, never once removing his white knuckles from the steering wheel.

"You know what the Death Eater said then? 'That, Mr. Hagrid, is for the hippogriff you allowed to harm my son.' It was Lucius Malfoy's voice."

"Harry, I'm so sorry--"

"No, don't. Don't even try. I don't want to forgive myself. If I do, then the anger inside of me will go away and I want to hold on to it. I want it to fester."

~*~

It was one of those rare fall days in Scotland when the sun blazes out of a bleached muslin sky, burning the nighttime mist away with the first light of day. The copse was loud with birds; a gang of titmice was foraging in gnarled shrubs of yew to the left, and Raven could hear what she though was a thrasher in the near distance. Gulls shrieked above, floating on the stiff eastern wind while the, tsee of the flycatcher and the harsh chatter of the mistle thrush drifted behind her. Startled from her thoughts when Harry spoke, Raven realized she had just been standing there, lost in the world to which her family had once belonged.

Seeing the name Ravenglass on the building before her had caused a pronounced internal reaction. Why, Raven could only guess, but visions swam through her head like never before--rivers of images, not of her life. With her eyes closed clear as day, there they were: Fairies dancing on heather covered fields...wooden flutes played by robed men seated on stones placed in circles on the hills...the full moon bleaching out the already gray cliffs of the seaside panorama, pounded smooth by the ancient tide. Yes, she knew this place--inside she knew the location was the key to who and what she was.

"Raven? Did you hear me?" Harry said again. "Dumbledore gave me Mrs. O'Connor's address, but I don't know this area at all. I don't know where to look from here."

Pointing to the building in front of her, she smiled weakly at him. Seeing the post office before her also brought to mind her mother and the numerous letters lying next to the trunk in her room. Had it only been four days since she opened that trunk and read those letters? "I thought we should start at the post office. It looks like a small enough town that they will know where Mrs. O'Connor lives."

"I don't know," Harry questioned back. "The postman had quite a bit of trouble finding the Burrow--that's the Weasley house--when it came to Muggle post. Most of our mail is sent by owl."

"She and Mum corresponded by letter, so the postman here must know at least where to send us." Raven sighed again and pursed her lips in acceptance as another piece of the puzzle that was her mother fit into place. "No phone--no computer--no owl for mail, that explains a lot."

"You'll not be a relative then, will ye'?" the clerk behind the counter asked in response to Raven's inquire to the location of Elizabeth O'Connor's home. Curiosity plainly showing on her weathered face, she continued. "Else ye would know how to find 'er. We haven' seen 'er in here in ages and she hasn' had any post in a long time either."

"She's a family friend. We were hoping to surprise here--ah--she doesn't know we're here."

"By the sounds of ye', you'll be American then?" She asked, bushy gray brows rising in question. "Would ye' by chance be from New York then?"

"My name is Raven Klause--Mrs. O'Connor and my Mum have written each other for years."

The clerk broke into a wide smile, made even wider by the fact that half her teeth were missing. "Well I'll be--what's your Mum's name, lass?"

"Ezmarelda."

"Right ye be, don't ya kin! Welcome to Ravenglass. Mrs. O'Connor will be delighted for ye' to come such a long way to see 'er. She's been of poor health of late," the clerk continued. "Time be she'd walk here with 'er post and parcels to the States. Been the past few months, it 'as, that old Mr. Wallace from the pub 'as handled 'er letters. Close to a month now since he last brought anything over for 'er--or for that matter since Langdon our carrier's been over to see 'er."

What could she say to this? Should she tell the clerk no more letters would come from America now? That her mother was dead? She dreaded seeing Mrs. O'Connor for that very reason. The last letter to her mother had been a warning. A warning sent in vain. The only time Raven had spoken the words my mother is dead had been to Dumbledore and she had just blurted them out. How would Mrs. O'Connor take the news knowing that a Death Eater might have caused Ezmarelda's death?

Harry broke the silence first. "We have her address, we just don't know how to get there. If you would point us up the right road I'm sure we could find it on our own thank you."

"It's simple enough lad. Af'-mile up the coast turn left--only road there next to the Shandygaff Pub. The road's a small two-track that will dead end ye right at the cliffs and 'er cottage."

~*~

Elizabeth's tiny home in the glen clearing, invisible from the road, was characteristic of most of the costal homes of Ravenglass. Deceptively barren and severe, the crags and moors were full of secrets if you knew where to look. The house appeared to blend into the heather, which ceased abruptly a few feet later at the edge of the precipice, whose gray cliffs tumbled hundreds of feet to the sea below. The choppy waters of the Atlantic pounded hard on the rocks spraying salty ocean mist into the air. A few feet from the house sat a cluster of Rowan trees, their berries gleaming orange and black among the grass. How very appropriate, Raven thought vaguely amused, Rowan--the Highland protection against witchcraft and enchantment.

Mrs. O'Connor must have heard them pull up, for the door swung open to reveal a tiny woman barely five feet in height. Stepping from the car, Raven caught the impression of brows as white as snow, and blue eyes wide in a fair face somewhere between old and ancient before the woman launched herself out the door.

She said nothing but reached for Raven and hugged her hard, her hair long, coarse and tickling against the hollow of Raven's throat. She was much shorter than Raven had imagined, fine-boned and delicate to look at, but still she had the feeling of being enveloped, warmly supported and strongly held, as though by someone larger than herself.

She released Raven a moment later, and stood back, half laughing. "God, ye even smell the same as 'er--lavender. She always loved lavender."

Raven smiled shyly and noted that Elizabeth too had a Highland fragrance about her. She smelled faintly of dried hay and cabbage leaves, with the ghost of peat smoke laid over what must be her own bath wash, Rose water and glycerin. But this wasn't what caused the tears to brim up in Raven's eyes, rather Elizabeth's looks.

Ezmarelda and Elizabeth looked alike, Raven realized. Their faces were similar: the same oddly slanted blue eyes, dappled with gold; broad cheekbones down which tears also ran; a thin blade-bridged nose, just a tad to long. But where Ezmarelda's hair was auburn Elizabeth's was white, cascading in curls, bound back with a blue ribbon. With clear-drawn features and alabaster skin she had a graceful beauty that age could not touch--a beauty that Ezmarelda had shared.

"Albus contacted me this mornin', lass. He told me," she said, wiping the tears away from her face with a cloth hankie. The slightest hint of a smile crossed her face as she beckoned them inside.

"Come in with me to the study; I'll put on a spot o' tea and we'll talk."

~*~

The Mark on his arm burned suddenly and he jumped, startled, from his work.. He knew he would receive a summons. Yet the surge of pain that coursed thorough him forced his body to react instinctually. No amount of preparation, no consumed potion, not even advanced knowledge, fully prepared him for a summons by Lord Voldemort.

Severus rose slowly from his desk and walked the length of his empty classroom, his footsteps echoing only silence off the cold slate floor. He hadn't always walked catlike. Years of wanting to go unnoticed had trained him--hewed his stride into silent perfection. But he would be noticed today. The ritual involved required his skills as Hogwarts Potion Master--Lord Voldemort's Alchemist--brethren Death Eater. The elements needed, both common and rare, fell to him to prepare. For the last week he had gathered the essentials together, preparing what he could in advance by blending, labeling and storing for transport all that the Book of Shadows called for.

The last Joining had been twenty years ago, marking the beginning of Voldemort's campaign of terror. He realized he had destroyed his own life that day--what happiness he had. How many young lives would be destroyed tonight by joining them to Voldemort with the Head of Bran? With the addition of the Slytherin Snake emerging from within its mouth, a once holy symbol now only represented Voldemort and death to the wizarding community.

Placing the last item in his satchel, a hooded black robe, Severus turned to leave. The ceremony would start at dusk, and it would take several hours to prepare the necessary potion. Looking up, he found himself staring into the solemn face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Don't you ever knock?" He set the satchel down and tried to compose himself once more.

"A good day to you too, Severus," Dumbledore responded, a note of humor in his voice. "I thought I should come and see if I could assist you in any way with the task at hand."

"I just received the summons; I am already prepared."

"Oh, I've no doubt of your preparations in regards to the tangible assistance Voldemort requires of you. I thought to offer you something more perhaps--a pat on the back--a wish of luck?"

"How about a prayer for those I go to condemn?"

"They condemn themselves, Severus"

Standing stoically, Severus met the gaze of his mentor in a desperate attempt to force his own conscious to forgive him for what he was about to do.

"Are there estimates on how many, Severus?"

"Twelve will have met with him this morning in a private audience. To test their worth I've been told."

"Draco?"

"And others. They will make up his private guards if acceptable. Tonight they will all be joined. The ceremony is still the same. I am expected to prepare for up to sixty candidates." He paused and shook his head in anger. "God help me do this! The power he will gain if those estimates are correct."

At these words Dumbledore walked towards him, reaching out to finger the satchel lying on the table between the two men. "You are neither the instigator nor the recipient of the action Severus, only the instrument. The words that a quill writes and the effect of those words are not the fault of the quill, but rather the author."

"And where would I be today if Voldemort's quill had not poisoned my mind and marked my flesh?" Snape said icily.

Reaching out, Dumbledore touched him supportively on the shoulder. "Fighting him the best you know how--just as you are now." Turning, he continued. "Come, I'll walk with you to the front door. It may not be prudent for me to go any further, though."

"Headmaster, you have an infuriating habit of understating the obvious."

"And you, Severus, have the infuriating habit of overstating what is best left unsaid."

~*~

Raven cried not for herself this time but for Elizabeth O'Connor. Dumbledore had broken the news of Ezmarelda's death to her that morning and she had completely broken down while trying to prepare tea for the three of them. Harry, not knowing how to help them, finished the task and slipped quietly into the living room while the two women spoke.

Mrs. O'Connor had retrieved everything she could of Ezmarelda's at Dumbledore's request and sat quietly by while Raven looked through it all. Letters, photos and school awards littered the floor with Raven sitting among them. She couldn't help but smile at her mother's looping signature, so often a familiar sight on Cedarwood's invoice slips. Deeds from family properties in Ravenglass bore the same signature, as well as the title to the cottage Elizabeth now resided in.

"Ezzy signed it all over to me before ya left for the States. Knew she wasn' safe no more after the Death Eaters destroyed 'alf the town. Me being 'er half sister an' all she knew no one would question it. My father, rather late in life, married Ezzy's mother. I was most about thirty when they were wed. Da died when she was but eight. I was more like an aunt to 'er than a sister but we still stayed close even when she left Ravenglass to attend 'Ogwart's."

"Then we are related--I wondered. You and Mum look a bit alike." Raven said quietly, not bothering to look up from the photo she held in her hand.

A simple black and white, the photo showed her mother very close to Raven's own age, standing on a walkway which wound amongst a garden of lilies. Laughing over her back at an unknown photographer, she appeared to be quite content and relaxed as she mugged shamelessly for the camera.

Raven recognized the walkway. She had traveled that very path many times arm and arm with her mother. Ezmarelda was standing in the flower hot house of the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.

"I sold the property off parcel by parcel," Mrs. O'Connor continued. "Did it slowly over several years ta' avoid detection, ye kin guess. Then I placed the funds in an account we shared under the business name, Cedarwood. Ye can check all the records, lass; every pound is accounted for. My payment 'tis this property."

"Oh, Mrs. O'Connor, don't worry..."

"Elizabeth my dear, please call me Elizabeth."

"Thank you, I'd like that," Raven smiled back at her. "And I don't want an account of Mum's money, what I want is information on her life. Well, and some help getting the money I had Roy transfer here for me to use--but that doesn't matter right now. What we need is any thing you might have that can help identify who my father was--is ? Did she tell you anything about him?"

Harry, hearing the shift in conversation approached the library cautiously.

"Professor Dumbledore told us you worked at the Ministry when the Hufflepuff Journal first came to their attention. You do know the reason we need this information?" Harry asked her.

"Yes--Professor Dumbledore made 'is displeasure with me quite clear." She said chuckling quietly. "Albus always did make a splendid vision with 'is knickers in a bunch." Wiggling her brows suggestively she grinned even wider at the look on Harry's face.

"Raven I'll tell ye exactly what I told Albus. By the time I'd gained any knowledge of what t'was in the journal, your Mum'd already moved ta' the states. She didna' leave 'cause o' the journal--thought it did answer many a question about ye and the attack on Ravenglass--she left ta' keep ye from yer' Da'."

Raven looked up with a start from the photos in her hand.

"My father? But why!"

"She kin ye were special--very special. In the beginin', when ye were born, all the normal spells a mother uses ta' care for a new infant produced some vera' strange results. She cast the spell ta' change yer' nappies and the pin fastenin' it closed burned yer' skin, right bad it did, just below yer' navel."

Raven's mouth dropped open and she stuttered in disbelief. "She--she told me...well--humph," she snorted, "All that crap she gave me for getting a tattoo to cover that mark up, and she caused it in the first place!"

Standing, she pulled up her sweater and tugged aside the waist of her skirt to reveal a colorful and beautiful tattoo drawn to incorporate her navel into the design. A blazing sun, almost sunflower-like in its appearance, was reaching longingly for a silver crescent moon setting in splendor as it disappeared down below her panty line.

Harry found himself wondering just how far down that tattoo went, and then cursed himself for allowing his mind to wander in that direction. His thoughts had no business down there!

"What else?" Raven asked, the scowl on her face spreading to her entire posture.

"Oh, she magicked a bib to repel food and instead it prevented 'er from getting a breast anywhere near enough to feed ya'."

"I wonder what Fred and George could do with that" one Harry interrupted, a gleam of mischief flashing uncharacteristically from beneath his long black lashes.

"Harry!" Raven huffed, pulling her sweater back down and dropping gracefully back to the floor once more.

Laughing, Elizabeth went on.

"Yer' first winter she placed a spell on yer' hat and mittens to keep ya' from pullin' 'em off. Within minutes ye were screaming bloody 'ell and the hat and mittens had begun to smoke. " She shook her head in disbelief as she recalled the memory. "Didna' take much after that to put two and two together--yer' the fourth White Witch in the Ravenclaw bloodline."

Quietly, looking up in confusion Raven's blue eyes narrowed to mere slits. "But why keep me from my father?" She demanded once more.

Slowly Elizabeth kneeled down in front of Raven, joining her on the floor. "The night she left 'em she had no idea she was pregnant. Then, after Ravenglass she began ta' suspect t'was was more than just a random attack by Death Eaters--they were looking for 'er and if they found 'er they'd find ye as well. One look at the wee lass, she said, and he would know ye ta be his daughter."

Shaking her head, Raven stopped Elizabeth.

"But I still don't understand why she would want to keep me from my father," she repeated in frustration.

"Raven," Harry gently interrupted. "I think what Elizabeth is politely trying to tell you is that your father was a Death Eater." Looking down at Elizabeth for confirmation, he continued. "And a White Witch raised under the influence of Voldemort would have been a disaster for our entire world."

Elizabeth reached out and tenderly took Raven's shaking hands in her own. Still holding the photo of her mother, Raven stared in disbelief at the image. "As soon as I learned of the prophecy," Elizabeth said, "I told 'er she'd been right to leave and that ye had to be hidden at all costs. Yeh see lass, she 'ad to disappear from the wizarding world until the time was right to bring ye back. She always said New York t'was the best place to get lost if ya didna' want to be found."

Suddenly Raven's eyes grew large as a horrific notion twisted into a mind already on overload. "Oh, damn! You don't think that Voldemort--that he--"

Reaching over and hugging her reassuringly, Elizabeth spoke. "St. Bridget preserve us no, child. I do know that much. That photo in yer' hand, they took it in New York, she and yer Da' did. She met him in school. I da not know what house he'd be from--Ravenclaw I'd venture. And I do know they went ta' New York just after their seventh year. She mentioned it t'while she was packin' to go. I'da not even think she realized at that point she was talkin' about 'em, she bein' so hurt and scart. She said they talked about staying there, they did. Neither had family to speak of left alive and things were getting so bad with Voldemort. But 'e wouldna' have it. Things were finally good for 'em 'e said, so they returned. The poor dear always believed if she 'ad talked em into stayin in the States she could'a gotten em away from Voldemort. Once she knew she couldna' help 'em she knew she had ta' bloody well keep ye out of it."

As another piece of Raven's life fell into place, Harry watched the emotions within her play across her face. She had let her hair down during the trip, and it now hung partially hiding the intense longing with which she gazed at the photo in her hand. Harry recognized that look, or more accurately he knew how it felt to look like that. A desire to see deeper into the photo than one was able. A desire to know where you came from and where you belonged in the world. A desire to reach out and feel the warmth and love of those in the photograph. He saw that very look on his face when he first viewed the Mirror of Erised, and he understood her longing.

"Raven? If your mother didn't return after Voldemort's first defeat, then that makes me think your dad may still be alive," Harry said hoping his optimism would cheer her.

"Exactly, lass!" Elizabeth said reaching out and gently cupping Raven's chin in her hand. "Many good witches and wizards fell prey to Voldemort's magic. They couldna' help the effect 'e had on em' or only followed 'is orders under duress. Yer Da' may have been just such a wizard, unwillingly involved and unable to stop it. She did so want to tell 'em about ye, but then so many of Helga's prophecies began to ring true. She didna' dare with ye showing all the signs of bein' a White Witch. At thirteen she'd planned ta send ye to Hogwarts but then she realized just how dangerous it would be to both ye and the wizarding community. So she stayed hidden and waited, teaching ye all she could without letten on to what ye were--the White Witch Helga knew would come."

A/N: Ok, so now I've got to try and explain the Head of Bran with out making everyone who is reading this story think I'm a Wiccan (well, maybe), a Druid, or just a plain nutter who is fascinated by severed heads. What I am is a history major with a love of mythology. And I'm not just talking Greek here. Some of the Native American myths are just plain beautiful and will also make an appearance here in regards to the place of the raven as the Bringer of Light.

Most of the Celtic information I use comes from two places. The first credit belongs to Douglas Monroe, who is the founder of the New Forest Center for Magickal Studies and a Professor of Humanities at the American Institute in New Mexico where he is the director of the Department of Celtic Studies and a European based Shamanic Center. His books, The 21 lessons of Merlyn and The Lost Books of Merlyn contain many of the spells, incantations, and potion ingredients that I used or will use throughout Ancient Prophecy.

The Head of Bran is a Celtic Myth associated with the Continental Celtics of Gaul and Western Europe dating back as far as 50 B.C.E. (that's before common era, PC for our non-Christian brethren). A severed head represents the essential Druidic doctrine concerning consciousness and immorality. It was considered the seat of the soul, of thought and even of divinity. Severed, it retained a life of its own, with powers to achieve effects for its possessors.

So now comes the myth. Bran the Blessed, giant and king of Albion (some argument as to England or Scotland) and King of the Island of the Mighty, was one of the finest protectors Albion had ever known. Trouble came and his sister needed to be rescued from Ireland. Wading across the Irish Sea, followed by his fleets, Bran's forces were engaged in a terrible battle--terrible in part, because the enemy possessed the Cauldron of Rebirth (makes you wonder if JKR knows this story doesn't it?), so their warriors never really died. In the end Albion emerged triumphant, but Bran was wounded by poison and lay dying. Overcome by divine inspiration, the king ordered that his head be cut off, and it alone be taken on the return voyage. The head continued to live, talk, laugh and eat as it ever had, and a fantastic series of adventures ensued before they finally returned home to bury the head in London Hill.

Now, all the quotes and stories boil down to this: The severed head was a sacred symbol because it housed the soul of man. It was independent of the body. It was a supreme symbol of accomplishment and PROTECTION--and the custom of carving pumpkins, gourds or turnips into scary faces at Halloween, stems from this Celtic Belief. The original idea was that malignant spirits and ghosts roamed the earth on Halloween, so people needed added protection, especially children. So the head/face was carved for each child in the household, and then placed outside on the steps to frightens away the boogies.

My second source comes from a web site called the Celtic Connection. http://www.wicca.com/celtic/cc002.htm I can't even begin to tell you what you will find there. I've stolen shamelessly from it using all sorts of spells, ingredients and information regarding holidays. Take a peek you might find something you like.

House points to the person who figures out the reference to Rebecca Nurse and room 1692; which is a nice segue (ya, like that spells [segway]) to the book I am currently using as my mouse pad because mine all disappeared in the move. Titled, Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft, authors Paul Boyer and Stephen Nissenbaum. The title should be sufficient to let you know what I used it for. Again I make the statement that I'm not a Wiccan, (at least I don't think I am?!?!?!?) since my degree is in History with a minor in Sociology and Eng. Lit., I'm sure you can see why I have a very wide variety of books from which to draw my sources.