06. Blood Oracle: Part I – Part A

Disclaimer Addition: None of the Book/Movie/TV show quotes Fred and George use are mine. They all belong to their respective authors. The opening song for Episodes 1-13 is Sonnet No 92 by William Shakespeare and the ending song for Episodes 1-11 +13 is Iron Fist by Motörhead. The ending song for Episode 12 is Sleeping Sun by Nightwish.

Summary: The next few chapters will take us on a journey into the past: All their lives, the three daughters of the Lestrange family have been dedicated followers of their master, the Dark Lord. The day he falls from power, however, only two remain faithful while the third chooses her own destiny. However, this is not her story. This is the story of one who never wavered in her faith, ready to face Azkaban, ready to risk her life, and ready to take part in the torture of an innocent little child.

Author's Notes: In this chapter we'll get some answers at last. Who is this mysterious person named Skuld? What happened to the secret wand Ollivander created? Will the Seers finally discover Harry Potter's hideout? And how does a certain Hallowe'en night fit into all of this? Be prepared for a few flashbacks, a bit of family history, and many unsolved mysteries arising from the past.

Cheers for Ebilein, the amazing artist, Notsosaintly, the breathtaking beta, and Lici, the brilliant Brit-picker :-)

* * *

"Previously on AD:"

"Previously on AD, we saw nasty, evil, vicious, malicious Lord Luscious..."

"The one who likes watching Notting Hill."

"That's him? *imitates Draco voice* Do you think I keep a list of names from all the people I knocked off?"

"Dream on, Fred!"

Previously on AD, we saw nasty, evil, vicious, malicious Lord Luscious wearing leather trousers ... uhm, I meant we saw him plotting a nasty evil scheme to kill Marcus Flint's Muggle girlfriend. Didn't work out, however because ferret-boy saved the girlfriend to impress her boyfriend and get himself a promotion.

"Poor heartbroken Captain Flintstone needs a drink."

"Poor defeated Macnair can blackmail him no more."

"I suppose that calls for a party at the Malfoys."

"Yep. There will be party at the Malfoys, but not in this episode, so... shush!"

*

*

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,

For term of life thou art assured mine;

And life no longer than thy love will stay,

For it depends upon that love of thine.

Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,

When in the least of them my life hath end.

I see a better state to me belongs

Than that which on thy humour doth depend:

Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,

Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.

O what a happy title do I find,

Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?

Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

*

*

Amicus Draconis

First Cycle: Cycle of the Badger

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Part 6: Blood Oracle: Part I

October 31, 1981

(Hallowe'en, 17 years ago)

John Doe realized that he must have taken a wrong turn.

This bumpy field road couldn't possibly lead to London. It was probably best to turn around, drive back to the last crossroads and choose another way.

Any other way.

The rain came down in sheets. The night crept up the hills. The storm howled like a mad wolf, smashing buckets of water against the windscreen of John Doe's silver Bentley.

It seemed that all the forces of nature had joined up against the human intruder. Or was this the doing of evil Hallowe'en spirits emerging from the bumpy field road's potholes?

Not that John Doe truly believed in Hallowe'en spirits hiding in potholes of bumpy field roads. Instead he opened the glove compartment, foraging for a suitable map. He didn't believe maps to be helpful in his current situation, but at least the foraging gave him something to do other than stare at the rain.

The next moment he had something else to stare at, for in the middle of the road stood a girl.

She couldn't be much older than fourteen. A long black cloak flowed around her delicate body, merging into the night surrounding her. Her face, pale as death, was pure white against the darkness, but the long hair that framed it, wet strands sticking to her ashen cheeks, had the colour of deep titian red. And her eyes...

Her eyes were flashing a dark demonic violet, as if she had emerged from hell itself. John Doe would never again forget these eyes, not for the rest of his life.

Although, considering that his life would end only a few moments later, that wasn't much to say.

* * *

October 29, 1998

(Present Time)

"Power of darkness, power of night,

Drown hope in despair, extinguish the light,

Alter this brilliance to feeble gloom,

Cast thy foe to eternal doom!"

The Seer made another frantic attempt to cast her dark shadows over the brilliant white light emanating from her crystal ball. This light was a spell, a mighty protection spell shielding a hidden place from her powers. A secret hideout, a hole, where fiends of the master were crawling around like vermin. Again and again had she tried to find this hideout, but her desperate struggle had not brought her any closer to her goal. The magic of her enemies was simply too powerful and could not be breeched by her own.

Exhausted, she sunk her head in her hands, black-painted fingernails combing through shiny titian-red hair. During day-time she preferred to wear it up, but in a ritual she did not wish to disturb the free circling of energy with bounds and knots. So, she let her hair loose and her delicate black silk dress flow down as well, even undid the laces of her stiletto heels. She dropped the shoes to the ground, pulling her bare feet up on the oriental-styled divan she was lolling on, and turned her attention back to her crystal ball.

She had seen many things during these last few weeks, but only few of importance. The master's enemies were gaining power? You need not be a Seer to realize that. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be a key figure in the play? That had been known since before his birth.

Her husband cheated on her? Well, she smelled his bad conscience every single moment he was around.

A miniature stag sprang from the bright light into her dark room. At once, darkness formed into a dragon breathing fireballs on the stag. Annoyed, she wiped her sleeve through the air, destroying the animals before any of the fireballs could set fire on her precious curtains. She had seen fighting animals before she could walk or talk, again and again and again. Stag versus Dragon. Snake versus Lion. Lynx versus Jackal. Jackal versus Phoenix.

It had started to bore her long ago.

The remaining bits of light arranged themselves into a wolf, a dog, a rat and yet another stag. All four of them seemed to skip merrily around imaginary trees. Nice. Who needed to worry about things that might have happened twenty years ago? She worried about the present.

And the future...

The stag drowned in an imaginary lake while the other animals scampered away and finally dissolved. What should she tell her master tonight? Zoo stories? He would not be pleased with her.

« Maman! Une lettre est arrivée! »

Cècile, her six-year-old daughter, stuck her head in the door. She was red-haired like her mother with the same violet eyes and the same milky complexion. Her face, however, was less delicate if not to say clunky; she had inherited her father's big bones. Also, her hair was never as sleek and shiny as it was supposed to be. It had an unbecoming brownish tinge.

The wrapped object the little girl was excitedly waving into her mother's face, turned out to be a small parcel rather than a letter. « Je crois que c'est pour toi, mais je n'en suis pas sure! »

Well, taking a closer look at Cècile, she was ugly to say the least. She bore too much resemblance to that wimp of a father. And besides, what business did she have stomping into the room like that? No manners at all.

"We knock before we enter a room, child," Marguerite chided her daughter in English. "If I lock my door, it means that I want to go undisturbed, not that you are allowed to Charm it open!"

And besides, why did the second child have to be yet another worthless daughter? When would she finally give birth to the long-awaited family heir?

She turned her attention back to the girl, her voice heightening to a hysterical wail. "Next time I'll put a hex on my door to scratch this impudent grin of that repulsive face of yours!"

Breathing in deeply, she stretched out her hand. "Hand me that letter, Cècile. What do you mean by 'I'm not sure'? Is it not my name written on there?

She took the little parcel from her daughter's hand, searching for an address or a sender, but it seemed to be completely blank. Little Cècile took back a step, as her mother's hands suddenly started to shake uncontrollably.

The parcel slipped from her hands, dropping to the floor, or rather the expensive carpet embroidered with the Lestrange family crest. A black jackal in honour of a long-forgotten god...

"Maman? Are you ill? What's going on?"

Isn't it heart-warming, how my little girl worries about me? She's probably the only person in this whole wide world who truly cares about my well-being. I must not be so strict with her.

« Rien ! » She shook her head, drawing her shoulders together as if some chilly breeze had made her shudder with cold. "There's nothing going on, chérie, I'm fine." With a sugary-sweet smile she sank to her knees to be on face-level with her daughter, carefully spreading her dress around her on the carpet so it would not crease. "Why don't you go play some more, ma petite?" Tenderly she caressed the girl's cheek with one hand, while squeezing her shoulder with the other as if she feared Cècile would try to break free from her signs of affection.

"What's it say on there?" Cècile finally freed herself from her mother's grasp, reaching for the parcel again, but Marguerite slapped the girl's fingers, her beautiful face twisted with rage. "Get out, you little brat, and stop trying my patience!"

Without paying any attention to her mother's outburst, Cècile scampered out of the room. She had found and read the small inscription on Maman's letter, but couldn't make any use of it. To Skuld. Who was Skuld anyway? She had never heard that name before. Maybe the letter wasn't even for Maman?

She stopped worrying and went back to dressing and undressing the new doll Grandfather had given her for her birthday.

* * *

October 31, 1981

"Oh, you should have seen this; it was wonderful, just like in one of their books. A dark road, a man who lost his way, a beautiful demonic woman emerging from the shadows – a true classic." The girl's voice was alight with enthusiasm as she spoke on. "I even used a raining spell to give everything the right..."

"Do you have it, Skuld?" a second voice, the one of a young woman interrupted her.

"I do, Verdandi, there's no need to take that tone with me," the girl answered breathlessly, rolling her eyes at the brusque interruption of her story. "And it's still warm. You should better appreciate my hard work, dear sister. Without me, it wouldn't even be possible to conduct this ritual."

"A lady doesn't brag, chérie." Verdandi gave her sister a stern look, tossing back her long blond hair. "And if Papa knew about you reading Muggle writings, he wouldn't be pleased either."

"Oh, I don't think Papa would object to my books. After all, they're about Muggles getting abducted by witches, Muggles getting their blood sucked by vampires, and Muggles getting devoured by demons while making out with other Muggles in Muggle carriages. On the contrary, I believe that these books are the perfect preparation for life as a dark witch or wizard."

Skuld held a small urn out to her sister. "Here it is. Warm and fresh, and from the first Muggle I ever hunted down in my young life. This marks my initiation as a dark witch, doesn't it?" She spread out her arms and spun around. "I've lost my innocence."

Her voice sounded a bit too matter-of-fact for the dramatic scene she was trying to act.

"You never were innocent to begin with, little sister," a third voice cut in from the darkness. "Not in this family anyway."

Further apart from the two, a third woman stood bent over a fire. Flames flickered; their tireless dance cast an eerie light over the nocturnal marshes, bringing shadows to life. A black cauldron was floating in the air, emitting green vile-smelling odours, and it was that cauldron the woman's attention was focused on. She seemed to be the eldest of the three sisters, her eyes of dark violet scanning her surroundings with a predatory scowl. Her hair, falling to her waist like that of her sisters, was black as raven's feathers.

"I knew you would take her side against me," Skuld grumbled. "You always take her side, don't you, Urd? Hey, Urd!"

"Silence." Verdandi put a finger to her lips. "Don't disturb her now."

The eldest sister appeared to have fallen into a trance. Her eyes were half-hidden under long eyelashes and heavy lids, her nose was greedily breathing in the green fumes, while her lips constantly mumbled strange syllables in a hissing, unknown language. Skuld took a few steps closer trying to eavesdrop, but as she seemed to realize she couldn't understand a word of it, she turned away with drooping shoulders. "A lady doesn't slouch," Verdandi reminded her sternly.

Urd's eyes suddenly flared open as if awoken from a nightmare. Utterly disregarding the heat as well as the cauldron's massive weight, she embraced it with both of her arms, tipping it over and pouring the stinking broth into the fire. The potion turned to steam emanating a snakelike hiss as it froze the flames into solid pillars. "It's time," Urd whispered, "come my sisters, let us see what the future holds."

Three pairs of violet eyes stared into the motionless flames. Urd gave a nod and Verdandi poured some of the liquid from the urn into them. A dark, coppery-smelling liquid it was; there could be no doubt that this was the blood Skuld had taken from the Muggle.

As soon as the blood touched the rigid flames they started moving again, evaporating into stringy mists, weaving themselves into a metallic gleaming bowl. The blood was caught in it, forming a shimmering pool in its middle.

All three witches bent over it, yet there was nothing to be seen save for their own eager faces.

And the night sky above.

Urd touched the liquid with her fingertips. "Time is Past. Threads of Fate unweave and grant your humble servant Urd the power to See."

"Time is Present." The second sister's fingers joined with the first. "Threads of Fate unweave and grant your humble servant Verdandi the power to See."

"Does that hurt?" the girl asked, glancing apprehensively at the smoking hands in the bowl. Noticing Urd's withering glare, she immediately fell silent and placed her hand into the liquid as well. "Time is Future. "Threads of Fate unweave and grant your humble servant Skuld the power to See."

The three witch sisters pulled back their hands. "Did we make a mistake?" Verdandi wanted to know, a frown crossing her forehead.

"Choose your questions," Urd whispered. "And choose them wisely for this urn of blood will not last forever. Neither will our powers."

"What does my future husband look like?" Skuld exclaimed before anyone could stop her. "Well," she shrugged, half-heartedly trying to defend herself from the angry scowls of the other two, "you are already married, so you needn't worry about it."

The mirror of blood trembled, forming a round, brown-haired head bent over a plate of soup. As the image grew clearer, it showed a young wizard approximately in his early twenties. He was wearing expensive, richly embroidered and utterly tasteless robes. The man's face was still not visible behind his soup bowl, but the hand holding the spoon was adorned with a crest ring. A bird, a swallow to be exact.

Skuld stretched out her hand and touched the image, apparently under the delusion that she could make the wizard move his head, so she could finally see his face. But all she achieved with her touch was the disappearance of the picture. What was worse, the mirror seemed to crack and dissolve, and only a bit more blood from the urn could restore it to its original smoothness.

Skuld gave a sigh. "Well, at least he's rich and from a decent family. Personally, I wouldn't have chosen an Avery for my husband, but I'm sure it will all fall into place."

She was going to say more, but Urd hissed at her to be quiet, and as Urd snarled and Skuld pouted, the middle sister, Verdandi leaned forward mouthing an unheard question into the bowl. The others fell silent immediately, their eyes sparkling with anger now. What did Verdandi have to hide?

A new image formed inside the mirror. It was a mighty throne of black marble, a throne which seemed to be made entirely of snakes. Two for the armrests, four for the feet, and an entire colony for the back, sleek glistening bodies woven together like the threads of an especially gruesome carpet. A hooded wizard resided upon it, a wizard with long black robes flowing down from his shadowy figure, but apart from these robes they couldn't see much of him because a second person stood on the steps before the throne.

This one they could see more clearly. It appeared to be a boy or young man, slight of build, his head covered in a mop of unruly black hair. He stood almost with his back to them, only a sliver of his face visible as he faced the figure sitting on the snake throne. His clothes were the robes of a wizard, but his shoes clearly revealed a connection to Muggles. One of his hands was stretched out towards the throne, but he wore no crest ring that gave away his family name.

The boy took a step towards the throne, but this was the moment Verdandi struck the mirror with her palm, destroying the image. It appeared to the others that she had seen enough.

"You cowardly little runt!" Urd snarled. "I won't let you dream of my master's defeat. Mark my words, sister and mark them well: Only one man will rule on the Throne of Snakes and he will rule for all eternity!"

Her voice rose to a hysterical, almost banshee-like wail. "Our Dark Lord Voldemort is the mightiest wizard of all ages. He commands over life and death, over light and darkness, over times and tides. None shall ever put an end to his reign, none ever defeat him. Not this old Muggle-loving fool with his pathetic Order of the Phoenix, not those spineless puppets at the Ministry. And least of all," she had to gasp for air now, "this strange, frog-eyed boy!"

Frog-eyed boy? The younger sisters exchanged bewildered looks. They had only seen the back of the boy's head, so what could Urd possibly know about his eyes? Did she know more about this boy?

"He's the one," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. "There can be no other explanation. Yet, tell me, sisters, how is this little child supposed to stand against our master? A child who will never grow up to be a man? Tell me, how is this possible?"

"Look!" Skuld shouted. "The mirror – it thinks the question was meant for it!"

This time, the mirror showed the boy's face, and his eyes truly were green, bright and sparkling as emeralds. The eyes did not change much, but the face around them did. It became smaller and younger, until it was the face of a toddler sitting on his mother's arm. Urd had been right once again, this boy was still a child.

"Lily Evans!" Verdandi gasped as she recognized the woman holding him. "Lily Evans, that annoying Head Girl we had in Hogwarts. Oh, how I hated her..."

"He's the son of Lily Evans and James Potter," Urd said coldly. "Or I probably should say was their son because he's already dead. One of our trusted companions has given us information about the Potters' hideout. You two certainly couldn't know about these things because you are not among the master's chosen."

"It is happening as we speak." Skuld clutched her hands in excitement. "Look, the Dark Lord is entering a house. This must be the house of the Potters."

Verdandi poured more blood into the mirror, so the image would not fade and three eager heads bent over it to see the latest triumph of their master.

The witch sisters watched without a word as the Dark Lord faced the little family. They watched as the first killing curse struck the father, they watched the mother run upstairs holding the baby. They watched as the Dark Lord ordered her to step aside, but she shook her head, crying, refusing to yield her son. A second killing curse burst through the room, a third one and then a fourth one...

And then....

One long moment there was silence. Faces frozen in horror. Three figures stood motionless as if some ancient magic had turned them into pillars of salt.

Then the urn fell from Verdandi's hands and shattered. The blood seeped away, returning to the earth.

The image broke apart. As did the bowl of flames.

Two voices screamed in unison, and a third one remained silent. The mightiest wizard of all ages, defeated by a mere child. This wasn't... this couldn't be possible.

Should everything they had ever believed in end tonight?

* * *

October 29, 1998

Memories flashed through her mind as Marguerite Avery-Lestrange stared at the wand lying before her on the delicate glass table. No, there could be no doubt about it.

Pine. Twelve inches. Dragon heartstring. The heart of a Chinese Fireball.

It was the very wand that had ended her sister's life....

Her pointed fingernails scratched over the table as she grasped the paper with trembling hands, gazing at the two words written on it. To Skuld No letter, no explanation. Just these two words and a case with a wand.

Skuld. There were only two more people who knew that name and one of them was dead – killed by this wand. And the other was a traitor who should better stay out of her way.

Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, the three Norns. Klotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, the three Moirae. Goddesses of fate, powerful beings, who ruled over life and death with the blink of an eye and the cut of a scissor. Indifferent, cruel and eternal, their power exceeded even the power of the mightiest god, regardless if this god was called Odin, Zeus, or Jupiter. All gods had to yield to their judgement.

No, it wasn't a coincidence that they had chosen these for their secret names.

Margaret, Catherine, and Elizabeth. Even Catholicism still held some traces of the three, although this patriarchal religion had removed them from their divine status and turned them into lowly saints. Without being able to strip them of their true powers, of course. Didn't she herself and her sisters live in a world ruled by men? Weren't they forbidden to sit at their master's table in the Dark Council? Hadn't Papa repeated over and over again that they were no more than insignificant girls?

But all that changed when they were together in secrecy, uniting their powers.

Unfortunately it hadn't happened very often. Most of the time, she and her sisters had hated each others guts, and their interests had been too far apart to unite them into a common goal. Usually it was two sisters uniting against the third, but which two, and which third heavily depended on their moods. There were only a few times when they had truly worked together.

That Hallowe'en night in the marshes had been one of them...

A smile crossed her face. If someone had been watching her in this very moment, they would have thought that she felt an innocent, almost childlike joy. However if that someone had been a person who knew her, they maybe could have suspected that she rejoiced in the memory of her first murder.

That fateful night, they had tried to use their visionary powers to unveil the hidden mysteries of the future. Of course, they had done so countless times with vague images flickering around in crystal balls, tea leaves, entrails, and flight of birds.

But this ritual was different.

And to unleash its powers, you needed a Hallowe'en night.

A Hallowe'en night, like the one after tomorrow...

"Marie, ma chérie! I'm sorry for coming home so late again, but there was an emergency meeting of the Council. You can imagine that we're all worried about all that trouble with... the Order of the Phoenix, and You-Know-Who and all that. Well, as you can imagine..."

"I certainly can, darling," she chirped, kissing his cheek. The sympathetic wife was an easy role to play, and didn't take much effort. "I know how hard you work for us. So, did you come up with a brilliant solution?"

"I... well, uhm..."

Couldn't the fool at least try to find a better excuse? She could smell the other woman's perfume all over him. A flowery fragrance of lilac with just a whiff of sage.

It was how she had always imagined the scent of a butterfly.

* * *

October 31, 1981

"Silence!" Urd was the first of the sisters to regain her control. "Stop behaving like a lot of cackling chickens. We know that it will happen tonight, but we don't know when. Perhaps there's still time to ensure that this horrible vision will never come to pass. We need to ask Papa for advice!"

The others nodded in agreement. Papa would know what to do. Papa was the most powerful dark wizard, well, the second most powerful right after the master, and apart from that, his most trusted advisor. He was much more experienced than all these youngsters the master had acquired of late. There could be no doubt that he would pull a solution from the field of his magical experience as easy as a Muggle charlatan might pull a rabbit from his hat.

As always, Papa would set things right.

Urd reached into her pocket and was about to forage for something, when she stopped mid-movement, and withdrew her hand, casting an icy glance at Verdandi. "Looking for this?" her blond sister asked, holding out a black ring with a jackal's head. Urd snatched it from her without a word and threw it into the flames while adding a powdery substance with her other hand. It would probably have been quicker to Apparate to Papa than to call for him, but even now in these desperate times none of them dared to disturb their father. They did not want to imagine what his reaction would be.

"What are you doing out there in the woods, mes poupettes? Did you ask your husbands' permission for this? And you, Marie, why are you not in your room at this hour of night?"

A man's head had appeared in the flames, a head covered in dark hair with a greyish tinge, and a face with stern features. They did not yet emit the harshness that seventeen years in Azkaban would bestow on them, but seemed frozen nonetheless, save for small signs of irritation along the corners of the mouth. A pair of violet eyes coolly observed the three daughters.

"Papa, I..." squeaked Skuld, who was once again Marguerite, Marie for short. No longer a powerful goddess of fate, but a scared little girl whose voice had failed her.

"Papa, please." As always, it was Urd who managed to scrape together some courage. « Ecoutez, je vous en prie, il faut raconter toute l'histoire! Nous avons des problèmes! »

"What problems are you talking about, girl?" the head in the fire snapped, but he fell silent as Urd described the vision from the mirror of blood. He didn't interrupt her a single time as he listened to her words, but a shade of sorrow appeared in his eyes. It would go unnoticed by anyone but his three daughters who were experts in reading his emotions.

"So you have seen this boy standing in front of the master's snake throne?" the father finally asked as Urd, finished with her recollection of the first vision, went on to the second one. "This means that the outcome of the last battle is still unclear. Our master may have been defeated once, but he shall return ever more powerful." A fierce look had taken possession of his eyes.

"Yes, we saw the boy, but we couldn't see whether it was our master sitting upon the throne." Urd lowered her eyes. "There was someone on the throne, but... did you two see it?" The other two sisters quietly shook her heads.

"You speak the truth, Marie, but you ... you cowardly little runt ... you dare to lie to my face. I always know when my puppets lie. I know that all women are false and I know that I am cursed with three daughters and no heir. I would punish you right here, right now for your insolence, but first I have to deal with matters far more important than you three. You will wait here and not move a finger until my return, vous avez compris?"

The witch sisters nodded, a strange mixture of fear and relief visible upon their pale faces as their father's head disappeared in the flames.

"He has gone to warn the master, hasn't he?" Skuld had finally regained the use of her voice. "Oh, how I hope that he'll arrive in time. That little brat just can't defeat the Dark Lord, he can't...." She turned around. "Where has Verdandi gone?"

"Disapparated," Urd hissed. "Did you honestly believe she would wait quietly until Papa comes back to punish her? At her husband's place she's out of Papa's reach. We all know that. My own wouldn't lift a finger to protect me, so I might as well stay and get it over with."

"At least you married someone loyal to our family." Skuld tried to steer the conversation away from the dangerous turn it was obviously taking. "She on the other hand married a coward and a traitor."

"She married whomever the master chose for her, just as I did and just as you will," Urd snarled. "You have no right to question his decisions."

"No, I would never," Skuld hastened to assure her. "I'm simply worried what she might do, that's all. Did you know that she used a potion on you to ensure that you would not bear a son? Why do you think she has one while you don't have any children at all? Everything is her fault!"

"Oh, is it?" Urd asked dangerously soft, grabbing a strand of her sister's hair. "Who's the potion brewer in our family?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Skuld tried to break free of her sister's grip. "She... she put the Imperius Curse on me."

"Oh no, she didn't, you lying snake! You helped her because you thought that in the end you would be the one giving this family a male heir."

"Let go of me and shut your dirty mouth!"

"You filthy piece of scum!"

"Ugly hag!"

"Mudblood!"

Once again, the short moment when the three witch sisters had united their powers, was over.

* * *

October 29, 1998

The phrase 'When can we go back in?' was spelt in huge spidery letters on the blackboard which Justin Finch-Fletchley raised high above his head for what seemed to be the third time during the last forty minutes.

Like the two other times before, Hermione answered him with a shake of her head, her characteristic frown, and the sentence: 'As soon as the hideout is finished.' on top of her own blackboard. You could hardly believe that a member of the elder's council, who was supposed to set an example for the younger students, could be so impatient while said younger students patiently waited during the transformation. Such difficult magic couldn't be accomplished within the blink of an eye, even if it was created by Dumbledore himself. The transformation usually took a little less than an hour, and since it would be dangerous to stay inside a shape-changing hideout, the young witches and wizards had to spend that time underwater.

After long and elaborate discussions, the students had finally agreed on a Shape for Hallowe'en. They had chosen a marshy countryside with brick cottages and the lonely hulk of a castle on the horizon. It would also have been possible to have the hideout create a castle for them to live in, but that option had been dismissed at once. The memories of Hogwarts were simply too painful.

As for the current Shape, the young witches and wizards had decided to keep it for about a month and then choose something more Christmas-like for December. New discussions had spawned already; some of the students wanted to celebrate a classic white Christmas, while others wanted to forget all about winter enjoying the warmth of a sunny beach. Another idea that had, for no apparent reason, reached great popularity among them was a that of a colourful jungle with tigers, elephants, and other animals to keep as exotic pets.

Still, they had another month to discuss these topics. Right now, Hallowe'en was approaching.

A few merpeople swam past them, giving courteous nods or even waving at the group. The Quidditch match had strengthened the tentative friendly bonds between the Hogwarts students and the inhabitants of the lake. Some of the witches and wizards had started to pay neighbourly visits apart from the Wednesday audiences at Chieftain Murcus' palace. Strangely enough, Neville was often among them, although he wasn't especially known for diplomatic skills and everybody had believed him to be afraid of the merpeople. But this had obviously changed during the last months because as they passed he spun around in the water and swam right towards them.

"Hey!" Seamus nudged Dean, trying to convey a message through excited gestures and loud blubbering in the water. Since Dean's only response was a point-blank stare, Seamus relieved a protesting Justin Finch-Fletchley of his blackboard, decorating it with new words. Next to them, Ron almost twisted his neck to be able to read them, too.

"Heartbreaker Neville," the words spelled. With a wink and a nod of his head, Seamus gestured towards Neville, who was in a lively conversation with a young girl he obviously seemed to know pretty well. He excitedly waved his arms and scribbled words on his own blackboard.

The three boys burst into laughter. Neville, who had his back turned to them, didn't notice any of it and carried on with the conversation.

"Go, get her, tiger!" Ron waved his own blackboard over his head, jumping up and down like a drunken cheerleader. Neville didn't notice it either, but the girl did. She obviously had no idea what the words on the board were supposed to mean, so she turned to Neville to question him. His face turned such a bright red that it was even visible in the dim underwater light. He shook his head, scowling at the other boys, who had now started whistling and scribbling 'Booh' all over their blackboards.

Ron's eyes searched for Harry and Hermione in the crowd. He felt a sudden inexplicable sting of jealousy as he saw Harry give a nod to Hermione to signal that the hour was over and that they could return to the hideout. It was such a small gesture, yet it showed how his two best friends could understand each other without words. It was almost like they were able to read each other's mind.

As the others saw Harry and Hermione approach the entrance, they grabbed their brooms and followed, forming a big cluster around them. Everybody wanted to be the first to see the new Shape. They barely left enough room for Harry to Charm away the sand and for Hermione to open the door with her golden key.

Harry and Hermione on the contrary seemed to have their eyes on the students. They wanted to make sure everyone got in safely.

"Woops, sorry, mate." Ron had accidentally shoved Harry aside as he was trying to fight his way through between Dean and Seamus. He automatically reached for Harry's shoulder as the surge of the water threatened to drift him aside, but what he suddenly felt between his fingers was a small chain.

"Woops, sorry again." He let go at once. Oh right, it was the ring, Harry was wearing around his neck. A strange piece of jewellery, but he had never bothered to ask about it. Oh, well, it looked like a dog, didn't it? There wasn't really any reason to wonder about dogs when your godfather could turn into one.

Neville swam past Ron, clutching his broom to his side. He was one of the last students, and Ron was pretty certain that it had something to do with saying goodbye to that girl. Did he have a crush on her? But she was a mermaid, that kind of thing couldn't work, could it? And he had never had a girlfriend before; he just wasn't the type the girls liked.

'Well, neither am I,' Ron thought to himself. He was about to turn back to the entrance when he suddenly saw Neville freeze as if struck by a stunning spell. Had he screamed? Under water it was impossible to make out; there was too much noise and blubbering around.

But Neville's eyes! There was a look of pure horror in these eyes as he stared at Harry. No, at Harry's ring. It was only for an instant, then everything seemed back to normal again, and Neville smiled.

It was a twisted smile, and Neville's eyes seemed to have lost all focus. Ron knew that expression, he had seen it before.

He had seen it four years ago as Neville watched the fake Mad-Eye Moody torture a spider with the Cruciatus Curse.

* * *

Amicus Draconis- 1st Cycle: Cycle of the Badger - Part 6: Blood Oracle - Part I

"I wonder, I wonder, do you know what I wonder?"

"No, what do you wonder?"

"I wonder about the best way to become a black wizard!"

"Well, first of all, it's not 'black wizard' it's 'DARK wizard'. Even the forces of evil have to submit to the great laws of political correctness. Second, to become one you have to follow a carefully structured plan of DARK wizardness, which includes clothing, make-up, speech, and style."

"Which means I have to wear only black, sorry, DARK clothes?"

"Exactly, dear brother. You wear DARK clothes – you can shop for them at the Gothic market in Camden Town, you hang out in cemeteries a lot and brew DARK potions in the middle of the night, you wear white make-up, and kajal around your eyes, and most important of all, you need to learn French."

"French?"

"Oui, mon cher frère. DARK wizards always speak French for it is a DARK language. Please translate for me: « Je t'aime. »

"I aim at you."

« Je te donne un bonbon et un baiser ! »

"I give you a good beating."

« Je t'embrasse .»

"I embarrass you. No, wait – that can't be right!"

"Yes, you do. Let's try German next."

Amicus Draconis- 1. Zyklus: Zyklus des Dachses - Teil 6: Ritual des Blutes - Teil I

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for not updating for so long :-(

My next couple of notes are going to be about the Lestranges because that family plays a major role in the next chapters. From that first moment the strange heavy-lidded woman and her two men appeared in the court scene in GoF, we fanfic authors have been speculating about her. We didn't learn her first name until OotP, so in post-GoF fanfics, she is given lots of creative first names, for example, Lydia, Morgana, or Icicle. Many people speculated about her role as well; the only thing we learned at that time was that tiny bit about Neville's past, which makes an interesting fanfic-plot as well. I suppose that is one of the major reasons why we like the HP books so much because they give us so many bits and pieces of plot to work with.

Well, first of all, I imagined the Lestranges to be an old, rich, pureblood family. I gave them a French background, but the family patriarch, Istave Lestrange already grew up in England. He married Angelika Grindelwald, who in my first draft was Grindelwald's daughter, but since I never mentioned that fact anywhere in the fic, it wasn't too late to change her to Grindelwald's niece. Due to, well... let's just call them recent events. *smirk*

As for their three daughters, I'll talk more about them in my next note, so as not to give away any spoilers. The idea to have three mysterious sisters in my story basically derived from watching Gargoyles and reading the Avalon series. Little did I know that Rowling had planned three sisters as well, so I had one of those happy "I predicted the books!" moments when OotP came out. (My other moment was, when Fred and George suddenly had their own resistance radio show in DH, and even mentioned a secret hideout below the Hogwarts lake. *raises eyebrows*)

Oh, and we have one more crest ring for our collection. The jackal is the symbol of Anubis, the Egyptian god of death, and the Lestranges claim that their family roots go back all the way to Ancient Egypt.