Return of the Raven (Prologue to Phoenix Reborn)

by Geri ([email protected])

Rating: PG-13 for violence (sorry, no sex in this story...)

Pairing: SS/RL

Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts

Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling; no money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.

Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, and Three's a Crowd

Summary: Professor Blackmore explains where she's been for the past fourteen years...
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"B...b...but you're dead!" stammered Sirius. Lupin was just standing there with his mouth hanging open.

"Do I look dead?" Blackmore asked sarcastically.

Snape's face had turned white, and his voice was none too steady, but he managed to say, "Obviously she's not dead, Black. Ghosts rarely look wet and bedraggled."

Blackmore gave Snape the approving smile she used to give him in class when he had made a particularly astute observation; he found it unnerving rather than reassuring.

"Unless she died by drowning," Black muttered.

"She was attacked in her house, you moron," Snape retorted, sounding a little more like his normal self. "Where would she have drowned, the bathtub?"

Sirius was still too shaken to take offense at the insult. "Well, you never know..."

Bane shook himself vigorously, splattering everyone in the room with water. "Well, that feels real enough," said Lupin, finally regaining his voice.

"What happened?" Sirius demanded. "Where have you been? Why didn't you tell me, tell anyone you were alive--?!"

Snape said in a much quieter voice, "And why do you look as if you have not aged in fourteen years?"

"It's a very long story," Blackmore replied. "I will tell you everything, but do you mind if I dry off first?"

"Of course," said Lupin, still in shock, but playing the role of gracious host. "Please come sit by the fire."

Blackmore dried off her robes with a quick spell, but a took a seat by the fire with obvious pleasure. Bane settled in her lap, fluffing out his feathers and basking contentedly in the heat. Meanwhile, Lupin cleaned up the spilled tea and pieces of the mug Sirius had dropped and broken, then served fresh mugs of tea to everyone as Snape and Sirius fidgeted impatiently. Blackmore took a sip from her mug and began to speak. "It all began when Voldemort sent three Death Eaters to my house to kill me..."
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A loud wailing noise awoke Branwen Blackmore from her sleep; the alarms she had set to alert her to intruders had been triggered. She quickly wrapped a robe over her nightgown and grabbed her wand, as she heard cursing and crashes and the sound of things breaking from downstairs. She smiled slightly; they must be having trouble dealing with some of the trap spells she had set, but that would not hold them for long--she was sure Voldemort had sent some of his best people to kill her. "I suppose I should be flattered," she said to Bane in a dry voice. He cawed and flew over from his perch in the corner to her shoulder.

She took advantage of the time it took her uninvited guests to deal with the traps, and chanted a brief incantation, then descended the staircase; three robed and masked figures were waiting below. "May I not even see the faces of my killers before I die?" she asked coolly.

The tall figure in the middle laughed and pulled off his mask, and the other two followed suit. "Surrender, Branwen," he said, "and perhaps the Dark Lord will show you mercy." He was a very handsome man, with dark hair and eyes, but his beauty was marred by the cruel smile on his face.

"Anwir Gravenor," Blackmore said, recognizing an old schoolmate; he had been a couple of years ahead of her at Hogwarts. "As befits your name, nothing that comes out of your mouth is the truth, for I know that the Dark Lord has no mercy." Anwir was an old Welsh name that meant "liar" and it was appropriate, for Anwir had lied often during his schoolboy days, to get himself out of trouble, to get others in trouble, or just for the sheer pleasure of stirring up discord amongst his classmates. He had taken a great deal of pleasure in other people's pain, and his favorite lies had been ones that set friends or lovers at odds against each other.

"You should have served him while you had the chance, Branwen," Gravenor laughed. "Now you will die, like your father did."

Blackmore's green eyes narrowed, but otherwise showed no outward sign of emotion. Inside, she felt a cold fury filling her heart, for Anwir's words confirmed her suspicions that her parents' deaths--supposedly caused by a careless apprentice mixing volatile chemicals in the research laboratory where they had worked--were no accident. But then again, it could simply be one of Anwir's lies, designed to make her lose her temper and become careless; she would not play into his hands.

She turned to the second Death Eater and said in the same cool voice she had used before, as if Anwir's words meant nothing to her, "I am disappointed in you, Mr. Foley." Lorcan Foley had been one of her students; he had graduated a few years before she had resigned her position at Hogwarts. She was disappointed, but not surprised; Lorcan had a cruel streak, though he was less subtle than Anwir, and had always liked hurting people. But he was careful to only pick on those weaker than himself. She knew that his father had a reputation as a sadist and a bully, and had no doubt instilled those values in his son. She had tried to reach out to Lorcan, tried to teach him to become a better man than his father, but by the time he had reached her classroom, the damage had already been done.

"You offered me knowledge, Professor," Foley called out. "But the Dark Lord offered me power!" Lorcan was a small, mousy-looking man, with perpetually messy blond hair. He had once had a certain boyish charm, but no longer--it had been obliterated during his tenure with the Death Eaters. His once-plump face was now pale and gaunt, giving him a skull-like appearance, and his green eyes glittered with madness. "My father doesn't push me around anymore; I killed him--the Dark Lord gave me the power to do that!" He cackled gleefully as he said, "But I didn't kill him quickly, no...I watched him squirm and suffer and plead for his life before he died..."

The third man, Nigel Riggs, gazed at his comrade-in-arms with a distasteful look on his face. He was handsome--though not quite as handsome as Anwir--with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He also had been one of Blackmore's students.

"And you, Nigel," Blackmore asked wearily, "what is your excuse for joining Voldemort? You were already handsome and wealthy, and blessed with a loving family and a great talent for magic; what more could you possibly want?" She thought she knew the answer to that question, but she asked it anyway, stalling for time, waiting for the spell she had cast to take effect. And besides, there was always the faint chance that she could awaken a hint of doubt in Lorcan and Nigel, make them question their loyalty to the Dark Lord, at least long enough for her to disable one of them. She would spare their lives if she could, but right now she was thinking more of her own survival; she was reasonably certain she could take on two of the three mages, but she didn't think she would be able to defeat all three at once.

Nigel replied as she had suspected he would. "Status, Professor. To be one of the elite of the wizarding world. I am not Muggle-born, but nor am I old blood. People like the Malfoys looked down their noses at us and called us 'new money'." Nigel's father was a merchant who ran a chain of wizarding supply shops; the elder Riggs had a keen mind for business and had made wise investments, but even his considerable fortune had not been enough to buy Nigel entry into the upper-class world of the Malfoys and their like. "But now I am one of the Dark Lord's elite, and I, like Malfoy, will be one of the rulers of the new order, when our Lord takes his rightful place as Master of the wizarding world!"

"Lucius Malfoy will never see you as an equal, whether you serve the same master or not," Blackmore said. "He is using you, as your Dark Lord is using you, and both will discard you when you have served your purpose."

"That's not true!" Nigel retorted hotly. "He trusted me with this mission--"

Blackmore laughed; it was a cold and mocking sound. "You don't see Lucius Malfoy risking his precious skin doing battle with me! The Dark Lord does not consider you three trustworthy--he considers you expendable!"

Lorcan stared at her blankly, Nigel spluttered in outrage--but there was now a hint of fear in his eyes as well--and Anwir's face turned red as he snarled, "Enough talk!" and raised his wand. A ray of red light shot out from his wand, but Blackmore quickly threw up a shield spell, and it fizzled out harmlessly. Just then, the cold embers in the fireplace flared to life, and a bird made of flames flew out of it and attacked the three Death Eaters.

"A phoenix?" gasped Lorcan, hastily casting a shield spell to protect himself. Nigel had not been so quick; his robes had caught fire, and he was now occupied with trying to dodge the bird and put out the flames on his robe.

"It's a just a fire elemental, you dolt!" shouted Anwir. "I'll deal with it; don't let her escape!"

Blackmore tried to Apparate to safety, but was unable to; they must have set some kind of blocking spell around the house. Her former classmate and students might be corrupt, but they weren't stupid. She dove for cover as Lorcan and Nigel shot off spells at her, and the table she ducked behind exploded into splinters.

Anwir soon dispelled the fire elemental, and then she had three sorcerers to deal with. The spells in Blackmore's specialty, Incantations and Summonings, were powerful ones, but the problem with them was that they took a great deal of time and preparation to cast. Incantations to be chanted, protective circles and runes of power to be drawn--they weren't really conducive to a heated battle such as this one, where she didn't have a partner like Moody or Sirius to cover her while she cast her spells. She did, of course, have some preset spells prepared, that could be triggered with just a quick command word or phrase, like the one that had summoned the elemental from the fireplace. But it was almost impossible to summon a creature of great power--one strong enough to overcome three well-trained Death Eaters--in that manner. She did have one ace up her sleeve, but it was a means of last resort, to be used only when all hope had failed...

She fought bravely and held them at bay longer than anyone, including herself, could have expected. She tried to send an air elemental out with a message to bring help from her fellow Aurors or Order members, but she wasn't sure if it got through the wards the Death Eaters had set around the house. She was too busy fighting for her life to watch and see if her messenger succeeded or not. Finally, exhaustion made her careless, and she made a fatal mistake...

She was too busy holding off Anwir to see Lorcan pointing his wand at her back, but Bane did, and he swooped down, diving at Foley's face, screeching at the top of his lungs. His claws raked the wizard's forehead, and as blood ran into Lorcan's eyes, his wand jerked upwards; a beam of green light shot into the ceiling, blasting a hole in it, but completely missed the intended target, Bane's mistress.

Bane rose back up into the air, cawing raucously, as if he were laughing at Lorcan. Nigel saw an opening and took it; he fired a jet of red light at the bird, and Bane screeched again, this time in pain. Blood and black feathers flew everywhere and his limp form tumbled to the ground at Blackmore's feet.

Blackmore screamed, and not just with grief or anger. Bane was not just a pet, nor even an ordinary wizard's familiar. She had found and raised him as an orphaned chick, and there was a bond between the two of them she did not entirely understand herself: if she wished, she could see through his eyes, and draw on the reservoir of magical power he seemed to have deep inside his body, and he in turn, could draw strength from her power. But her father had always taught her that power comes with a price, and the price she and Bane paid for their bond was that what one felt, so did the other. If Bane was wounded, she felt the pain as if it were her own, and vice versa.

Blackmore was momentarily paralyzed by her familiar's pain, and Anwir took advantage of that moment. He raised his wand and shouted out the words of a particularly nasty spell--one that was pure black magic--called Blade Storm. Dozens of tiny silver blades appeared shimmering in the air, then they all hurled themselves at Blackmore. They ripped through her body, vanishing upon impact, but the wounds they left behind were real. She screamed in agony and fell to the floor beside Bane, her green robes ripped to shreds and stained almost entirely red with her blood. Bane croaked weakly, and Blackmore reached out with a trembling hand and pulled him close, cuddling the dying bird against her chest.

Nigel looked down at his former teacher with both fear and guilt in his eyes. "Hurry up and finish her off, Gravenor," he said nervously.

"What's the rush?" he laughed. "She's harmless now. Come now, Nigel, Lorcan--don't tell me you've never fantasized about getting under your lovely teacher's skirts." His face twisted into a lascivious leer as he bent down and lifted the hem of her robe. Lorcan giggled nervously, and Nigel stared at Anwir in mingled shock and disgust.

Meanwhile, Blackmore placed one blood-slicked hand palm-down on the floor and whispered, "Araqiel, forefather, blood to blood I call thee, and beg thee to aid a daughter of thy blood..."

Suddenly darkness fell over the house, and red lines of light began to glow on the floor, starting from where Blackmore's bloody palm touched the floor, and spreading across the room to form a giant pentagram beneath the Death Eaters' feet.

"What the--?" exclaimed Nigel, sounding frightened.

"Oh SHIT!" yelled Anwir, his eyes frantic. "We've got to get out of here--!"

But before they could move, a figure materialized in the center of the pentagram: a tall, impossibly beautiful man with white skin and long, wavy black hair; sable tendrils floated languidly around his face as if being stirred by a breeze, despite the fact that all the doors and windows in the house were sealed. He bore a striking resemblance to the witch lying on the floor at his feet, but he was clearly not human; the robes he wore seemed to be made of shadows rather than mere cloth, and his eyes were a glowing ruby-red.

He looked down at Blackmore sadly and spoke in a voice that was as dark as a moonless night, and as sweet and rich and intoxicating as the finest honey-mead. "Ah, granddaughter, you did not call upon me until it was nearly too late..."

"GRANDDAUGHTER?!" howled Lorcan.
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"GRANDDAUGHTER?!" screeched Sirius.

Lupin's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no sound came out of it.

All the blood drained out of Snape's face and he whispered incredulously, "The rumors were true..."

"Shh," said Blackmore, raising a finger to her lips. "Let me finish my story..." Her three former students were in too much shock to interrupt her again, so she continued.
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Araqiel looked up and smiled, slowly and sweetly, at the three Death Eaters, his lips pulling slightly back from his teeth to reveal canines longer and sharper than any normal human's. That smile was almost seductive, in a dark and terrifying way, but his eyes, red like the blood pooling on the ground beneath his granddaughter, were cold and merciless. Nigel fell to his knees, and Lorcan began to tremble and whimper. Anwir raised his wand, and began backing away slowly as Araqiel stepped forward over Blackmore's body.

"Wh--who are you?" whispered Anwir. "WHAT are you?"

"Have you not heard the rumors, Anwir?" Araqiel said lightly. His voice was still smooth and rich, but now it was laced with venom. "The rumors that Branwen, that all the Blackmores, have demon blood?" He laughed at the expression on the Death Eater's face. "Yes, Anwir Gravenor, I know your name. Branwen is my last descendant, the last heir to the Blackmore name, and I have watched my little raven very carefully these past few years--ever since your master had her father killed when I was not looking. As to who and what I am, I am Araqiel, a Prince of the Demon Realm, and Branwen is my many-times-over great-granddaughter. My blood, however diluted, flows through her veins, and now you will pay for spilling that blood..."

"Mercy!" wailed Nigel, throwing himself down on his hands and knees. "Mercy, great lord, we didn't know--"

"You worm!" snarled Araqiel. "Cowardly, sniveling little mortal! You dare beg mercy when you conspired to kill the woman who tried to teach you wisdom, tried to save your greedy, worthless soul from the likes of your Lord Voldemort? You think your master is cruel--he is nothing compared to me! The only mercy I will give you is that of a swift death--and only because I have no time to linger if I wish to save my granddaughter!"

Anwir pointed his wand at the demon and shouted, "Avada--"

Araqiel lifted his hand--he wore jeweled rings on almost every finger, and each finger was tipped with a long, carefully polished and manicured nail. It might have made him look foppish, except for his glowing red eyes and the nearly tangible aura of power surrounding him. He made a brief gesture with his hand, and the wands of all three Death Eaters flew out of their grasp and into his. He gazed down at the wands in his hand with a contemptuous look in his eyes. "You humans depend so much upon these little pieces of wood, don't you?" he asked. His fingers closed into a fist and effortlessly snapped the wands into pieces.

Lorcan's whimpering grew louder, and Nigel continued to grovel on the floor, wailing and babbling, "Please, lord, it wasn't me who hurt her, it was Anwir, he did it not me, please--" As for Anwir, he was frantically screaming the words to every spell he could think of, but without those "little pieces of wood," they were useless.

Araqiel's smile grew wider; it was no longer gentle or seductive, but the eager smile of a predator eyeing his prey. He raised his hands, and the polished nails of an aristocratic dandy had turned into long, silver talons.

Screams filled with the air for a few minutes, but were soon silenced. Great splashes of blood covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the living room, but no sign of red showed on Araqiel's shadowy robes. His nails were back to normal, and he raised his fingers to his mouth and casually licked the blood off of them. Then he knelt down and scooped up his granddaughter, tenderly cradling her in his arms. Though near death, Branwen still clutched Bane protectively against her chest. "Let us go home, granddaughter," Araqiel said gently, and the three of them vanished.
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Blackmore paused and took a sip of tea, while the three men sat in stunned silence. Finally Snape said in a shaky voice, "All those years, we Slytherins scared the first-years and gave them nightmares with stories of your demonic blood--and all along, those stories were true!"

"Your grandfather is really a demon?" Sirius asked weakly.

"Well, actually, Araqiel is my great-grandfather about thirty times over; I forget exactly how many 'greats'. About a thousand years ago, my ancestress Regan Blackmore was a young apprentice--more of a slave, really--to a powerful Dark Wizard. This wizard practiced the very dangerous art of demon summoning. Back then, my grandfather was young--as demons count years--and a little reckless and foolish with youth. He was fascinated by the human world, and loved to watch our petty human lives--our wars, the rise and fall of our kingdoms, our acts of noble self-sacrifice and base selfish greed--from the Demon Realm. So when Regan's master sent out a summoning call, Araqiel answered--not because he was compelled to, but because he wanted to. A demon cannot enter our realm without invitation, you see; a human wizard must open a gate between the two worlds. Araqiel was a Prince, and thought he was too powerful to be bound by a mere mortal. He thought he could easily overpower his summoner, and then explore our world to his heart's content. But he was wrong. This wizard was as powerful, as dark and twisted as Voldemort, and in his own way, more experienced than the young demon noble. He tricked Araqiel and trapped him, locking him in a specially prepared cage made of cold iron that was bespelled to not let the demon's spells escape through the bars, but rather reflect them back on the caster. He nearly killed himself trying to blast his way out of that cage. The wizard had not expected to capture such a powerful demon; he was pleased, but he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with my grandfather--he couldn't make use of Araqiel's powers while he was bound in the cage, but letting him out would be suicide. So he left Araqiel in there and ignored him for awhile, hoping to break the demon's spirit while he came up with a better plan.

"Araqiel was by turns frantic and despairing; demons prize their freedom, and fear captivity above all else. That is why summoning demons is so dangerous; if you enslave a demon and force him to do your bidding, he will break free and kill you if your control slips even the slightest bit. You can attempt to bargain with a demon, offer him a reward in exchange for a favor, but that is nearly as dangerous, for demons rarely strike a fair bargain, and again, will attempt to overpower and betray their summoner if they can. Araqiel was young and sheltered, for a demon, and had never experienced such captivity before. At times, he would fling himself against the bars in panic, till the enchanted metal burned welts into his skin. The cage, as I said, was made entirely of specially bespelled cold iron--ceiling, walls, and floor--so he was in constant pain, was nearly driven mad by it. And at other times, he would sink into despair, fearing he would be a prisoner all his life--and demons are, for all practical purposes, immortal. They can be slain, but they do not age, at least, not as humans do. An eternity of slavery seemed a fate worse than death.

"But my ancestress Regan was young and a little foolish herself; she was only about seventeen years old. Araqiel was incredibly beautiful, and she would often linger by the cage to watch him when her master was not around. She saw Araqiel's pain and despair, and began to feel sorry for him. Araqiel was frightened and lonely enough to welcome her company, and they would talk for hours late at night, when everyone else in the castle was asleep. He told her about his life in the Demon Realm, and she told him about hers, how the wizard had spotted her magical talent when she was a young girl and taken her from her family; when her parents objected, he killed them. She was too afraid of her master to free Araqiel, but she would talk to him, and bring him food and drink, slipping them through the bars of the cage. Araqiel didn't really need human sustenance to survive, but he appreciated the kindness of her gesture. Perhaps he would not have come to care for her if he had not been in such a position of vulnerability, but he was, and he did. My many-times great-grandfather and grandmother gradually fell in love with each other.

"When the wizard began contemplating sacrificing Araqiel in an attempt to claim the demon's power for his own, Regan finally got up enough courage to free Araqiel from his cage. Araqiel slew the wizard and his minions, of course, and he took Regan as his bride. She became quite a wealthy woman, claiming the wizard's treasure for her own, since he no longer had any need for it. She also became quite a powerful sorceress; she already had raw talent and power, and now she had the wizard's spellbooks, and a Demon Prince to act as her tutor. They lived in harmony for many years, and became the founders of the Blackmore clan. After a time, Araqiel had to return to his own world--a Prince does have duties to the realm, after all. Regan did not go with him, as by then she had children to look after, but Araqiel promised to always watch over her descendants. Supposedly she lived to a ripe old age, and died with her children and grandchildren at her bedside, but there were whispered tales passed down in my family that said Araqiel came and claimed her, and took her back to his palace in the demon world, where she would live forever young and beautiful.

"Araqiel's descendants inherited the power of his demon blood, always having very strong magic, even more than thirty generations later. And often, people have said we have an unnerving, otherworldly air about us, which led to the rumors, Severus, of my family having faery or demon blood. Before Araqiel and Regan departed this world, they laid a permanent summoning spell upon the family manor, a feat that could only have been performed by the most powerful of mages. Araqiel pledged that any descendant of his could use the blood they shared to trigger the spell, and he would come to their aid. This secret has been passed down from each Lady or Lord of Blackmore Manor to their heir. Perhaps owing to our demon blood, we have not been very prolific, and I am now the last Blackmore heir." She smiled wryly. "My 'grandmother' Regan told me, 'you had better hurry up and have some babies, girl,' before I returned home."

"Then those tales you mentioned are true?" Lupin asked, startled. "Your ancestress Regan is still alive and well in the Demon Realm? And that is where you have been these past fourteen years?"

Blackmore smiled. "Yes, and yes."

"But why did it take you so long to return?" Snape asked. "Why didn't you let anyone know you were alive?"

"That is another story..." said Blackmore.
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Hours, days, or weeks later--time did not pass at the same rate in the demon world as it did in the human world--Blackmore awoke to find herself feeling a little weak, but fully healed, lying in a luxurious four-poster bed.

"I see you are feeling better, granddaughter," a dark, rich voice said.

Blackmore looked up to see Araqiel standing next to the bed.

"Araqiel!" she said, startled. Then, remembering that he was a demon and a Prince, and that demons tended to be proud and easily offended, she hastily added, "I mean, Prince Araqiel...ah...Great-great-great--" Her students would have been amazed if they could have seen cold, confident Professor Blackmore so disconcerted.

Araqiel laughed, a beautiful sound that could have melted the heart of any maiden--and not a few men. "Leave off all the 'greats,' granddaughter, or you will be at it all day; simply call me Grandfather or Araqiel, if you please."

"Yes, Grandfather," Blackmore said obediently.

He bent down and kissed her on the forehead; his power was such that she could feel it tingling on her skin even through that brief, light touch. It was not unpleasant, but it was rather unnerving. But the mighty Demon Prince merely said tenderly, "I am relieved that I reached you in time, granddaughter; you nearly left it till too late before you called upon me. You have always been one of my favorite descendants, little raven."

"Thank you for saving me, Grandfather. And...speaking of ravens..." An anxious look crossed Blackmore's face. "Is Bane...?" She couldn't finish the sentence, her throat choked up with fear and grief at the thought of losing her childhood friend.

Araqiel grinned, and called out, "I think Branwen is ready to see her friend, my dear."

A woman walked into the room, a huge raven perched on her shoulder. As soon as he saw his mistress, Bane launched himself into the air and flew to her side, cawing at her in an agitated and reproachful tone, as if scolding her for making him worry, and he rubbed his face against her cheek. She petted him in a reassuring manner, but her eyes were fixed on the woman who had carried him in. She looked very familiar, as well she should--because her portrait was hanging in Blackmore's house (assuming that it hadn't been destroyed in the battle with the Death Eaters): it was Regan Blackmore. She bore a strong resemblance to her many-times great-granddaughter, though her long hair was now snow-white while it was black in her portrait. But her face was as young and lovely as the image of the woman preserved in the painting.

"L--Lady Regan?" stammered Blackmore.

Regan leaned down and kissed Blackmore on the cheek. "Just call me Grandmother, Branwen. I am happy to finally meet you in person."

"I am pleased to meet you too, Grandmother," Blackmore said weakly.

Araqiel grinned, in a slightly wicked but charming way, and Blackmore could see why her ancestress had immediately been smitten with him. "Perhaps we should let our little raven rest, my love, and give her some time to get over the shock of meeting her ancestors. She is still recuperating, after all."

Regan smiled. "Very well, though I don't think she'll need that much time. From what I have seen, our granddaughter is a strong woman; she is a Blackmore, after all..."


Regan's words were true; Blackmore recuperated quickly and got over her shock, though she was still in awe of her 'grandparents'; it was one thing to know that you had demon blood flowing through your veins, and quite another to actually meet your demon forefather in the flesh!

"Thank you for saving, Bane, Grandfather," Blackmore said one day as Regan and Araqiel took her for a walk through the Demon Prince's palace. "I thought he was beyond healing."

"Oh, he is made of sterner stuff than that, Branwen," Araqiel said casually. "He is a creature of the Demon Realm, after all."

"What?!" Blackmore exclaimed, stopping in her tracks.

Araqiel gave her an amused smile. "Come now, little raven, did you never wonder why your familiar had such special powers? Did you never wonder why, though he is over fifteen years old now, that he shows no sign of age, and is as healthy and energetic as a fledgling?"

"Not really," Blackmore said in a small voice, feeling rather foolish. "I never questioned my good luck; I suppose perhaps I secretly thought my father sent him to comfort me after he and Mother were killed." Blackmore had found the orphaned raven chick near the lake on the Hogwarts grounds, where she had gone to be alone and grieve after she had received the news that her parents were dead. Bane provided her with a distraction from her grief, had given her something to love, and had comforted her with his own love and steadfast loyalty.

"I sent him to you, granddaughter," Araqiel said gently. "To comfort you and watch over you."

Blackmore turned to stare accusingly at Bane, who was perched in his usual place on her shoulder, and poked him lightly in the chest. "You were a demon all along and never told me?" Bane cocked his head to one side, looking both mischievous and sheepish at the same time.

Araqiel laughed. "He isn't a demon, Branwen, not as I am. But he is a creature of my realm, and has powers that the creatures of your world do not."

"Whatever he is, he has been my loyal friend and companion these past fifteen years. So thank you, Grandfather, for sending him to me." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

Araqiel laughed again, and said to Regan, "She is as lovely and charming as you, my dear!"

"Of course," Regan said with a smile. "She is a Blackmore, after all."

Blackmore's expression turned more serious. "Grandfather? I have been wondering something. Back at my house, I heard you tell Anwir that Voldemort killed my father..."

Araqiel sighed, and exchanged a sorrowful look with Regan. "Yes, that is true," he said sadly. "I was fond of your father, Branwen, and I often watched him in my pool, reciting old tales or singing old ballads to you and your mother by the fireside; I loved to listen to his voice. Like you, Meredith was one of my favorite descendants. If I had been watching more carefully, perhaps I might have been able to send him a warning and save his life. But in my realm, times flows at a different rate than yours; I was busy dealing with demon matters, and when I turned my attention back to the human world, your father was dead." He sighed regretfully. "I knew Voldemort was on the rise, but I dismissed him as just another ambitious Dark Wizard--"

Regan laid a gentle hand on her husband's arm. "You must not blame yourself, my dear. I loved Meredith too, but he did not learn the lessons he should have learned in Slytherin House--he never learned to play politics. He had no patience for such things, and refused to play power-games with the other pureblood families; he simply wanted to be left alone to his music and his research, but he should have realized that his fellow wizards would not leave him alone. The Blackmores were too powerful and wealthy to be allowed to sit out a conflict. After your father's death, Branwen, we discovered that Voldemort had made overtures to Meredith, who rejected them. Neither was he interested in joining Dumbledore's side, but your mother, Fiona, might have persuaded him to in time. Voldemort decided to eliminate a potential threat and let your father's death serve as a lesson to others that the Dark Lord could not be defied. One of his Death Eaters put an Imperius Curse upon a young apprentice at the research laboratory, and had him set off the fatal explosion." Regan added bitterly, "Voldemort did not particularly care about collateral damage; the apprentice and three other wizards who happened to be working in the lab at the time were killed as well."

Blackmore's eyes stung and she blinked back tears. "I had always suspected..." she murmured. "Who was the Death Eater who carried out Voldemort's orders?" Sorrow turned into a cold, focused rage. When she returned to her world, she would kill the one responsible, if some other Auror had not gotten to him first. She rather hoped he was still alive...

Araqiel smiled with bitter satisfaction. "Sorry to disappoint you, my sweet, but I have already taken care of that little matter. I cannot enter the human world physically unless summoned, but I do have certain...resources...at my disposal; I am a Demon Prince, after all. The Death Eater's name was Adrian Dolan; I sent him dreams every night: dreams of all the terrors of the demon world, dreams of his victims, dreams of snakes and skulls, dreams of his own Lord Voldemort doing to him all the things that he had done to the Muggles and Mudbloods he had tortured and killed. Within a couple of weeks, he had gone stark, raving mad. His madness was made worse by the fact that he brewed potions to keep himself awake; he was afraid to go to sleep, you see. And it seems that humans--frail creatures that they are--go quite insane after a few days with no sleep at all. He started seeing visions even when I wasn't sending him dreams." Araqiel's eyes glowed with an unholy light, and there was a razor-sharp edge to his smile; Blackmore could see how those eyes and that smile alone could give one nightmares. "It was quite amusing, really, to see him clawing at his own flesh, trying to rid himself of the snakes and other things he thought he saw crawling on his skin. But Voldemort put him out of his misery, when he saw his servant was of no more use to him, and indeed, might become a danger."

"An appropriate fate," Blackmore said coolly, a little disappointed that she could not kill him herself, but she felt a certain satisfaction at hearing that her parents' murderer had been betrayed by his own master. "Poetic justice, one might say."

Araqiel smiled at her approvingly. "I can see that my blood indeed flows in your veins as well as your grandmother's. Demons do not forget, and they do not forgive."

"I am human enough to forgive, upon occasion," Blackmore said, remembering Evan Rosier and Lyall Wilkes. "But the murderer of my parents, never." She paused for a moment, remembering something Araqiel had said earlier. "You said you used to watch my father in a pool?"

"Come, I will show you, little raven." He held out his arm, and she linked her arm through his, and allowed him to escort her through the palace halls. Occasionally they would pass some of Araqiel's demon courtiers, who would bow low as their Prince and his ladies walked by. The courtiers looked no different from human men or women, save for their great beauty--though none were as beautiful as Araqiel--and that some of them had hair and eyes in colors no human had. He led her to a small room whose walls, ceiling, and floor were made of polished black marble veined with streaks of red and gold. Sunken into the floor in the middle of the room was a small pool, about the size of a goldfish pond such as one might find upon the estate of a wealthy pureblood family. But Blackmore could see no fish stirring in those still, dark waters; she could not see below the surface of the water at all. She wasn't sure if the water was really black, or if it was merely reflecting the color of the black marble around it.

Araqiel and Regan knelt at the side of the pool, and Blackmore followed suit. "Look into the water, Branwen," Araqiel said softly, "and concentrate on the person or place you wish to see." She concentrated on Sirius, with whom she had quarreled before she had nearly been killed and had been swept off to the Demon Realm. He could be infuriating, but she felt a little guilty that she could have died with the last words between them being harsh ones. The water began to swirl, as if being stirred by an invisible hand, and Sirius's image appeared in the water. He looked tired and haggard, and his eyes were red. He was speaking to Moody, who looked more grim than usual.

"How long is this war going to go on, Moody?" Sirius asked, in a weary, bitter tone. "So many dead...now Branwen, too." His voice shook a little. "I fought with her the last time I saw her, you know--the day Rosier and Wilkes died. Over the Slytherins, and whether they were born bad or not. She left thinking I was a stubborn, intolerant git. I wish...I wish I had done something differently, I don't know what...we could never agree on such a thing. But I don't like to think that her last thoughts of me were angry ones." He rubbed his eyes.

{Sirius is weeping over me!} she thought in shock. She knew that he respected her and feared her, as most of her students had, but she never thought that he had particularly liked her. In school, he hadn't liked the fact that she praised her Slytherin students at least as much as the Gryffindors, and as an adult he had resented the fact that she had opposed his entry into the ranks of the Aurors. But she had been fond of Sirius herself, though of course she had never told him so. He was arrogant, stubborn, and narrow-minded, but he was also charming, courageous, and incredibly loyal towards those he loved. She hoped that stubborn boy would one day grow into the wise and compassionate man she knew he was capable of becoming...providing Voldemort didn't kill him first.

Meanwhile, Moody patted Sirius awkwardly on the shoulder. "There now, lad, she didn't really think ill of you. If she was harsh with you, it was because she wanted you to live up to your potential." Sirius looked up, startled. "That's right, she said you had great potential, and could become quite a wizard one day if you could master your temper and learn to think before you act." Sirius looked shocked and offended for a moment, then he laughed and wept at the same time.

Then Blackmore's thoughts turned towards her other student, Severus Snape, and the water swirled again. A robed, masked figure Apparated into a dark, empty bedroom. Severus took off his mask and robe and flung them aside distastefully, as if he couldn't bear to touch them. His eyes looked haunted and despairing, and he sank down on the bed, holding his head between his hands. "So many deaths...so much blood on my hands," he whispered despairingly. "If only I'd listened when you told me to choose my friends more wisely, Professor..."

For a moment, Blackmore thought Severus could see her, then realized he was mourning her apparent death. Her concentration broke and the image vanished. She turned to Araqiel and said urgently, "I must return home, Grandfather!"

"You just got here, granddaughter," Araqiel said lightly. "I am a little hurt that you wish to leave us so soon."

"I'm grateful to you, Grandfather, for saving my life, and of course I would love to stay and spend more time with you and Grandmother--but my friends think I'm dead! I must let them know that I'm alive! And the war is still going on--they need me--"

"No, granddaughter," Araqiel said firmly, the playful manner gone from his face and voice. "I am sorry, but I cannot let you leave."

"Why not?" asked Blackmore, bewildered.

"Oh, don't look so upset, little raven," Araqiel said kindly. "You are not a prisoner. I will return you to your world at the proper time--but that time is not yet come."

"I don't understand, Grandfather," Blackmore said helplessly.

"I can see not just the present in that pool, but also the past, and occasionally, the future. The future is not set in stone, but sometimes we demons can see which futures are most likely to happen, and attempt to bring about the ones that are favorable to us. I have seen, Branwen, that it is safest for you to remain here for now."

"But my people need me--" Blackmore protested.

"Voldemort will fall without your help," Araqiel said calmly. "But he will rise again, and then, you will indeed be needed. And then--and only then--will I send you home."

"Can you tell me more?" Blackmore asked. "About the Dark Lord's rise and fall, and how long it will be before I may return home?"

Araqiel reached out caressed her cheek gently. "It is better if I do not tell you too much, my dear. Too much knowledge of the future can alter that future. I will let you know when the time is right. In the meantime, surely spending some time with your dear old grandparents is not too much of a hardship?"


Blackmore did enjoy spending time with Araqiel and Regan, but she worried about the people she had left behind. She did not have many real friends; she had always been something of a loner, like most Blackmores, even more so after her parents died. But she worried about her colleagues, her fellow Aurors and Order members, and she had always cared deeply for her students, had always been protective of them--perhaps because she had no family or children of her own, and perhaps because she remembered the lonely, grieving girl who had been orphaned at age fifteen. She remembered the compassion Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had shown to her, how they had done their best to help her through that miserable time; perhaps that was why she had decided to become a teacher. That, and the fact that she wanted to train the younger generation to protect themselves from the evil that was rising.

So she spent a great deal of time gazing into Araqiel's pool. She saw Voldemort kill James and Lily Potter, then saw him in turn struck down by the Potters' baby, the fatal spell he cast reflected back upon him by the sacrifice of a mother's love. She saw Peter Pettigrew betray his friends, saw Sirius framed and sent to Azkaban for a crime he did not commit. She saw Ariane Donner stand trial and be acquitted even as her own family turned against her. She saw Ariane raise her child in exile, watched that child drink in bitterness and dreams of revenge along with his mother's milk. She saw Remus Lupin reach out to his former lover in a letter, saw Severus read that letter and break down in tears. And she saw Severus--bitter, noble, foolish Severus--rip up that letter and throw away his chance for happiness in a misguided attempt to protect Remus.

Blackmore wept and cursed the two students who had secretly been her favorites. "Damn you, Severus, don't be so stubborn!" She watched Lupin receive Snape's reply, saw the torn pieces of the letter fall out of the envelope, saw the hope fade out of Lupin's blue eyes. "Damn you, Remus, don't give up so easily! You know how stubborn Mr. Snape can be! 'If ever you need a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to lean on, call on me and I will come'--the letter was a nice gesture, but you should know that Severus is too proud to ask for help; you will have to go to him." But Remus was a werewolf, used to being despised, and his self-esteem--which had never been high to begin with--had been eroded over the years by Severus's rejection, and the rift between himself and Sirius. He took Snape's reply at face value, assuming that his former lover still hated him and didn't want to see him. He gave up and returned to a life of poverty in his ramshackle cottage in the woods. He still had friends who would have helped him, but he was too proud to accept what he viewed as charity--Lupin could, in his own way, be as stubborn as Snape--and Blackmore suspected that he secretly felt he didn't deserve a life better than the one he had.

As she silently cursed her two students for being so stubborn and behaving like martyrs, she felt a hand touch her shoulder, and her concentration broke, banishing the image of Lupin in the water. She looked up, startled, to see her grandfather and grandmother gazing down at her with concern in their eyes.

"You have been spending all your time of late beside the pool," Regan said gently. "You barely eat or sleep, and you have been avoiding us and ignoring Bane."

Bane cawed mournfully, and Blackmore gathered him up in her arms, cradling him gently against her chest as she murmured, "Forgive me, my old friend."

"It is not good to sit and watch the world pass you by, Branwen," Regan chided, but still in that gentle tone of voice. "It is not like you, to be so emotional or so obsessive."

"I think I must forbid you to use the pool for now, little raven," Araqiel said solemnly, and passed his hand across the surface of the water. Alarmed, Blackmore tried to once more look in on Lupin, but the water remained still and dark.

Araqiel held out his hand to her and said, "Come, Branwen. Let me show you the pleasures of my realm. There is much here to amaze and delight you. Live your life, little raven, instead of watching it pass you by."

Reluctantly, she took Araqiel's hand and let him pull her to her feet. Having no other choice, she acquiesced to his demands. And when she was feeling a little more rational, she realized her grandparents were right; she was behaving as foolishly and self-pityingly as she had accused her students of behaving.


So she let Araqiel show her the wonders of the demon world, and they were many, although he never let her leave the palace unless he accompanied her; the demon world had as many games of power and politics as the human world did, perhaps more, and there were those who might seek to strike at Araqiel through his human granddaughter. The other demons found his love for humans eccentric at best, he explained, and some viewed him with outright contempt. But Araqiel had many courtiers who wanted to befriend her and court her and win her favor; the Prince threw many grand parties and balls, and watched indulgently as his granddaughter laughed and gossiped with the demon women, and danced and flirted with the demon men. But Araqiel privately made it clear to his court that anyone who hurt Branwen in any way, who wounded her feelings even the slightest bit, would incur his extreme displeasure, and since they all feared him, they obeyed.

But Blackmore would not have let things progress beyond flirting in any case. She enjoyed the flattery and attention, for it distracted her from her worries, but she was wise enough to see that her suitors were more enchanted by the novelty of her human blood and the status they might gain in her grandfather's eyes than they were by her beauty, however poetically they praised the emerald green of her eyes or the midnight black of her hair. She was amused to find that demons could be as trite as humans, although she was careful not to say so out loud, since offending a demon was still a bad idea, even though she was under the Prince's protection.

She sincerely enjoyed spending time with Regan and Araqiel, and would listen spellbound for hours, as they told her stories about her ancestors, and even a few stories of what her father had been like as a child. They also taught her magic; Regan knew many spells that had been lost over time and were no longer known to Branwen's generation. And Araqiel taught her the demon way of magic, taught her to better use the power that flowed in her blood.

"Demons do not need to use those little sticks of wood," Araqiel said contemptuously. The very concept offended him for some reason, which amused Regan immensely.

"Humans do not possess the inherent magical ability that demons do, my love," she said. "The wand acts as a focus for our power; otherwise we could cast only the smallest and simplest of spells."

"Yes, yes," Araqiel said impatiently. "But Branwen is part demon. You will still need a wand to cast most spells," he said to his granddaughter, " but I will teach you how to directly tap into the power of your blood, and teach you how to do magic without a wand. You will never be as powerful as a full-blooded demon, of course, but even the small things I can teach you to do may come in useful one day, if you are ever deprived of your wand. Your enemy will think you helpless, and that may help you gain the upper hand."

So Araqiel taught her demon magic, and she proved to be fairly adept at it, although he warned her that she would find it more difficult to perform when she returned to her own world, where magic did not flow as freely. Blackmore knew he was right; even the very air of the Demon Realm seemed to be saturated with power, which was at times intoxicating for a witch who had been raised in the human world. He also taught her more conventional spells, many of which dealt with power being raised by the spilling of blood, or more subtly, by tapping into strong emotions such as fear, hatred, jealousy, and pain; spells that the Ministry of Magic would consider as being of the Dark Arts.

"I don't give a damn what those idiots at your Ministry say," Araqiel said sternly. "I want you to have every possible weapon at your disposal, and do not ever hesitate to use them if you must. Noble morals and high-minded ethics mean nothing to a corpse."

"Yes, Grandfather," Blackmore said obediently. There were still lines she would not cross, still things she would rather die than do, such as betray a friend the way Pettigrew had, though she did not tell Araqiel that. But neither would she hesitate to kill an enemy or use prohibited spells if her life or the life of someone she was trying to protect were at stake.


And thus the years flew by without her even noticing, for time, as Araqiel had pointed out, flowed at a different rate in the demon world. The time was nearing when Blackmore would be allowed to return home, and so her grandfather allowed her to gaze into the pool again, as long as she agreed to promise not to let it become an obsession again.

She saw Harry Potter enter Hogwarts; she saw Severus was now a teacher there. She was somewhat dismayed, though not at all surprised, to find that he had grown into a bitter man, but despite that bitterness, he still did his best to protect the Potter boy, however much he hated him--or rather, hated the memory of the boy's father.

She saw Remus return to Hogwarts, and saw Severus stubbornly push him away. But his resistance was wearing down, and to her delight, he finally gave in and took Remus back into his life and his heart--the process being hurried along somewhat by Lupin's opportune fainting spell one day in the DADA classroom. She saw Severus's acceptance of Lupin's wolf begin to heal the self-hatred and fear the werewolf had always carried inside him. But Snape's old wounds were not so easily healed, and Sirius's return nearly destroyed all three of them. Once more she cursed Severus for being so stubborn, when he revealed Lupin's secret, and she watched Remus pack and get ready to leave Hogwarts. But perhaps Severus had grown a little wiser over the years, for some impulse sent him to Lupin's office before he left. They fought and screamed and wept, finally hashing out old grievances and revealing their true feelings for each other. Finally, after so many years, Severus told Remus that he loved him, and finally, Remus truly believed it. Blackmore wept a little to see it, relieved that at least two of her students were alive and well and had found happiness together; so many others were dead, or worse, had given up their souls to Voldemort.

The bond between Severus and Remus remained strong, even though they had to live apart during the next school year. Blackmore watched, with trepidation, as Dylan Rosier entered Hogwarts. She suspected that Ariane must have tutored him in the Dark Arts, but the boy was careful not to step out of line, since his position at Hogwarts was still precarious. Still, she did not like the calculating look in Dylan's eyes, the way he never revealed his true feelings to anyone. But she had hope that he might yet avoid his father's fate, for he was drawn to the Muggle-born girl, Hermione Granger, and Severus attempted to reach out to both Dylan and to Draco Malfoy, trying to subtly steer them away from the Death Eaters. She was touched by the effort Severus made, and watched with both empathy and concern, for she remembered how heartbreaking it was when her best efforts to save her students had failed.

She watched Severus and Karkaroff worry as the Dark Mark on their arms grew clearer, and watched Voldemort regain his body and rise for a second time. And finally, one day Araqiel came to her and said, "The time has come, Branwen."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Once more, the three men in the cottage sat in stunned silence. Sirius scratched his head and asked in a disbelieving tone, "You were fond of me?" Then, in a slightly offended tone, "Remus and SNAPE were your favorites?"

Lupin and Snape were both blushing; Snape in particular felt mortified. She had seen him catch Lupin that day he had fainted in the classroom, seen them passionately kiss and embrace--what else had she seen? Had she watched them go back to Snape's quarters and make love? "You watched us?" he asked in a strangled, outraged tone of voice. "How often did you look in on us? Just how much did you see?!"

Lupin had been thinking more of how he had given up too easily on Severus, and how Blackmore seen straight through him, to the self-loathing and self-pity he had buried deep in his heart and hidden from everyone, including himself. But as he caught the meaning behind Severus's words, his face turned an even deeper shade of red.

Blackmore laughed, and there was a mischievous little gleam in her green eyes that had never been there when she had been teaching them at Hogwarts. "I'm not a voyeur, Severus," she said with a grin. "I looked away when the two of you were, ah, shall we say...preoccupied with personal matters...?"

Snape was not entirely convinced, and he said in a sulky tone, "It sounds like you've seen plenty of things that I would consider 'personal'!"

Blackmore laughed again, a beautiful, rich sound that her three former students had never heard before; seeing her laugh and joke with them was nearly as shocking as finding out that she had demon blood. "Well, I was rather bored, Severus...I spent fourteen years waiting for my grandfather to give me permission to go home," she said playfully.

"I'm so glad we were able to entertain you," Snape muttered sarcastically.

"Watch that tone of voice, Mr. Snape," Blackmore said in mock-sternness, "or I might have to give you detention." Then she burst out laughing again, and Bane joined in, in his hoarse croaking voice.

Snape glowered at her. "Fourteen years in the Demon Realm have not changed you for the better, Professor. Are you sure your demonic grandfather did not tamper with your mind?"

She just grinned at him. "I admit, I have...loosened up a bit--"

"'A bit,' she says," Snape muttered under his breath.

"--But I have never been as cold and heartless as I appeared to be in the classroom, Severus. Just as you are not as cold and heartless as you want your students to think you are." Snape blushed again, and Blackmore's grin grew wider. "Students never stop to think that their teachers might have a life outside the classroom." In a more serious tone, she said, "I watched over you three because I was concerned about you. Having no family of my own, I suppose I came to regard my students as family, in a sense."

"I never realized," Lupin said softly. "I mean, you were a good teacher, but I never knew that you cared about us that way--"

"Of course not," Blackmore said. "That was because I hid it. Perhaps that was a mistake; perhaps if I had shown how much I cared, I might have been able to reach children like Evan and Lyall. But I was a young, pretty female teacher. I feared if I appeared to be too soft, the students would not respect me, and then they would not heed my words and learn what I needed to teach them." She sighed, a little guiltily. "I was young and inexperienced; perhaps with time I would have been able to strike a better balance between respect and compassion, but time was not on our side..."

Snape found it very disturbing to find that the teacher he had thought of as near-omnipotent was human (well, sort of) and fallible after all. And even more disturbing were the parallels between her life and his; like her, he was a teacher with a fearsome reputation, and like her, he was trying to save his students from falling into Voldemort's clutches. He had a great deal more sympathy now, for the frustration she must have felt, as Snape and his housemates stubbornly resisted her efforts to help them... "It's not your fault, Professor," he said quietly, no longer angry. "I remember you did reach out, to me and to Lyall. You told us to choose our friends more wisely; it's not your fault that we were too stupid to listen."

His old teacher smiled at him then, if a little sadly. "Well, I'm glad to see my words did some good, then, even if rather belatedly. I failed so many of my students; I'm glad to see you three survived and found a measure of happiness, though I don't know if I can claim any responsibility for that..."

"Yes, you can," Lupin said earnestly. "You and Dumbledore and our other teachers all helped to shape us. And," he added, a little mischievously, "you have been more of an influence on Severus than you know." Snape looked at him blankly. "Don't you realize, Severus, how much you have modeled your teaching style after Professor Blackmore's? Your commanding presence, the way you terrorize your students into submission--"

Snape flushed, and Blackmore laughed. "Yes, I do see certain similarities," she said. "But I never openly played favorites the way you do, Severus."

"'Openly' being the key word," Sirius muttered. He was still a little put out, and secretly a little jealous, of how much she had cared for her Slytherin students.

Snape ignored Black; a sudden horrifying thought had just struck him. "Are you going to come back and teach at Hogwarts?" he asked nervously. The thought of her standing over him in class critiquing his teaching style was too horrible to contemplate...

"I suppose that will be up to Albus," Blackmore said with an impish smile. "I can't just waltz in and expect to have my old job back, after all."

"The school governors have banned Incantations and Summonings from the curriculum," Snape said hopefully.

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "Shortsighted fools."

"Maybe she could teach Defense Against the Dark Arts," Lupin piped up helpfully, and Snape glared at him.


But when they contacted Dumbledore, he told Blackmore that he wanted her to lie low for awhile. He was shocked and delighted to find that she was alive and well, but not quite as shocked as Snape, Lupin, and Sirius had been.

"I never quite believed you were dead, Branwen," the Headmaster said, "seeing as how there was no body. But I couldn't figure out what had happened to you. Hmm, so all the rumors about your ancestors were true after all...fascinating." His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. In a more serious voice he said, "Voldemort thinks you are dead, Branwen, and perhaps we can use that to our advantage somehow. I would like to keep the element of surprise as an option, if possible. So for now, I would appreciate it if you would keep a low profile. You can stay at the Order headquarters with Sirius and Remus."

"The more the merrier," Sirius said cheerfully.

Snape gazed at his three companions with a dubious look in his eyes. His favorite but most-feared teacher, his lover, and his worst enemy all sharing one house together. He sighed and muttered to himself, "Well, this is going to be an interesting summer..."


END of prologue; story to be continued in Phoenix Reborn.

Note on names: (Just a little background on the meaning behind the characters' names; you can skip it if you're not interested.)

Branwen means "white bosomed" or "girl with black hair and white skin"; literally in Welsh, "bran" means "crow" and "gwen" means "shining/holy". I chose it because it was the closest I could come to "raven," in keeping with the fact that she is a Ravenclaw, has a raven familiar, and has a rather dark and mysterious reputation.

Anwir, means "liar," as Branwen points out. I found it in a Celtic names website, though I have no idea why anyone would want to name their child "liar". Gravenor means "great challenge".

Lorcan means "fierce/cruel" and Foley means "plunderer".

Nigel means "dark" and Riggs means "wealthy".

Adrian means "dark one" and Dolan means "black defiance/challenge".

Regan means "royal".

Fiona means "white/fair".

Meredith means "protector of the sea" but I just chose the name for Branwen's father because I liked the way it sounded, not because of the meaning.

Most of those names came from this website, which was very useful: http://www.crosswinds.net/~daire/names/main.html

And in mythology, Araqiel was a fallen angel who taught human beings the signs of the earth. His name means "one who exercises dominion over the earth," according to the research I did.

 

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