Capítulo 5: Chapter 4 Within Plain Sight
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Faculty Library: Mid Autumn, 962 A.D.
Red and gold swirled in a wave of molten color, and deep blue eyes flashed. Perfectly frustrated teeth ground together, while a petite body trembled with annoyance. A heavy tome slammed onto an oak table. A comfortable leather chair slid away from said table, but the shaking figure did not rise.
Rowena Ravenclaw was not happy.
At a little over four months pregnant, her mornings were spent with continuous waves of nausea and constant sickness, and her thin, bony fingers were regularly swelling to twice their normal size. She was being plagued by odd aches and pains. Some were sharp. Some throbbing. Some even seemed to be burning. Nevertheless, all were painful. Inexplicably, or rather the opposite, her favorite clothing seemed to be becoming much too tight.
These, however, were not the cause of Rowena's ire. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice any of it. All her attention, all her focus was on a swirling, blue amulet.
"Calm down, Row! It does us no good if you are upset," a soothing voice stated, coming up behind her. Gentle hands began to rub circles on the woman's back, and the candlelight gleamed off of the bronzed skin of her companion.
Rowena inhaled sharply, eyes widening in surprise. "Siobhan," she breathed, "I didn't know that you were in here!" She twisted in her chair and exhaled in a rush. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!"
Siobhan smiled. "I did not sneak." She tossed her head dramatically, but her face sparked merrily. "I have been calling to you for several moments, but you were… er… preoccupied."
"Humph!" Rowena snorted. "It's this damnable amulet!" Her nostrils flared in contempt. "Or rather the inscription on the back," she growled with guarded eyes. "I have looked through countless books. I have searched through parchment and scrolls. I've even read the blasted stone tablets." She threw her hands into the air dramatically. "For the love of nature and all that grows, I must have pulled dozens of writings from the shelves, but I still cannot translate the inscription!" Rowena tossed her head, her fiery mane whirling around her. "I have yet to even identify the language!"
The other woman's face took on an expression of complete surprise. "You don't even know the language? I thought that you at least knew it was related to Parsel writing." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why did you not ask for help? I would have been more than happy to assist. And surely, Sal or Helga-"
Rowena interrupted her, "Everyone was so busy, especially with school going full force." She shrugged, her shoulders sagging slightly. "You and Salazar have the baby to worry over. Helga and Edmund have their own concerns with their brood. And with your mother ill, all four of you have a whole other set of responsibilities. Plus," she carried on, rolling her eyes, "who knows where Godric is right now? Honestly, he keeps mysteriously disappearing. I believe that he might be having clandestine affair!" She chortled at the thought, quite taken with the idea of Gryffindor finally having a lover.
"And Quinn?" Siobhan inquired softly, coming around to the side.
The redhead hesitated at the mention of her loving husband. "He has been helping, but with my pregnancy, he has been taking over more and more of my responsibilities." She flicked a strand of curls off of her shoulder. "He barely has enough time as it is. Sal has even taken over some of the slack to give him more time. And…" She hesitated.
"And what?" the blonde questioned.
Rowena looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, Quinn is starting to act so paranoid! He will only let me teach a few of my classes-"
Siobhan interrupted her with a chuckle, lips twitching as she tried to cover her mouth. "Yes, first time fathers can be a bit… overprotective."
"I've noticed," the redhead stated dryly. "But Salazar wasn't half this bad!" she added, emphasizing her point with her hands.
Siobhan smirked darkly, looking a bit too much like Quinn for the other woman's comfort. "Let's just say that Sal was… persuaded not to be!" Her crystal eyes flashed.
"Persuaded?" Rowena questioned skeptically. "How did you ever manage that?"
"With the a few choice hexes." The blonde's smirk deepened.
"Hexes?" An expression of complete confusion crossed Ravenclaw's face. However, her head swiftly snapped up with sudden understanding. "You hexed him!"
"Yes!" the blonde answered and grinned wickedly.
Rowena paused for a moment, but her lips quickly curled into a satisfied grin as she sniffed. Unexpectedly, she began to laugh, imaging both the look on Sal's face and some of the spells his wife had probably used against him. Siobhan wasn't a Master of Charms for nothing.
Siobhan, in turn, gazed at her friend in bewilderment before starting to chortle as well.
"If Sal was half as bad as Quinn, I cannot really blame you," Rowena wheezed after a second. Her face started to redden as she tried to breathe between chuckles. "I can just see it now." She mimed like she was reaching for her wand and cursing an imaginary Salazar Slytherin.
At this, Siobhan began to laugh even harder. She collapsed into an empty chair facing Rowena, her small hands clutching her now aching sides.
"You should have seen the look on his face the first time." Siobhan gasped for breath.
"Oh, I can imagine," Rowena inserted between laughs, eyes glittering with unshed tears. "I might just have to borrow your idea and use it on Quinn!"
"Aye. I would like to see that!" Siobhan smirked, her sides heaving as she tried to draw in air. She shook her head, leaning an elbow against the table.
Rowena blinked rapidly several times and wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, and she took a deep breath, her gaze taking a serious gleam. "Thank you, my friend," she whispered, "for lightening my heart."
Siobhan smiled and winked. "I believe it could do with more lightening," she replied gravely, but her smile never faltered. She held her hand out to her friend. "Come with me."
Rowena glanced around, indecision clearly written on her face. "I really should continue-" she began, but a shake of Siobhan's head stilled the statement. The redhead hesitated for another moment but eventually linked her hand to her friend's tanned one.
As the two women rose and walked arm in arm to the door, a large book left a distant shelf. It floated gently through the air toward the previously occupied table. Scrolls lying forgotten in a dark corner lifted and soon joined. A cracked and almost illegible tablet rose, following the path of the other objects.
Yet, the women, so intent on their destination, were oblivious to it all. They never saw any of it. Nor did they notice the increased glow of a swirling, blue amulet.
Hogwarts, Potions Master's Laboratory: The Same Night
In a deep and not so dark dungeon of Hogwarts Castle, a half-dozen cauldrons bubbled happily. Blue, green, and even neon pink were all visible within. Potion ingredients such as herbs, plant parts, and unrecognizable animal specimens all lined the stone walls.
A man with thick, black hair that was graying with dignity at the temples sat at a large desk. Several essays lay scattered about him, and his spidery fingers held a large, eagle quill, scratching at a parchment in front him. He smirked to himself as a snarky comment was added to the margin of an essay, immediately followed by a few more. He glanced from the writing to the two people at a nearby table, who were leaning over a cauldron and snickering to themselves. His smirk deepened.
A rather young student with surprisingly nimble fingers was carefully chopping ingredients, eyes intent on his work. Beside him stood another man, who was clearly supervising. He was older but still quite young in his own right, and he casually and seemingly at random threw a few ingredients into the bubbling green-brown liquid. After a moment, the boy finished cutting up his basil and showed it to his professor.
"Excellent, Elgin," the man commented with a grin. His gaze flickered to the third person sitting at the desk. "I knew there was a reason why you prepare the ingredients, while Quinn – our ever-loved Potions master – is forced to grade papers," he intoned mischievously. "Your Aunt Helga will surely be pleased," Salazar added.
Although his eyes remained upon his work, Elgin nodded his head and smiled, his grin very reminiscent of another Hufflepuff. The boy turned to his next ingredient, willow bark, and reached for his mortar and pestle.
Quinn, however, glanced up. He mocked snarled, "Why, Salazar, I did not know you were so very amusing."
Salazar beamed. "Apparently, I am not the only one with a sense of humor." Green eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. "I only wished for you to relax." He took a deep breath. "You would think that Rowena was due any day instead of several months from now. You've been somewhat difficult with her as of late, as you undoubtedly know."
The older man's lips thinned aggressively. "I most certainly have not. I merely insured that she was taking adequate care of herself and our child-"
Sal interrupted, "Yes, you have." He hesitated, breathing out loudly. "See, my friend, just now. Even when you are simply speaking of the baby, you become difficult… overprotective." Slytherin sighed, slender fingers raking through his dark hair. "You must calm yourself, Quinn. Put a stop to this, or else she will employ Siobhan's method of persuasion." His mouth pulled distastefully.
Quinn frowned and gave the other man a questioning look. "And what exactly would that method be?"
Salazar shrugged and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. "Trust me, dear friend, when I say you do not want to know." He grimaced. "Ever," the man finished, turning his attention back to Elgin, who had mutely listened to the exchange.
Quinn growled, not unpleasantly, and returned to his grading. Yet, his eyes remained fixed ahead of him, and he chewed on the end of his quill. He was clearly thinking about what Sal had said.
Salazar, in turn, glanced back a final time before he returned his full attention to Elgin. "Now, tell me," he asked his student, fighting the urge to smirk in triumph as he discretely glanced at the other man. "Why must we add the rosemary?"
Hogsmeade Wizarding Village, Home of Amia Hawthorne: The Same Night
Within her warm and inviting home, Amia Hawthorne lay dying. It was a wasting disease, sucking the very life from her. Every day, her eyes lost a little of their sparkle and her face became even more wane than it already was. Quite a feat as she was exceedingly emaciated, little more than skin and bones.
There was no cure. The Healers were not even sure what ailed her. It had come upon her so suddenly. In the early autumn, she had been completely healthy, bright and full of energy. Now, barely three months later, she fought desperately to live. The Healers had never heard of such a thing, and therefore, they could do nothing. For nothing, not even magic, could rid her of her ailment. It could only alleviate the pain, make Amia forget for a few short hours.
Nonetheless, everyday Amia deteriorated. The pain worsened daily. Everyday Amia struggled harder. A little more life left her every day. It was almost as if her very life force was being drained, being pulled away.
Currently, the Hawthorne matriarch laid dazedly within her bed, in the state between wakefulness and dreaming. Her sea-green eyes were half open, fixed on the ceiling. In the background, a fire crackled merrily, heating the room. But it did nothing to warm her. The chill of death was too powerful to be overcome.
Next to her bed, gentle-faced woman sat within a rocking chair. She hummed soothingly to Amia and stared distantly into the fire, her expression covered with shadows. The firelight glittered on her hair, casting red shadows in the normally brown locks and making her head look ablaze. Her wondrous and gentle fingers rested upon Amia's brow, rubbing soothingly. She exhaled and several tears rolled down cheek. She didn't even try to wipe them away.
In the corner, a man was fast asleep, his chair leaning against the wall. He quietly mumbled, speaking within his own dream world. And his head began to loll to the side, causing his remaining hair to fall onto his worried face. With each breath and each whisper, his hair puffed out softly into the air and floated lazily back to his face. His rather prominent nose twitched comically as the strands landed. He sneezed and awoke with a start. And his eyes, which were so much like his mother's, sleepily flicked about the room.
At the noise, the lady in the chair turned, her expression filling with surprise and concern. Green eyes met brown.
"Go back to sleep, love," the woman whispered. "It is not yet your turn to watch."
"How is she?" the man asked, all traces of sleep gone from his face.
"The same. No worse." A wane smile appeared on her face, throat tight and eyes glittering with tears. "But no better."
The man made as to rise, but he was stopped with a glance. "Helga," he murmured.
She shook her head and toyed with a bracelet on her wrist. "Go back to sleep, Edmund, or else you will be unable to watch her later. She will need you then."
Edmund stared at her for a moment, studying her tired face. He nodded and closed his eyes, but he twitched uncomfortably in the chair. But within minutes, his breathing evened, and he was again dreaming.
Helga gazed at her husband for several long moments until she sighed heavily and turned away. She peered warily around the room, taking in the crackling fire, the warm rugs on the floor, and the sick and dying woman curled within the bed. Her gaze traveled to the window on the near wall; it was far darker outside than it should be. Perhaps a storm was coming.
The brunette slowly stood and glided to the window, dark eyes gazing toward the sky before a sudden movement on the street outside caught her attention. It was a cloaked figure, a man, moving stealthily but quickly toward the seedier part of the village. Hateful energy shrouded him, pushing away all the friendly shadows of the night, black rage wrapped so tightly that all other feelings were stifled. The man walked stiffly but swiveled his hips in a definite strut. He carried himself with arrogance and anger, and Helga spotted this much in an instant. She had seen both often enough as of late.
Lightning flashed, casting partial light onto the man, but Helga could still not see his face. He stopped momentarily, and his head tilted skyward. She moved quickly to the side of the window, hiding in the shadows.
It would not do to be seen spying.
But the man shook his head and continued on his way, Helga watching all the while. There was something familiar about this man. His gait, his movements… were so very familiar.
Her lips twisted suspiciously, a cold sense of dread rising within her.
Hogsmeade: The Same Night
The wind whispered. It ripped through the streets, tearing at a wooden sign on a shabby building. Seething clouds arose and rumbled, blocking out the twinkling stars. An arc of pure light lanced across the sky.
A storm was coming.
Darkness shrouded a cloaked figure as did anger. He walked stiffly, arrogantly, as though he owned the entire street and the very village it went through. The friendly shadows of the night trembled and drew back as he swaggered by. Wrath itself cloaked him as he walked.
A spear of light crossed the sky, and the man paused just beyond a well-lit home and looked upward towards the stars. He stared for a moment, an arrogant sneer tugging at his thin lips. The man haughtily tossed his head and continued down the street. A feeling of pure malice permeated the air around him.
A great evil would take hold this night.
The man approached a dingy building, quite new but still dirty. An equally filthy sign hung precariously above the ill-fitting wooden door, and it pictured a severed hog's head in a pool of blood. The wind increased, twirling dust and dirt about the man as he entered the building.
The floor of the establishment was dirt. Yet, that fact was impossible to tell under the filth that had accumulated. A conglomeration of candles lay upon various surfaces, providing the only light, save that from the dying fire in the stone hearth. A surprisingly well-kept bar lined an entire wall of the room. And an older man with graying hair stood behind it, a rag in his callused hands, wiping the surface.
The cloaked man marched to the barkeep and barked his order. As he ungraciously waited for his drink, his strangely glittering eyes searched the dimly lit room. The metallic orbs flitted over the few patrons, clearly focusing on the corners. He noted the amber-haired man in the near one before turning his attention to another figure. He quickly paid for his drink and made his way to the other darkened corner and the person within it.
He, or possibly even she, was also cloaked. But in blood red with a black robe peeking out underneath. He sat, back to the walls, facing the door. A deep, red liquid sloshed as his fingers gripped a glass and brought it to the unsteady table. The only greeting he gave his new tablemate was a sharp nod.
Instead, he turned to look at a dingy mirror on the near wall that glittered in the dim light, and the interesting scene it showed. For while the table, spindly chairs, and drinks were featured in the cracked glass, only one person was in the image.
"You have what I seek?" a harsh voice questioned.
The table's occupant focused on the newcomer. The stranger sat and pulled his cloak forward carefully so that it would not drag on the earthen floor. The second man nodded. Spidery fingers pulled back the deep, red cloak and reached within his robe, producing a sheathed dagger. His fingertips danced along its length, pulling it completely free. Light shimmered along its length, showing the runes etched on the metal.
The stranger smirked maliciously. "Excellent," he purred, metallic eyes glowing. "And it will serve my purpose?"
"Yes," a rich voice, obviously male, answered. "It will suffice," the words continued, voice sounding sophisticated and cultured. "But to prevent a return, he…" The man paused, considering his words carefully before continuing. "The… ah… victim must die. It must be a deathblow." He resheathed the athame and gently laid it upon the wobbly table.
"And he will never return," the newcomer interrupted.
"Only if summoned; that will break the enchantment, and he will… progress normally."
At these words the first man stiffened, tossing his head angrily. But before he could respond the second man continued.
"But from what you say, no one will want for him to return." The original occupant paused, an unreadable emotion visible in his silvery gaze. "And from what you have planned, no one will even know he is dead and gone. So there is no need to worry."
The stranger thought for a moment and then nodded. His hand went to his cloak and produced a bag filled with coins. He ceremoniously tossed it upon the table, the fingers of the other male catching the bag before it even touched the surface. He, in turn, looked at the bag curiously, glancing towards his companion.
The first man simply laughed and scoped up the dagger. "For your troubles," he responded smoothly.
The second did not look convinced. "And my silence?" he questioned rather sarcastically.
The newcomer simply inclined his head, hand traveling to his drink. He held it up in a toast. The other reluctantly raised his own glass, liquid swirling inside.
"A pleasure," the first saluted, smiling and causing shivers to shoot up his companion's spine.
Regardless, the second remained impassive, but a slight flicker of emotion appeared across his face. 'I am only doing this for the others,' he thought miserably, 'for the innocents… for those who have died.'
His gaze traveled to his companion, who was currently studying the athame with interest. The red-cloaked man shuddered faintly, an odd feeling of dread surfacing within him. He had a sudden urge to snatch the dagger back and to renege on their deal, but he ignored the feeling. A slight breeze passed through the bar, tugging at his cloak and making him shiver again. It were as if Fate herself had just passed by, leaving him behind in disappointment.
The second and still trembling man quickly finished his drink and left his chair, gracefully rising to his feet. He nodded and made for the door, pausing to look back before he exited. He sighed heavily, squashing his earlier urge.
'Now is not the time for reluctance,' he thought as he pushed open the wooden door. He looked back a final time before quickly leaving.
The first figure remained for another moment, an evil look crossing his face. His eyes gleamed with an unholy light.
In a far corner, another man was quietly drinking. His head was cocked to one side, deepening the shadows on his face. His molten eyes glinted angrily. Though he was quite far away, the man had heard every whisper of the pair. He had grimaced with each malice-filled word. He snarled slightly, showing his enlarged canine teeth. He shook his head, and his hands clenched the tabletop hard enough to leave large gouges. He rose, ignoring the rest of his drink.
He now had more important matters to see to.
Hogwarts, Faculty Library: Several Weeks Later
Two women bent over several large pieces of parchment. The first, a redhead, idly traced her fingertip along a line of text, scowling as she read it. The other, a golden blonde, sat back and ran a very tired hand over her face before leaning forward again.
Nearby, countless books and a single stone tablet were scattered across an oaken table, but all attention was focused on a single volume. The two sets of blue eyes, one azure and the other very pale, continuously moved from the parchment to the tome. On a far corner of the table, there was a glittering, blue amulet.
One of the women sighed. "Siobhan," she muttered, "how goes your translation?"
"Fine." The other glanced up, her gaze questioning. "Why? What is it, Rowena?" she inquired, pausing to stretch her aching back.
"This part is odd," stated Rowena, indicating her portion of the translation. She was clearly puzzled. "It is appears to be written in verse form, almost like a poem."
Unbeknownst to the two, the talisman began to churn faster. It faintly started to glow.
Siobhan's eyebrows rose in clear surprise. She hesitated for a moment before murmuring, "What does it say?" She ran her bronze hand over her face once again.
The amulet glowed brighter.
"Time is my ally. I fear not death."
— Un nuevo capítulo llegará pronto — Escribe una reseña
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder