FIC: Return of the Raven (Prologue to Phoenix Reborn), Part 1 of 2

[geri_chan]

Title: Return of the Raven (Prologue to Phoenix Reborn), Part 1 of 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~4,555
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU; Snape and Lupin appear in the story, but the main focus is on the OC Professor Blackmore.
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Sequel to: Always (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6), Summer Vacation (Part 1, Part 2), For Old Time's Sake (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5), Three's a Crowd (or, Summer Vacation II) (Part 1, Part 2)

Summary: Professor Blackmore explains where she's been for the past fourteen years.

***

"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..."

***

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.

***

"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.

***

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.

***

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.

Part 2