THE SERPENT ROARS
AN: I just play in JKR's sandbox, the playground is hers entirely. I make not a penny on this work.
A Little Summary: This is my take on the Hermione!Pureblood theme. I will delve into Bellatrix's state of mind. Canon diverges from before Christmas starts in her sixth year. A new prophecy. New friendships. New enmities. Romances not foreseen. The memory charm in this story is one I will make up entirely to fit the circumstances of the plot/theme. Please do not inform me that I am diverging from canon – this story is AU. I cannot believe there is only one spell to wipe memories – or only one way to retrieve them. So, I am making one up – going along with magical maturation and a coming into their own, sort of charm that still needs tragedy to befall the person(s) concerned, also I will be utilising a cloaking memory charm that will break upon the house concerned that slowly disintegrates. Along with prophecy too. As they say there is more than one way to skin the proverbial...
Theo Nott, Antonin Dolohov, Severus Snape, Voldemort in disguise as his younger human self, and Blaise Zabini will all make a play for Hermione.
Antonin Dolohov: Colin Farrell
Rabastan Lestrange: Tom Hiddleston
Rodolphus Lestrange: Rufus Sewell
Riddlemort: Aiden Turner
Everyone else will be as portrayed in the movies.
Other pairings will be: Daphne Greengrass/Charlie Weasley. Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson. My OTP Harry/Ginny. Narcissa/Voldemort. Crookshanks/Mrs Norris (because I am a potential candidate for a mad cat loving old lady!) Lavender Brown/Justin Finch-Fletchley. Xenophilius Lovegood/Sybil Trelawney – others are as they are in the books, or thought up as I go along.
Triggers: Rape. Torture. Student/Teacher. May to December relationships. Obsession. Voyeurism. Controlling of another human being. Depression. Anxiety. Violence. Racism.
This story will earn it's M Rating but I always strive for a HEA – There will always be a light at the end of the tunnel but it takes a while to see it... The only characters I will happily and merrily bash are Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, and Cormac McClaggan.
Sorry for the overlong Authors Note – but there were a few things I wished to make clear from the outset. So I hope you have read it, instead of skipping to the actual story otherwise you may lose understanding of the finer points of the plot.
The Serpent Roars
Sipping a seemingly never ending supply of sherry in the Hogs Head was a batty looking woman with big glasses that magnified her eyes to the size of golf balls. All manner of bangles wound up her forearms to her elbow. Her head was wrapped in layered silk scarves of deep plum purples, and bright scarlet red. She was wearing a floor length tie dyed skirt and hand knitted colourful two piece. Gold disc earrings with a turquoise bead in the centre dangled down to her shoulders the size of galleons.
Tutting at the oddity of the wonder of Professor Trelawney, Aberforth Dumbledore sighed as he nonchalontly wiped some beer glasses with a scruffy rag not that it mattered in this grime of an establishment.
Noisily, a group of men swaggered in. Snarling at the sight of Death Eaters in his pub. Impotent in rage at the thought that he was unable to do a bloody thing about it because big brother wanted him as a spy. If there was someone who sympathised and empathised with Snape it was Aberforth Dumbledore. He knew what it was like to be a continuing pawn in his brother's chess game. Godric knows he'd been one all his life!
One of the men turned. Long thick black hair tied up in a scruffy ponytail was almost a giveaway. A pair of thick black eyebrows topped equally dark, glittering eyes definitely was. A long blackish blue beard held plaits throughout with some wooden beads attached to the straggly ends completed the picture. The braids could only be assumed as ceremonial wear. The man looked to be in his early fifties by Wizard standards. Aberforth knew who this man was. He had come in every weekend in case it was a Hogsmeade visit, and he knew whom this man was after. Aberforth pitied the poor Muggleborn girl. What had she done to deserve the hulking bear of a Wizard sniffing after her skirt?
"Four beers," he said in an almost perfect British accent. His obsidian gaze landed on the dribbling woman who was rocking back and forth in her seat. "Seems like the little lady over there has had too much, Landlord, why don't you send her home?"
"The Professor deserves her drink as much as you do, gentlemen," Aberforth replied coldly.
"Just so long as she stays away from us. I don't want her to hear something she shouldn't."
An equally hulking blond to this man's dark, leaned over and whispered something in the dark man's ear which split his face in a wide smirk: "Oh, go on, madam, Prophecy!" he sneered.
"What, are you talking to me?" the woman seemed startled that someone wished to converse with her.
"I said," the dark beard plaited fellow got up and swaggered menacingly to the scared fidgety oddball. "Prophecy something!"
"Divination does not work like that," Aberforth said trying to protect the frail woman. She had almost committed suicide last year due to Umbitch – Aberforth was quite protective over her. "It cannot be commanded upon at will – if she has a prophecy it is likely to happen when you least expect it!"
The blond clean shaven man joined his raven bearded comrade: "Just sit down, Dolohov," he said. "Let's just have a quiet drink tonight. It's almost Christmas, come on."
"You're going soft, Thorfinn."
Well, that bought Aberforth's eyebrow's up – Dolohov, Rowle, he turned to look at the other two with them. One was fairly young. Ah, he recognised him now. Marcus Flint, Aberforth swore he had a hint of Troll about him. The fourth though, the fourth remained mysteriously hooded. Cloaked and quiet. Just as Dolohov was about to reseat himself at the table with his friends, he felt something clutch onto his robes as the woman held him with a strength she did not seem capable of. Her chair clattered behind her as her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
Gazing glassily at Dolohov she intoned in a dark, hoarse timbre: "The Serpent Shall Roar As The Pride Shall Fall – The Lion's Mane Shall Scales Be – Before The Start Of Yule – A Boa In The Lions Den There Is – Great Harm Shall Be Upon That One – Before True Destiny Is Done – In Agony Beauty Be Found – A Family Reunited Occurs – Dark and Light Blurs – On The Morrow Gray Shall Descend – Take Heed Of What This Portends – Beware For All Our Fates Will Unite – In The Blurring of Dark And Light!"
Everyone blinked and quiet settled uncomfortably on all those in the dire pub. Suddenly the woman blinked several times and saw her hand on Dolohov's robes and flinched as if they burned her palm: "I'm sorry," she said lightly, "did someone say something?"
All four men ran out of the pub and Disapparated to tell their Lord of this Prophecy.
Aberforth kindly escorted the woman back to the castle where his annoyingly omniscient brother was already waiting in the freezing wind wearing inappropriately orange robes that billowed in the biting December chill.
"I think someone upset four gentlemen, I never saw four big men run so fast!" she greeted Dumbledore with. How she wished he'd listen to her about Snape. She just knew the dark wizard was going to kill her friend, and she was not happy about it. "I hope I did not upset that dark bearded wizard."
"Never mind about that," Albus patted his employee on the forearm. Periwinkle blues twinkled in the argent light of the moon. "Why do you not go back to bed, Sybil, hmm?"
"I am rather tired, this lovely man made sure I got here safe. You should tip him, Albus. It is only right."
"As ever, Madam, you are kind as you are just," Albus tipped his hat to Trelawney. Once she left the twinkle disappeared as Albus turned to his brother. "It happened again, hasn't it?"
"Long'un this time, Al," Aberforth sighed. "Something about Serpents, Lions, Blurring, and whatsit scales." Narrowing his eyes, Aberforth sighed, "Dolohov seems to be lurking around a lot lately, we all know who he is sniffing after – Meddling Morgana, Al, she's a child!"
"I know, Aberforth," Dumbledore sighed. "But she is well protected, we all know that Potter is going to rain seven fires of hell if she so much has a hair plucked off her head by that brute!"
"Be that as it may," Aberforth sighed. "The boy on his own in no match for four fully grown men... despite that he is the so-called Chosen One!" the sneer was unintentional but Aberforth was almost close to murdering his brother for the way he manipulated people into doing what they did not wish to. "According to Snape he is competent at best, hotheaded at worst! Certainly has no finesse..."
Nodding as he stroked his beard the Headmaster decided to allay his brother's fears: "She is well guarded by others," Albus looked at his brother sternly. "All of the faculty has her surrounded by work – her studious nature lends her incapable to leave the library – even on Hogsmeade trips." With a shake of his ancient head Albus conjured a glass vial wishing to get back to the meat of the matter: "May I?"
"Like I could actually refuse you," muttered Aberforth sourly not at all comforted by his brother's stone cold assurances. Sometimes he hated his brother. Scratch that, he loathed his brother, but was on his side due to some odd sense of familial duty. "Here," he withdrew the memory for the Headmaster to view. "Third one she did, isn't it?"
"Yes it is," Albus smiled wanly, the twinkle ever present: "I really should give that woman a raise!"
As Sybil was settling into her perfumed bed with a fragrant cup of lavender earl gray tea. Trying to dispel the foreboding in her heart deeper than the one she felt over Severus Snape. All her senses were on the alert. For she knew more that the Headmaster allowed her to reveal.
Oh the poor dear, she sighed. I know you are a skeptic but you are not a despicable hearted child.
If she had known what was going on several floors below Sybil would have most certainly shown exactly what she was made of, and it would not be pretty. Especially as she knew who and what was involved and at stake. Again, Severus would be central to this one too. Sybil shuddered at the thought of Severus Snape at the heart of every true prophecy she spoke. Her senses were on full alert whenever he was concerned. Also, she wished she could have some way to help the girl but she was more attracted to fact than the obscure. Faith in fact can get you only so far, child, she mused. Oh well, at least it was in Albus hands, with that knowledge she smiled as she slipped into a troubled sleep.
Elsewhere: In The Department of Mysteries a little round globe plopped on the shelf with a name that made a red haired Ministry worker's eyes raise.
He had no time to gather his thoughts on this recent revelation as he felt a large hand clamp around his mouth...