Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter does not belong to me; it is all the work of JK Rowling. The Morrigan cult, as well as the goddess herself, belongs to Irish culture and mythology. It is a non-profit story.

Queen of Crows

• Chapter I •

Call of The Raven.

June 1996

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like a purple flame. It passed right across Hermione's chest; she gave a tiny "oh!" as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor where she lay motionless.

"HERMIONE!" (1)

She jerked awake in a darkened room with a gasp so loud and desperate that her throat immediately felt sore. For a few minutes, she couldn't remember what had happened: Sirius in danger, the trip to the Mystery ... and then? She made an effort to remember, forcing herself to ignore the throbbing headache that was developing under her temples. The memories began to return, blurry and aliened as if they were from years gone by and not from the night before. It had been a trap, an ambush. Images flooded her mind like river rapids, Lucius Malfoy, and eleven other Death Eaters following them through the ministry; the fight in the Time Chamber; Rabastan's head continually aging and rejuvenating. She remembered leaving that place towards some kind of office, Jugson and Dolohov blocking the way, exchanging spells, and finally...

—Dolohov —She brought one of her hands to her chest, right where the purple flames had pierced her body. She could feel the bandages under her camisole, and in a fit that later seemed inappropriate, Hermione wondered if she had been left with a hideous scar.

While sitting on the gurney, her eyes swept the room. Hermione knew she was in the Infirmary of the castle. Now, all she had to do was finding an answer to the thousands of questions popping up inside her mind like the speech bubbles of a Muggle comic strip. How did she get there? What had happened? How long had she been unconscious? Was everyone okay? Sirius? Harry? The incessant throbbing in her temple intensified, forcing her to lie back down again and close her eyes for a few moments. She was dizzy and her body was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. "They are only the remnants of the curse, they are only the remnants of the curse"

She repeated that like a mantra, seeking to calm her anxieties and fears. She trusted Madam Pomfrey's remedies and knew that come morning, the healer would take care of that enormous headache and explain her ailments. Yes, everything would be fine. Everything would be ...

Then the pain intensified, something in her head exploded with immeasurable force and the inside of her body caught fire...

The pain was unnerving and blinding...

For a time that seemed to never end, she was under fiery torture, an endless moment of pain. The embracing fingers of the fire incinerated everything in their path. Hermione wanted to scream, squirm between the sheets and beg mercy for her soul but, no matter how hard she tried, none of her anatomical parts responded to the message her brain was trying to send. She gasped for breath as the fire inside her started to concentrate somewhere behind her sternum, burning her heart and lungs with an intensity of a thousand suns.

"Everything will end soon, a chuisle mo chroí (2)"

Despite the Protestant faith her parents practiced, Hermione was not a religious person, not really; her practical mind had always preferred evidence and the verifiable method of science. However, in those moments of burning torture, she prayed to heaven that they would allow her to open her eyes and see the face of those who accompanied her; put a face to that unknown and melodious voice. She wanted to be reasonable, focus on facts rather than faith, but the infernal fire that devoured her body prevented the passage of any rational thought, and she was forced to believe in a superior force, some being that would put out the bonfire or who would just end her life. If God existed, she expected him to hear her prayer.

Little by little, while the fire still burned inside, the air was permeated with an endless number of dangerous but somewhat exquisite smells. The fruity and pungent scent of belladonna and the sage-like fragrance of artemisia danced in a seductive waltz accompanied by the sweet, almondy perfume of blackthorn and the musky essence of dragon's blood. The complicated dance distracted her a bit from the punishment she was under, and as if by magic —or perhaps a vivid instant of madness— Hermione was able to put shape and colour to the aromas. She turned them into smoking figurines of exotic colours and saw how the pattern of their movements formed Celtic triskeles on the dark bottom of her eyelids.

"Everything will end soon"

Then the fire disappeared from her limbs, concentrating on an embracing punishment on her heart. Her heartbeat sped up, and the weight on her chest became unbearable, cutting off her breath. What would she have done to deserve such punishment? How would it all end? Could it be that there would be no one on that huge wing who could come to the rescue of her soul?

In a last desperate attempt to draw attention, Hermione managed to open her mouth and let out a gripping cry of pain. Her body began to respond to the desperate orders of her brain but the internal fire, which kept increasing, only allowed her to squirm desperately between the sheets of that stretcher. Hell itself was somewhere behind her sternum, tearing the delicate membranes of her heart apart and evaporating what little air she managed to draw into her lungs.

—Hold her tight, Mr. Potter.

Potter? Harry!

As if it were a spell, Hermione managed to snap her eyelids open. The light of the rising sun streamed through the windows of the Infirmary and irritated her pupils. Her irises desperately sought the emerald gaze of her best friend, finding it on her right side. She felt her body squirm under Harry's hands, who held her wrists to keep her body steady.

—Hermione...

His dilated pupils and the expression on his face betrayed a state of wonder and concern that Hermione couldn't ignore. What was wrong with her?

—Harry...

Her voice was barely a whisper, a last attempt to call for help. Then the flames reached their maximum point, and the world around her disappeared after an internal explosion came from that strange place where the fire had been concentrated. That hell took everything in its path, leaving her unconscious and insensitive to any stimulus. Her soul, the essence of her whole being, so intangible and ethereal, vanished with a sigh.

This is how that morning of June 19, 1996, Hermione Jean Granger, the most intelligent witch of her age, ceased to exist...

~ Ω ~

(1) Excerpt from Harry Potter and The Order Of The Phoenix

(2) A chuisle mo chroí: Expression of Irish origin meaning "Pulse of my heart". It can be shortened to "a chuisle" if speaking directly to a person or "mo chuisle" if speaking about a person, like the caption of a photo.

Author's Note: Hello guys! My name's MJ and this is my first fanfic written in English which is not my first language so, I'm sorry for any mistakes. I don't have anything specifically planned, it's just something that kept haunting my mind and I had to sit down to write it. I want to continue developing it, but my current job does not allow me to set update deadlines, so I will uploading chapters once they are ready which can be next week or in a month.

Queen of Crows has had many different versions. It started out as a visit to the past and today it has turned into a totally different story. This version you read today is the definite one. Now, Crows will be a story full of Celtic symbolism. Ancient Celtic Culture has a big influence on the story, especially the Goddess Morrigan. This whole trilogy will be my personal tribute to both the Celts and to the Goddess herself, so I do take my time doing the research to be as precise as possible, but I also take a bit of creative freedom in order to be able to mix both worlds together. I know it's not my culture, I'm very aware of that but I still want to clarify that I'm not getting any financial or economic benefits from this or any of my stories. As I said, it's more like a tribute to a culture that I absolutely love and a mythical figure to whom I not only feel very attracted but also respect a lot. I look forward to doing her justice and treating her with the respect the Celts and their Goddess deserve.

I'm also looking for a beta reader(s), desperately. And last but not least, you'll be able to find the Spanish version on my profile, and both versions are also in AO3, where you'll find me under the same name LyannaMalfoy.

If by any chance, you feel disrespected or uncomfortable in any way by this or any of my future chapters (or stories), you are free to leave a comment. The only thing I do expect and demand from you is politeness. We can talk things through, there's no need for disrespect. People need to understand and respect each other's opinions in order to solve problems.

Thanks for taking your time to read my story,

Lyanna Malfoy

"Quoth the Raven, Nevermore"