Far back inside the human mind, dwells passion and desire hidden,

Far back inside the human mind, dwells passion and desire hidden,

And no tree bears bounty as sweet, as the fruit that is forbidden.

~*~

History is an interesting thing to fathom. Us human beings with our tiny, sordid minds seem to accept what the history books tell us, and then we go along our happy way; without a second thought. I guess some might say that I am a person firmly cemented in history... if not for what I've done, but more for what I represent... but the history books leave out half of my legacy... if you could call it a legacy.

I was born Elizabeth of Wales, a noble birth, with bloods so intertwined and carefully bred that you could say with certainty that I was from a blue-blooded family. I remember people telling me when I was a young girl that my blood was special. I could never get why they said that. I pricked myself several times on various sharp objects... my blood seemed just as red as anyone else's did.

I never got to go out into the villages on our fief; for fear that I might spoil my 'special' blood. I could never understand that either... why would play with other children spoil this blood of mine? What in the devil could they do to it? That fierce argument that I used to have with my parents makes my innards boil to this very day.

The only other child that was inside our manor aside from myself was my younger brother, Louis II, after my grandfather. He seemed to accept the rules of nobility easier than I did; I was angry with him for this, but at the same time, I was extraordinarily jealous of him. He lived the same life I did, but he was perfectly content, yet I was always restless and unhappy for some odd reason that I didn't comprehend at the time.

Contrary to what most people think, I was not born to a pureblooded family. I was not even born a hybrid. I don't know where I got it from, but my magic just came to me from the muggles. I sometimes like to reflect that maybe my magic kept me from settling into my pampered life. It was my magic that brought me to seek the truth, away from castles. Of course, I didn't know that I had magic until much later.

So, when I was four, but a wee toddler myself, I waddled in my overextravagant dresses, and found the heavenly room that transported me away from my boring lessons of useless stichery and protocol. The library. Well, in my time, it wasn't considered proper for young maidens like myself to learn how to read. That argument makes me even angrier than the rule saying that I wasn't to be allowed to play with the other village children.

Well, after being lectured by my mother and father for an hour, I marched straight back to the library, and picked out a storybook. A Thousand Tales of Mystery and Enchantment, I believe it was called. At the tender age of four, I decided I had had enough of living up to everyone's expectations. I was going to teach myself to read, no matter what those bastards said to or about me. Needless to say, I didn't have a very high respect held in esteem for my parents.

So that's how I grew up. With my nose in a book. Well, when I was about ten, my parents found out. As usual, they sent a servant to do their dirty work. By this time, people had noticed strange things happening around Wales Manor. My parents had sent a suitor for me, to see how he liked me. If he did, we were to be married. If he didn't like me, we weren't. I had no say in the whole affair. Needless, that didn't go over with me very well. Soon after he arrived, the fourteen-year-old boy ran from the manor, screaming that it was haunted. And then there was the incident when Marion, my snooty servant, mysteriously disappeared after she struck me. I had a feeling that my parents suspected me, but since witchcraft was feared and 'evil', they said nothing.

Anyway, the servant came in. "Mistress Wales?" he said in a timid voice. I was hiding in my closet with a candle, trying to practice my annunciation of words. I ignored him, but he opened the door and saw me, sitting on a pile of petticoats, looking back up at him. We stared at each other as deer might stare into the lights on a train.

"Can I help you?" I asked in my most-noble voice. Sometimes that could scare people off. I hated feeling above and beyond people, so I only used it in terms of great emergency. This could account as an emergency, I thought.

This servant, however, held his ground. "Your parents demand that you concede your reading materials, and report to them at once." My heart sank into my stomach. That only meant one of two things; a long-winded speech, or a beating of some sort... I didn't know which one I dreaded more.

"Tell your master that if he wants to come and get me, he has to do so himself," I replied coldly. I didn't care if I got into more trouble for this; I was tired of my father acting through his servants. If he wanted to reprimand me, he would have to do it himself. The servant's face turned the pale color of milk curdling in the churn, before swallowing and shaking his head.

"But they said that if I saw you indulging in forbidden activities, I was to send you to them..." he babbled, looking quite afraid of going back to my father empty-handed.

A thought came to me. "What would have happened if you didn't see me sharpening my literary skills?" I inquired.

The servant looked rather shocked at the question. "Err... well, I suppose I would have gone back to his grace" (my father was a duke) "and said that you weren't doing anything out of the ordinary."

I tugged my lower lip. "So, if I was to obliviate your memory... you wouldn't have seen anything wrong, so you couldn't tell them anything, right?"

A bead of nervous sweat trickled down the servant's neck. "Y-y-yes, I s-s-suppose so," he stuttered. I had him scared. I was glad, but I hated myself at the same time.

I stood up off of my petticoat pile, and looked the servant in the eyes. I can still remember his pale, pale, terrified orbs. That only made me feel dirty, but I couldn't let Mother and Father find out about my hobby.

"Obliviate," I whispered, ever so softly. I could barely hear myself speak, but the strange words worked. There was a loud clang, as an empty teakettle I had in my room fell off of the nightstand. The servant blinked and swallowed several times, as if restarting himself. He looked at me. I looked back at him.

"Ma'am?" he asked, looking bewildered. I was stunned. My impulse worked. "What are you doing down there in the closet?"

I hurriedly kicked a petticoat over my small collection of books in the closet. "I was just looking for a dress... and you were here to carry my tea set back to the kitchen," I adlibbed. The servant looked even more confused than before, so I gathered the cup, kettle, sugar, and cream containers, and threw them on a tray. I shoved the tray into the servant's hands.

"Oh, forgive me, Madame," he said, still looking rather confused. I nodded.

"That's quite all right. Be off with you," I ordered. The servant bowed.

"My lady is kind," he said, and walked out the door with stately grace. I shut the door behind him.

For a moment after that, I leaned against that door, as if I expected the servant to come back in with a battering ram and try and bust the door in. I then bundled up the books in the closet, snuffed the candle, shut the door, and locked it with the key on the chain I wore around my neck. I stuffed the key and the thin chain back under my shirt.

I had completed the worlds first Memory Charm. Without a wand. I didn't quite know what I did at the time, but I knew that I had used my 'special ability' to trick a man, to save me from getting in trouble. I curled up on my bed and cried for the next hour. I had no idea why.

~*~

A couple of months later, my mother took me down to my personal tailor, where he took my measurements, and gave me a large variety of materials and colors to choose from. I was quite suspicious, as I almost never got new wardrobes unless we were going somewhere important where we needed to impress somebody, or I just plain outgrew my clothes. Well, my clothes still fit, so I decided that we were going somewhere. No matter how many dirty looks I gave, or how many times or ways I asked, nobody would tell me anything. That was when I got very suspicious, but I kept to myself and my books, as normal.

A few days later, we took horse and overly elaborate carriage to a place called Smyliee Lake, where there was a very large stone manor over looking the actual Smyliee lake, and.... a young noble boy or marryable age for me. I was no fool when I saw the young man standing there at the gate, but I said nothing.

I remember that day clear as anything. We rode up, and it was drizzling slightly outside. The dirt road was muddy, and there were three people waiting for us under the shelter of the castle foyer.

Lady Carolina was all right, as far as looks go, but she was as empty-headed as a burlap sack. Lord Samuel was a very gruff, stern-faced man, with eyebrows so bushy that they seemed to grow together as one. Their child, Alexis, was a story altogether.

Despite having a rather girlish name, once you saw him - my God - you saw a fine specimen of a man. He had sandy blond hair that lopped in his eyes in a cropped cut, and blue eyes that were about as blue as Lake Smyliee itself. My heart thudded nearly to a stop in my chest. Alexis of Smyliee Lake was handsome.

That was the moment he looked into my eyes. My heart nearly stopped again, but this time of fear. Those beautiful eyes weren't only malicious, they were... they were evil. In that beautiful face and those strong muscles, I could sense evil in the roots of it. I looked away.

I kept my head down all through tea, only speaking when somebody else spoke to me. My parents thought this odd, since I was so outspoken with my family at home. Alexis was trying to catch my eye, but I had no desire to drown myself in those gorgeous eyes of evil. I could feel it radiating off of him, almost in waves. The adults kept on talking, Smalltalk that made no difference to anybody. With that incessant babble and Alexis's evil presence, I felt no desire to be there.

When tea was over, we went into the large parlor, where I perched myself on the edge of a very uncomfortable, elaborately carved wooden chair. Alexis was smugly silent through the entire ordeal, which scared me. I wished we could go home.

It was at that moment that I remembered the entire new wardrobe and the talks about good behavior that we had before I came here. It all added up. I wasn't going home. I was to be left at Smyliee Lake, betrothed to the man with the evil eyes. I sat there and thought it over. I did not cry, more out of good etiquette that had been drummed into my head other than self-control. All too soon I heard the fateful words.

"Elizabeth, dear," my father said in a sickly-sweet tone, "why don't you and Alexis over there go and get to know each other better?"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. But I didn't. I stiffly got up and nodded. "Yes, Father," I responded in a voice that was stronger than I felt at the moment. Alexis got up too, bowed to my parents deeply, and offered me his arm. I forced myself to take it.

We strolled out of the manor, making smalltalk along the way. I looked straight ahead the entire time, refusing to look in his eyes.

"Lovely weather we're having here lately," Alexis said coolly. I swallowed, my throat suddenly paper dry.

"Yes, very lovely," I repeated mechanically. I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but here, and I didn't know why. Alexis hadn't done anything to me - yet.

"I agree. Do you like it here?" he asked softly, in a very melodic voice. I didn't know what to say. Do I go with the truth? 'No, I don't like it here, and I don't like you.' Do I go with polite protocol? 'Oh, I simply adore it here'? So, I didn't answer.

"Well?"

Still no answer.

"Well?" he pressed, sounding slightly aggravated. I cringed, not wanting to make him mad.

"Do you want the truth?" I whispered. It was then that the moment I had been dreading happened.

He grabbed me by the wrist and whipped me around. I was forced to look up into those terrible eyes of his again.... I looked away. He pushed my head back.

"Look, wretch," he breathed. I could feel his heat on my neck, and I whimpered. I was about eleven; he was almost nineteen. I was helpless, quite frankly. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, an answer the first time."

"Let me go," I whispered sharply, my courage getting the better of me. That unwise remark earned me nothing but a slap in the face. Literally.

"Haven't you ever been taught never to talk back to a man?" He asked, sounding almost piteous. "They must have terrible teachers and governess' at Wales," he went on, rubbing his hand down my neck. I attempted to back away, but of course I knew that that was useless. I then saw what he was trying to do, and screamed. His large, strong hand covered my mouth. What was I supposed to do? I began to cry. He leered at me, in that handsome face, with those evil, evil eyes. I knew I defiantly couldn't take this looking into those eyes... so I closed my own.

~*~

"How was your walk?" my mother inquired cheerily when we returned. I was deathly pale, but she must not have noticed.

"Fine."

She drew me over. "Well?" she asked, jogging my elbow. "How was it?"

My throat seized. "Fine."

"Would you like to go to bed now? You look tired."

"Fine." Were there no other words in the English language? I repeated like a broken record, over and over and over and over again, until the adults were finished with me, and I was allowed to go upstairs. I caught a glimpse of Alexis before I went upstairs; he watched me with this odd, starved look on his face. I shuddered, and walked back up into my guestroom.

The room was white, with dark brown wood, and lace canopy and draperies. It was so impersonal, but I didn't care. I looked into the large, oval frame, and saw a girl looking at me. She was not Elizabeth of Wales. She was a person that looked scarred and beaten; thought not physically, but mentally. I stared at the girl in the picture, reminiscing that the innocent Elizabeth had vanished completely, and it had only taken one walk for her to do so.

I did not cry. I had learned the crying is completely useless; what had been done was done, so weeping over it isn't going to change it. Instead I flung open the window, over a cloudless night. The lake was as flat as glass, and it reflected the full harvest moon with radiance to spare. I sighed and closed my eyes. I did not want to marry Alexis.

Something brushed my cheek. I gasped and whirled around to find a golden eagle had flown in my room, the tip of its wing brushing my face. I didn't know whether to scream or cry, or what. So, I did nothing. The gargantuan bird regarded me solemnly before screeching as softly as it could.

"Elizabeth of Wales?" it asked. "Is that you?"

I dumbly nodded, gripping the lace curtain as if it was a security blanket.

"Would you mind giving my left wing a rub?" it asked. "I'm rather sore from flying so far, and I have so much longer to go."

I slowly walked over and grabbed the bird's left wing, and gently began to force its tense muscles to relax. The bird made almost a purring sound in its throat as I did so. About ten minutes later, the gigantic bird took its wing away.

"I hear that you have no interest in being betrothed to Alexis of Smyliee Lake," it said coolly.

I remembered the walk from earlier and shuddered, feeling sick. "Not at all."

"Good," the bird went on. It shuffled around. "Climb on."

"What?!" I asked, backing up. "I'll break your back!"

"No, you won't," the bird said, ruffling its golden feathers impatiently. When I hesitated, it seemed to give a bird-like sigh. "Would you rather marry Alexis?"

I looked down the window. It was about a two hundred-foot drop. If the bird dropped me, I would most likely die, and then I wouldn't have to marry Alexis either way, I figured. So I straddled the bird (which would have been big enough for three of me) and it waddled to the window. He jumped out.

We plummeted about fifty feet, as eagles always seem to do when they take off. I grabbed handfuls of his feathers, and held on for dear life. Then we suddenly found lift, and we glided easily in the air. The giant bird flapped its wings once, and we were sailing.

I risked a look behind at Smyliee Manor, and it was disappearing quickly. The window that had belonged to my room was still open, and one of the lace curtains was flapping out, as if waving good-bye. I giggled, and wanted to urge the great bird faster. The happiness of getting away from Alexis and the shock of flight had made me giddy.

About ten minutes later, we landed in front of a small, thatch-roofed house. I climbed off the bird dizzily. My feet were asleep from dangling in the air. I stumbled to the door.

"Shall I knock?" I asked. The bird nodded gravely, and I raised my hand to knock. But before my flesh met the door, it opened.

A short, squat little old woman was there. Even at my young age of eleven, I was still almost a head taller than she was. She looked me over, and invited me in.

The cottage was very small, but very clean. A bed lay in a corner of the circular cottage, with a potbellied stove on the opposite side. There was no fireplace, but the cottage was pleasantly warm with the heat from the fire, which felt good after the ride through the brisk fall air. The old woman silently guided me to the stove, and motioned for me to sit down. On the stove was a merrily bubbling kettle. The woman got out the materials to make tea.

"Let me help you," I croaked, trying in vain to stand up. The hag flapped a hand - stay where you are - so I obeyed. She took a stick from the folds of her cloak - I learned later that this was a wand - and flicked it.

I watched in awe as two cups, a caddy of tealeaves, a teaball, and a teapot floated over to the stove. The woman set up for tea deftly, with the practice of many years in her gnarled hands. She soon finished and handed me a cup, not rattling it on the saucer at all. I took a sip. It was raspberry, my favorite kind of tea. I didn't know how the old crone knew this, and I personally didn't want to. The woman sat, cross-legged in front of me, and sipped her own tea, which was a mint flavor.

"I see Goldenwing brought you here," the woman rasped. I put my cup down.

"If that's the name of that great eagle, then yes," I replied shakily.

"Give me your left palm," the crone instructed, setting down her own serving of tea. I looked at my hand.

"Why? There's nothing wrong with it, is there?" I asked, shocked. The woman shook her head and grabbed my palm herself. She was quick for such a small, old woman. She started tracing the lines and grooves in my skin, while muttering to herself. I was surprised to see that when she looked back up at me, her blue eyes were brimming over with tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid that I had done something to offend my hostess. "What did I-" the crone flapped her hand again, and I fell silent.

"It's just that my little granddaughter... my God, she looked exactly, and had the same palm markings as you have," she whispered, her scratchy voice thick.

I wanted to ask what the granddaughter's name was, but I went on to more tactful questions instead. "She looked? What happened to her?"

The hag's voice was suddenly dry and emotionless again. "Raiders invaded the village that she lived on... killed the men and children, raped the women, and sowed the fields with salt. You look exactly like her."

The woman flicked her wand again, and the teaset began cleaning itself. I stared dumbly at it. I didn't realize until I turned around that the woman was looking at me. "Would you like to learn how to do that?" she inquired quietly.

"Make the plates float?" I asked, eagerly. "Yes, yes I would! Can you teach me?"

The hag smiled. "You act like my granddaughter did, too. Dearest, you are a witch."

My mind stopped running for a moment. A witch? The kind that they burn, and drive stakes through their hearts? The kind that place evil curses on people, and stop crops from growing? I was one of those? I looked at the runs in my palms. They looked just like ordinary hands. It was then I realized what my 'special abilities' had been all along. I remembered the incident with the suitor I didn't like, the Memory Charm with the servant, and how Marion disappeared after she hit me. It all made sense if I was magical. My throat closed over.

"Oh," I said quietly. It was the only sound I could make. I looked up at the crone. "Elizabeth of Wales is a witch," I said flatly.

The old woman shook her head. "Elizabeth of Wales was not a witch. Elizabeth was a malcontented noble girl. If you accept your magical abilities, Elizabeth is no more."

I thought that over, tasting it almost, on the tip of my tongue. I looked at the crone. "Who am I?" I whispered, no matter how stupid the question sounded.

The hag shrugged. "Names are more than you think. What you're called is what you are. You may rename yourself."

A new name! I had never really cared for the name Elizabeth all that much; it was too common. But I could have a new identity, a new beginning! It seemed too good to be true. What should I call myself, was my next worry. There were so many names in the world to choose from. I had no idea where to start. I looked up at the old woman.

"What was your granddaughter's name?" I asked.

She smiled. "Raven Rowena Heartclaw," she said.

I frowned. That was a little too complicated for me. I shoved the names around in my mind for a moment, before looking up. "Then I shall be Rowena Ravenclaw, after your granddaughter, since you say I am so much like her."

The hag smiled again. She took out her wand and touched it to both my shoulders, as if knighting me. The wand left a translucent blue ribbon trailing behind it. "Welcome to my humble abode, Rowena," she said. I made a polite curtsey.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I said. The hag pushed her hood back, revealing a pair of blue eyes, and a chin at a jaunty angle.

"Call me Grandma June, if you please."

~*~

A/N: *grins* Did anyone guess who she was before you read it? Everybody else will be introduced later... but the next part of this fic will be posted by Sierra, not me. This is something of an alternating fic, as we will be taking turns with the parts. I love reviews, by the way. ^_~

~Moxie ^_~

Disclaimer: Everyone except Rowena Ravenclaw belongs to me. The great Rowena Ravenclaw belongs to the great J.K. Rowling. So there. You can't sue me. *sticks out her tongue at all the lawyers out there*