Chapter 2: Notre Dame

                "Harry, just look at these engravings!" Hermione whispered ecstatically as she motioned to the intricate carvings in the stone upon the walls. Harry, however, was ignoring her and staring down at the cover of the book he'd snuck out of the museum.

                Harry glanced up from his book and looked at the great statue of the mother Mary that stood before him. He couldn't help but feel a tad resentful and ashamed of having that book in this place, he wasn't sure why, but the peaceful, forgiving gaze of the stone didn't aid to wash that emotion from him. He knew he'd not seen that symbol anywhere before, but he was drawn to it. It was a most sinister force that drew him, he could feel it as he held the book, he'd not wanted it for good but for some dark intention that lay deep within his psyche. Something so hidden in the unconscious mind that even he wasn't privy to it.

                "What's that you've got there?" Ron asked as whatever Harry was holding was, most probably, infinitely more interesting than whatever Hermione was babbling about.

                "Oh, nothing," Harry said absently and tried to cover the book up, unfortunately Hermione snatched it from him before he could be away with it.

                "Nothing my eye." Hermione looked down at the book and her expression was split between shame and surprise. "I can't believe you bought one of these tacky reproductions!"

                "Reproductions?" Ron stared at the book. "Blimey, mate, you bought one of those tacky Books of Shadows like everyone else?" Ron shuddered visibly, only a moment earlier he'd seen groups of girls writing in the names of all their friends and cheerful little rhymes.

                "Not…exactly." Harry turned away from the statue before him and bit his lip as Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him.

                "You stole one of those copies?" Hermione let out a small, astonished gasp but became all the more confused as Harry frowned nervously.

                "Again, not…exactly." Harry rubbed the back of his head and Hermione paled.

                "You took the book from the workshop?" Ron asked, mouth agape. Harry nodded nervously and Ron blinked.

                "Harry!" Hermione reprimanded him just in her tone.

                "Well technically it is his property, 'Mione," Ron reasoned and even though Hermione was flustered with the very concept she could do little but sputter about it being wrong to take such things.

                "Still!" Hermione finally managed to get a straight word out but her perturbed tone was punctuated most undesirably as Snape swooped up beside them and shot them all a reproachful glare.

                "If it isn't too much trouble, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter," Snape hissed through his teeth, the visage of Mary in sharp contrast to his obviously dark intent, "would you much mind remaining quiet while inside such a hollowed institution?" The group muttered variations of 'Sorry, sir,' through shocked or gritted teeth and before Snape brushed past them to check up on the next group down the aisle he spotted the book. He gave Hermione a distasteful look, turned up his nose, and walked away just before Hermione shoved the book back into Harry's hands.

                "Harry, you've got to return that book to the museum!" Hermione whispered harshly and something deep in Harry's chest tightened uncomfortably, as if someone was suddenly trying to twist the lift out of his heart.

                "We can't do that," Harry sputtered and Hermione looked taken aback.

                "Why not?" she asked indignantly and Harry winced slightly as the shadowy fingers tightened their foreboding grip upon him.

                "I don't know…we just can't, not yet," Harry shook his head slightly and forced the shadow from himself, but it left him drained and he felt all too venerable even in this place of protection.

                "Hey, isn't that the tour guide?" Ron asked and pointed towards the doors. The other two glanced, momentarily, around Ron and, surely enough; there was the redhead that had lead them on the tour.

                "See! She noticed the book was gone," Hermione hissed quietly but Harry continued to watch the woman—she was frustrated as she glanced at all the students who held copies of the book. "You have to give it back or you'll be in even more trouble!" Hermione glared but her harsh look subsided as Harry paled.

                The redhead had looked up and locked eyes with Harry. There was something piercing, painful, yet familiar in her gaze. The frigid tightness that had been in his chest returned, tenfold, as she stared straight through him and grew only more concentrated as she muttered something. The book, for a moment, fought against his hands but something in him stilled it. When no reaction came from her words her falcon's gaze shifted and found another one of the students who carried a copy of that book.

                "I think, Hermione," Harry paused and looked down at the black book in his hands with some great fearful reverence, "That is the very last thing we should do."

                "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in a subdued tone, but she was quickly interrupted as Padma Patil stumbled by.

                "Have you heard?" Padma quickly regained her composure and shot a pointed glare down at the carvings in the floor.

                "Heard what?" Ron, being the only one who seemed to trust Harry's judgment at the moment, asked and redirected the group's attention to Padma.

                "Did you see that tour-guide?" The lot of them nodded save for Hermione who was far too full of polite indignation at Harry's acts. "Rumor has it she's been inspecting the students and questioning the Headmaster about the Defense Against the Dark Arts spot."

                "That cursed class?" Ron asked, befuddled and astounded all at once.

                "Yeah," Padma paused and Harry shuddered a bit at the idea of that woman's eyes on him like that, all the time, "Mc Gonagall is all riled up and looks ready to rate her up and down!" Padma whispered excitedly. "I've never seen the old bat so taken aback and jumpy."

                "Padma!" Hermione, once more, exclaimed with that same polite indignation in her voice. "It is hardly appropriate to call teachers such things!"

                "Oh bugger off it," Padma said and shot her a dry look. "I've heard you talk about Snape and Trelawney!" At this Hermione fell silent and a redness came to her cheeks—though they wagered it more from righteous anger and annoyance than embarrassment. "Anyway, I'll be off—more people to tell, you see." Padma paused, mid-step, as she was walking away and grinned at Harry. "You bought one too, aye?" she quipped lightly and shuffled off.

                "Oh Merlin," Ron groaned quietly once the girl had left earshot. "Now you'll never be able to put it back without a fuss! Everyone will know you have one!" Only a moment after this statement, Ron's face brightened considerably and he glanced, furtively, at Harry. Hermione, of course, saw this supposedly covert communication and promptly struck Ron's arm.

                "I don't think I should give this to her, Hermione." Harry repeated himself and shook his head. The weight and tightness in his chest would not release him and seemed to grow more malevolent with every passing moment.

                "Harry! There is no reason—."

                Hermione was abruptly cut off at the bells above rang out and filled the cathedral with noise. Harry was startled, as were many others, and he shook his head to clear the nearly ethereal feeling of smallness from himself.  Hermione let out an audible groan as her previous thought was thrown completely from her mind and Trelawney moved to assemble the class and take them up to the bell tower.

                "Everyone in twos!"

                The mob slowly formed a line just before the alcove that led up to the tower. Students muttered and quipped back and forth about the lack of exercise programs at Hogwarts and the distinct need of a new field trip coordinator as they started up the steps into the dark, torch-lit corridor. Harry glanced about uneasily as they passed the statues and the windows, he nearly felt as if their eyes were focused on him—it was hard to breathe. He pulled the book up from his side to his stomach and it seemed to dispel the errant spirits from him.

                "I have not foreseen any injuries—but mind the steps!" Trelawney snapped as Crabbe and Goyle began to shove a pair of Hufflepuffs up the steps and she narrowed her eyes through her massive bifocals. The rest ignored her as they began up the stairs, but there was a quick change as the line was completed and the students were no longer strewn about randomly.

                The students did not heed the Divination's Professor, nor would they ever, but they did fall into line and utter silence as they noticed the two rather imposing figures that appeared just behind the doddering waif of a seer. Snape, in all his malevolence, stood with his arms crossed over his chest, peering at them through his hair, down the length of his nose. All but the Slytherin house quieted at this discomforting spectacle. It was the woman, the tour guide, who stood just beyond them, half in shadows that silenced the rest of the students—well, at least those who saw her there.

                Harry watched her as he slowly moved forward in the line. She didn't seem quite the same as she had been when they had listened to her—everything about her was off. The longer he watched her, the more he noticed it. Her green eyes glittered with an ill-omened impending nature about them, and, for a moment, Harry could have sworn he saw someone else standing in her place. He jumped and fixed his eyes on the back of the student in front of him as she glanced his way.

                Her eyes burned him; their intensity caused his chest to tighten and his back to stiffen as cold fingers of doubt spread down his spine. The book against his skin, for a moment, galled him and felt putrid, but he dare not move. Though her eyes lingered on him long enough to cause him to sweat and his extremities numb, her gaze moved on and away from him altogether as he stepped through the alcove and up the steps.

                Harry found that he was breathing more heavily than he should have been when he reached the top. His heart raced in his chest and his bones felt rickety and brittle as he moved. Everything about him had tensed, but why? Down to his very core, her gaze had twisted him up inside. Snape was looking at them with a far less subtle nature—why did she cause him to react differently? His mind answered for him.

                Because she meant to kill him.

                Piper couldn't help but frown as she passed through the great wooden doors of Notre Dame. The air inside this place was far heavier, far more stifling than it had been inside the Cathedral of St. Etienne. She could not quite identify, at first, why this place debased her to this nervous state, but it became increasingly apparent as she searched the building for marks.

                "Hidden well are the wells of the mortals felled." Pantira whispered into Piper's ear and her reflection appeared on one of the tall, silver candlestick holders that lined the church.

                "Weak they are, the art of talisman long forgotten by these wand-wakers." Periceal appeared across from her on another of the holders and, considering all these unnatural reflections, it was hardly surprising that Piper showed no reflection in anything she passed. It was an interesting talisman they had placed here to protect those in sanctuary from the powers of the mystic arts. It had, most probably, been a very powerful one in ages passed, but it was long diminished as the natural arts were forgotten for the quick attention of the wand.

                "Come out, come out, dear book mine." Piper narrowed her eyes slightly and grazed her vision across the room. There were at least two hundred students and nearly all of them carried books eerily similar to her own. Her eyes paused as she spotted a rather large group of them in the corner—a few of them were staring at her curiously. "We have means to do and my power is thyne." She stared, pointedly, with a particularly intense focus in her as she silently called towards the group to find her book. Nothing.

                "Insulting, is it not?" Pantira asked with an indignant tone.

                "They should copy such hallowed tomes and leave the original to rot." Periceal agreed and Piper's vision traveled across the remainder of the students.

                "You'll never find the one that has your book!" Laura, the tourguide, shouted. Piper wasn't certain if she was trying to spur her on so she would be caught or trick her into relenting—it mattered not, however, as neither was going to happen in the near future. Piper ignored her, pointedly, and moved forward into the cathedral, her eyes scraping over each student as she passed them, her mind screaming for her book's return. She stiffened and silenced her call as she felt a strong, spidery hand clamp down on her left shoulder.

                "Can I…help…you?" She turned and the owner of the disdainful voice was even more imposing and guarded than his tone had implied. He was a good two feet taller than her, at least in this new body, and wore all black. He looked, to her, most remarkably like her brother—but he was not. Harrison had never been possessed of such spiteful, irreverent black eyes nor such a scornful air about him. His eyes cut into her and she had to fight herself to keep from flinching.

                "Such a deamon's stare!" Periceal hissed and her figure shied away from the dark man's eyes.

                "Guard your senses, I feel he bears inner sights," Pantira warned and her reflection faded slightly into the gleam off of one of the candlestick holders.

                "I do not believe so," Piper responded cryptically but in a bland enough tone. He gave very little outward reaction to her response—his hand tightened on her shoulder a bit and his lips pressed themselves slightly thinner than they had already been.  She pondered, for a moment, whether or not to inform him that one of the students had taken the book from her home—the museum, rather, but this did not seem such a grand idea. To inform him it was missing was to give some of herself away. None had noticed for a thousand years that it sat there, why would anyone notice it gone?

                "Are you looking for something," he paused and slowly removed his hand from her shoulder while his other rested on a surreptitiously hidden pocket on the side of his robe. "Someone?" he added as an afterthought and Piper turned to face him fully.

                This was no casual conversation they were having, nor was it the standard accusatory suspicion. This was a shrewd, inauspicious diatribe delivered through bared teeth by forked tongues. A dance around outright accusation, and in such a thing every word, every intonation, every breath and pause and moment stalled held meaning and could be the end. Piper knew this, as did he, and the air between them was tensed as they both struggled to appear casual and unfettered. They had been sloppy—both had given away more than they sought; he by asking if she was searching, she by pausing far too long for an answer.

                "Actually, perhaps you can aid me," Piper backtracked through the conversation and this took him off guard—his eyes seemed to darken visibly with mistrust. "I seek a professor."

                Her eyes were dull and concealed, but she could not keep the hint of amusement out of them, not without much more practice, as she saw a flash cut through his serpentine vision. His mouth released some of its tightness, but that was an intentional move as the muscles of his neck and face tightened in a way that lingered upon the imperceptible.

                "For what purpose?" He asked and his eyes remained locked on her even though quite a commotion amongst the students was beginning to erupt. They had been silent when she entered, probably a byproduct of this slinking, intimidating figure wandering about too and fro from the shadows, but without his direct attentions their tongues had started to slip.

                "I wish to know what materials I will need," Piper answered in her most perfectly sincere tone. Normally this act would have gathered some response from her coven but they were silent before this man's keen eyes and sharp mind. He did not slip in his game but placed a good load more to bear upon Piper's end.

                "You are no student, why would you ask?" His tone, perhaps, was more acerbic than he had intended, but still the point stood. He would guess well enough why she was speaking to him of this, no doubt he already had heard the whispering children murmuring of it.

                "I am to teach a class," Piper paused and she could almost feel his muscles wind up and tense to strike, even though she could not see it. "For a time."

                "Don't trust her!" Laura's voice shouted in Piper's mind and, momentarily her concentration was shaken. He noticed—the edges of his lips curled, though the act was so brief she was not certain if it had been a smirk or a frown, and despite the widening of his eyes back to their normal state she knew none of their sight had been pushed back. If anything, he had placed more care upon her, all of him was focused on her, pushing her, and ready to topple her as a house of cards.

                "That depends, Madam," he stressed the word. What was that in his voice? Smugness? Severity? Sardonic amusement? Had he heard the trapped soul? Impossible. "How you intend and what you intend to teach." He crossed his arms over his chest, effectively removing his hand from where his weapon lay. "Defense Against the Dark Arts is hardly a class to be unprepared for. I suggest you think well upon this."

                The two shared a long stare as Piper tried to break into his head—she had not the ability to do such things, for that was where her brother's strength lay, but she was well enough at all else, and perceptive and cunning, that she assumed she could have done such things. Never had she come across one so adept at it, however, and she could feel his sense of superiority—it infuriated her. Her emotions had the better of her then; her resolve was fading, and her dissimulation here was forfeit for the moment. She wanted nothing more than to wave her hand and crush his bones—and he felt it. He stiffened and his eyes went cold and dangerous as her malice was made all to apparent in his mind.

                "Piper!" Periceal hissed into her mind—she did not withdraw. But she did not realize that Periceal was not warning her of her actions, and, for a moment, she forgot the talisman in place upon the Cathedral—all too obvious it was that they had been placed there with designs to bar out those of her particular skill and caste.

                The bells of the Cathedral rang, clanged, and chimed in a flurry and orchestra of sound. The children could not hear it—they could hear the bells, yes, but they could not hear what purpose they served. The talisman awoke with the great ringing and Piper was drawn from her anger as they wrapped around her throat and began to choke her in the most literal sense. She stumbled forward, her power and ability gone for the moment as the great statues and paned windows drew her life and strength from her, and this man's great antipathy for her became all too apparent as he backed away and allowed her to fall, nearly bent in two, against one of the pews. She gasped for air for a moment, her eyes wide, and thoughts of death pierced her mind but were not of her own concoction—then, as quickly as it had begun, it was halted and her power was pulled, violently, from the grips of those great monoliths and the myriad of eyes in Notre Dame.

                "He is gone! I would he draw his fiddlestick should he make such minstrels of us!" Pantira's reflection appeared behind Piper's in the dark wood of the pew.

                "Of what do you speak?" Piper whispered as her wits returned to her and her ardent discord was filtered once more and veiled within her psyche.

                "He pray us sing, surely you too were baited." Periceal stepped past the reflection of Pantira and took the silvery, weakening form of Laura by the throat. "What did you tell him?"

                "The book." The fading reflection of the tour guide could no longer form coherent words and phrases as she slowly suffocated in the shadows of Piper's spirit. She would be dead and irretrievable within the next two days.

                "He broke me," Piper whispered but stood up upon hearing this new information. "With it I will break him."

                "Be wary," Periceal warned her in a low tone as she took Pantira down deep into hiding, "he would be your downfall, I have seen it in him."

                "More than I shall be felled by the end," Piper whispered and stood up. She glanced about and noticed the students walking past her towards the alcove—two or three of them stopped by her and stared at her with uneasy expressions.

                "Do you require…assistance?" The figurehead of the little trio, a boy with a dark swath of curled, suave hair and dark eyes—who looked muchly to be a sinister version of Harrison, dear, treacherous Harrison—stepped forward and eyed her with a forced look of contrition combined with something near dubious approbation in his voice.

                "I require nothing, move along," Piper replied in a most clipped and supercilious way and the boy arched an eyebrow at her. "Feign I would be to think a student tarry at a Professor's request." Piper added in as she noted their distinct lack of movement and, quickly, she won the battle of the wills with the youngling and he sauntered off to join his group.

                "It might be but eye," Perciel's voice whispered quietly as it remained upon the fringes of Piper's mind, "but I do see such a thing as hierarchy inspired."

                "You are challenged unto them and shall have them 'ere the end," Pantira added and Piper straightened up before walking back towards the doors. She turned as she reached them and walked along the wall, cast in eerie half-light as the shadows fell upon her, moved behind that disdainful man, and watched the students with careful speculative glance. Many things there were left to do, but the priority, for now, was the retrieval of the book. Her book; her personal Book of Shadows.

                The students, silent, and bored, moved in pairs towards the door and Piper swept her enshrouded bird-like attentions over every student bearing a book. It was a mockery, a near blasphemy to copy such a hallowed thing and sell it to children who knew little more than how to flick a wand. But, Piper mused behind her dark intentions and her scrutinizing eyes, it was somewhat flattering—she had been so infamous, become so legendary that mothers had to buy their babes toys so they could diminish and shelter them as they slept. How amusing it was to think that such small things would dream of her in fear and bolt to the endless watches of the night only to see her power and be comforted that she no longer had it.

                It was a simple task to pick out a set of suspects among the throng. She would fix her eyes they with copies and some would react most nervously. They would see her, of course, some would stare back in ever increasing horror, some would turn away, and some would dash forward and up the steps with little thought or concern for those before them. Only ten she saw who reacted strongly enough to be so worried. She filed their faces away in her mind and frowned as she spotted something most spectacularly foolish. She stepped forward and whispered to the darkly clad man—he knew she stood there, and would not give her the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

                "You may wish to reign in some of those simpering students," Piper's eyes found the group of girls who were writing rhymes and mockeries of spells into their books with their quills, "soon I fear their common sense shall be preponderated by laughable curiosity."

                A smile twisted her pink, and soon to be darkened, lips upwards as the girls wrote something so absurdly volatile that it proved her point before the man had even the chance to make a scathing rebuttal. She felt him stiffen in horror and abhorrence, for the girls and she, as the book burst into fire of most spectacular colors and lit three students' robes aflame. Of all the peoples and professors within and without of the Cathedral, Piper was the only one who did not leap to the rescue of the girl—the children noted this quite grimly, particularly when her cold eyes found them and she smirked.

Author's Notes: I beg your pardon for making this chapter chiefly about Snape and Piper, but it was important to set up her feelings towards his abilities (for she knows nothing of Legilimency and Occlumency) and his distinct loathing and fear of her. They will not be good friends.

Ever.

The next chapter will be set a while forward in time, when they are returning from the trip, Piper with them. It will be much more based around Harry and his feelings towards the book. There will be explanation/speculation of why the book does what it does—mostly from, you got it, Hermione—and a great deal of foreshadowing.

Forgive, again, the wildly differing levels of diction between the two halves. I did not do this on accident. Harry, being young, would not think, speak, or act on such a refined and high level as most of the more intellectual people about him so that is displayed when I write around him. Meanwhile, Snape and Piper, who are quite considerably Literati (and sinister in their own fashions), both think and speak on a much more refined plateau than Harry and that I wanted to show as well.

I hope I didn't confuse too many of you, and I hope you enjoyed.

For those of you who like…linguistics:

Nothing new, save a whole bunch of English.

Q&A:

1 ) Would Hermione indeed just read the inscriptions on the pillar, being the precautious person she has always been?

I must admit…I did take a bit of liberty with Hermione there. My logic on the subject was she, having learned Latin to such a proficient level, would be more than eager to show off  her knowledge (as that was something she seemed to like doing quite a lot), and wouldn't have put much thought to the subject as she had only heard the tale once while up in the museum—a tale which decidedly omitted the candle and the reincarnation aspects of the history of Piper.

2 ) How are Harry, Ron, and Hermione affected?

Ah, if I answered that right away it wouldn't be a very captivating story, would it?

3 ) How come Harry was never told about this past?

Even in the canon, Harry is still discovering items about his past that he hadn't the chance to know previously. Dumbledore might have been reluctant to lay the information on the already heavy-hearted boy, had he known it. And, the curse that Harrison heard in the crowd on the day she was hanged spoke nothing of the book being sealed to only descendants of the three families (a completely separate spell altogether) and he might have been quite feign to open the book and read through it so soon after her death.

As for why the magical world wouldn't have some legend floating about concerning them…that will be explained later in more detail than I will divulge here, but you must recall that in the historical recount they omitted her name and the part the Potter family played. This woman was not well liked and the fastest way to diminish something loathed is to forget it.

As for the similarities to the episode of Charmed—I had originally written up to the possession of the Tour guide before I saw that particular episode (in syndication, I might add). I might have borrowed a few ideas from that one bit, but there will be no copying of the plotline, nor any of the other concepts, I assure you. No worries.