THE SERPENT AND THE EAGLE
Originally "published" under the name DoubleEdgedSword on FictionAlley.org
Prologue – The Prophecy
[She Moved Through The Fair]
[Traditional Irish]
My young love said to me
My mother won't mind.
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kind.
She stepped away from me,
And this she did say:
"It will not be long love,
'til our wedding day."
She stepped away from me
And she moved through the fair.
And fondly I watched her
Move here and move there.
And she made her way homeward
With one star awake,
As the swan in the evening
Moves over the lake.
I dreamed it last night
That my young love came in.
So sweetly she came
her feet made no din.
She stepped close beside me
And this she did say:
"It will not be long, love,
'Til our wedding day."
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Time Period: Unknown
Soft footfalls echoed off the vaulted stone ceiling. They were light,
delicate and rushed, as though the runner was racing along on tiptoe.
The only ones who followed her flight through the castle were sentient
portraits that whispered and hissed to each other. If the walls bore
witness, they gave no sign. All was silent and still, until even her
heartbeat sounded abnormally loud in the cavernous hallways.
A tinkling crash was swiftly followed by a heavy thud and a whispered
obscenity heralded the arrival of one of Hogwarts' best and brightest.
A muttered spell immediately set the bookcase and vase pieces aright,
mending the smithereens in a nanosecond.
The girl rounded the corner, panting alarmingly.
'Did anyone see you?' a low voice inquired.
'No,' she replied.
'Well, they certainly heard you.' He smiled, blue eyes sparkling with
mischief.
She blushed straight to the roots of her grey hair.
'That was an accident.' She muttered, and promptly changed the subject.
'Do you have the stuff?'
'Of course I do,' he replied, his voice high-pitched all of a sudden. 'Just...be careful when you take them, alright?'
She clutched at the parcel with trembling hands.
'I can see further than I have ever done before with these, Al,' she
murmured. 'You're such a sweetheart!'
The older girl stooped to kiss his cheek, and instead found she was
kissing his lips. He had turned away, reddening as he had done so, only
to come into full impact with her lips.
It was an innocent mistake, but it was one that both would remember for
centuries.
'Albus!' she gasped, stepping backwards, partly ashamed with herself for
kissing a thirteen-year-old, but mostly angry that she had not seen this
coming.
'I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, C-C-C-Cassandra!' he gibbered, scuttling away from
her. After all, she was a seventh year Ravenclaw.
'Sorry isn't good enough!' she hissed. 'I have half a mind to deduct a
hundred points from Gryffindor for lewd behaviour to another student,
and the other half to inform Professor Dippet! He is still your Head of
House?'
'Y-y-yes...Miss Trelawney!' Albus stammered. 'Please, don't...I'll be in s-s-
so much trouble!'
Cassandra paused, enjoying his discomfort. After all, he had just done
something that could result in her expulsion. Not to mention he had
supplied her with Class A Non-Tradeable magical herbs, but that would
implicate him more so than her.
'If you tell anyone about this, Dumbledore,' she growled in a deeply
threatening voice, 'I swear I will make your life a living Azkaban.
Merlin's beard! If this gets out...' she trailed off and glared at the
cowering boy. 'That kiss never happened. Understood?'
He nodded vigorously, nearly knocking his glasses from his face.
Only a third year, and he was already beating every school examination
record on file. He should have been a Ravenclaw, but the Sorting Hat had
taken a full twenty minutes to decide on where he should go. She
remembered it vividly from that year's sorting, and had been amazed when
the hat reluctantly cried out, 'GRYFFINDOR!'
She folded her arms huffily and said, 'Well, get back to your dormitory,
Dumbledore. But one word of this leaks to anyone...and I swear that I will
personally hunt you down and use you for Bludger practice. Understand?'
His auburn head nodded vigorously, and he raced off through the
corridors.
She sighed and looked away with a slight smile. Considering his age, and
the experience level that went with it, he had been a very good kisser.
Albus Dumbledore stormed into his dormitory, half crying and half
snarling with rage. She had treated him like a child...and all he had done
was try to help her!
He wrestled and punched his pillow until it tore apart in a blizzard of
soft white feathers. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and almost
laughed at the sight. White feathers stuck at alternate angles from his
curling hair.
Try as he might, Albus Dumbledore could never stay angry for long.
He brushed the feathers from his red-gold curls and sighed heavily.
Why had been so stupid? Going on a mad, errant sabbatical to Hogsmeade
was one thing, but buying illegal magical herbs and plants in the
process? If she told...then he would be expelled for sure.
Albus amused himself by floating his half-moon spectacles above his
head, using a charm of his own devising. Despite the attempted
distraction, he still could not shut her from his mind. Albus rolled
over and almost swore with rage.
It was all very well and good to have a crush, but to have one on her –
the most attractive, most talented and most sought-after girl in all of
Hogwarts?
How could she make him feel dizzy with happiness and anticipation, and
yet weighed down with frustration and even anger?
And how could she deny that kiss?
True, she was unusual in form and feature. Her nose was pert and
delicate. She sometimes scrunched it up in distaste or in laughter. Her
eyebrows were severe and thick, one of her biggest flaws. Their angle was
harsh, and gave her an appearance of anger even when she smiled. Her jaw
was square and chiselled, with a pleasantly shaped face. Her eyes were
huge; giant amethyst orbs floating amongst skin as fine and transparent
as lilies, albeit lilies that creased around her mouth and eyes, all
framed by a cloud of storm-grey hair.
Rumour had it that her hair colour had been leeched by trafficking with
spirits, and by disturbing visions. True, there had been even more
rumours that she was sometimes levitated out of Gryffindor Tower at
night, screaming and babbling about something she had seen, her eyes
blazing red in anger or terror, or else gleaming blue with happiness or
grief.
He loved her, despite all the rumours of madness and evil attached to
her. He saw, or thought he saw, the intrinsic goodness of her spirit
every time he looked at her.
He loved how quirky she was, and how much power she seemed to command.
He loved her elegantly sweeping hair, and the way she moved...almost like
a cat, or like a gazelle...so fluid and so graceful!
'Reparo,' he muttered, idly waving his wand at the torn pillow. Its
parts and pieces collided and mended in the twinkling of an eye.
Albus smiled. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was Charms.
He swished his wand, following up swiftly with a flick aimed at the
pillow with the words, 'Wingardium Leviosa!'
The pillow floated into the air, and he caught it as it drifted past him
like a heaven-bound cloud.
The teenager lay back on the pillow and thought about various things
until he finally drifted off to sleep. Things like Cassandra Trelawney,
and how to get a little smidgeon of revenge on her.
'One day she'll see how useless Divination really is,' he murmured as he
drifted into a peaceful slumber. 'If I was headmaster at Hogwarts...I'd
ban the ruddy subject! It's not like we need it even...prophecies never
come true anyway...'
Not very far away, a school prefect and legend combined into one was
busily preparing a potion.
Cassandra Trelawney mixed all of the herbs together into a massive
cauldron. As she added the final ingredient, some potentially fatal
laudanum, the mixture took on a shade as purple as her eyes. It began to
luminesce as she peered into its murky depths.
The light fell on her features, illuminating her face with an arcane
glow that made her look very much like the stereotypical Muggle idea of
a witch.
She rather liked this room. It was perfectly suited to her needs...she
chuckled softly to herself. What a bad pun! This was, after all, the
Room of Requirement. It changed to suit your exact needs!
She had learned about it from young Dumbledore not too long ago.
The school had begun a mentoring programme for younger students, and she
had been assigned to Dumbledore from his first day in Hogwarts.
The whole idea of the programme was to integrate the new students in a
highly professional way, while at the same time encouraging unity
between the houses. The plan had been scrapped, however, after roughly
six months of operation and declared, on the whole, an interesting but
highly flawed experiment. A Gryffindor had been assigned to a Slytherin
first year, and a massive uproar ensued when the same Slytherin was
found imprisoned in Greenhouse Number Eight two days later, fighting off
Devil's Snare and nearly fainting with exhaustion.
Needless to say, the idea was truly a failure.
Cassandra could have told them that without the aid of her "special
brew". It was a little something she had dreamed up a few years ago
while researching her own unique talent.
Certain magical herbs, fungi and plants could heighten the Seer's own
power, and even make it possible for the ungifted to see past the Veil
of Obscurity. Cassandra had researched these to the point where it had
become a daily and nightly ritual for her to abandon all other pursuits
and to bury herself in books and meditations.
So far, she had predicted deaths, the rise and fall of the British
Empire and even what was coming up on tests in Hogwarts. The latter had
given her a highly lucrative illegal business in the Hogwarts grounds,
but Cassandra was still discontent with her advancements.
She wanted to See further than any had ever attempted.
She had been born with the mark of a Seer, a tiny birthmark on the inner
left arm that faded minutes after birth. The quicker it faded, the more
talented the Seer and the more accurate the prophecies.
In Cassandra's case, the midwife remarked that there had been a mark on
the child's arm only seconds before she had handed her to the new
mother. When pressed further, the midwife had claimed it seemed to be
purple, and looked like a star shape. Her parents were excessively
proud, and bragged about their child's gift to all and sundry.
Cassandra, however, despised this. She had kept quiet about her
knowledge for as long as she could, but then she predicted her parent's
deaths at the hand of a Dark Wizard at the tender age of twelve. They
didn't believe her, and yet...it had come true this very year...almost seven
months ago.
'Stop it!' Cassandra squeaked, and turned away from the potion.
The heady fumes must have been going to her head a little...her nose had
nearly been touching the curved surface of the liquid.
She ladled some of the mixture into a goblet and retreated to some
hundred various cushions that lay scattered haphazardly in the corner.
She sniffed once more at the mix, and almost choked. It smelled acrid,
and it was still bright purple and smoking.
Hesitantly, she took a sip and found the taste to be surprisingly
pleasant. It reminded her a little of sweet lemon juice, although that
could be attributed to the lemonbalm she had added in its preparatory
stages.
Everything about this was experimental, she knew this, and yet she
foolishly drank the remainder of her poisonous concoction in three rapid
swallows.
The world around her melted and merged with others, almost like two,
three, four or even five film negatives placed together and viewed at
once.
Colours flashed bright in her eyes, leaving scalded impressions even
when she closed them. She saw the rise and fall of nations and rulers;
she saw terrible battles, glorious victories and humiliating defeats.
Armies of Dementors slithered past, reaching out scabbed hands to her.
She cowered away from them, screaming.
Werewolves stalked by in packs, circling her and howling manically. A
crowd of vampires rose to join their ranks, as well as strange wizards
and witches in masks, all of them cackling with laughter.
One stood slightly aside, trembling and pale. As she watched, his hand
separated from its arm and fell to the ground with a sickening squelch.
It flooded towards a cloud of dust, and joined with it. The dust cloud
took on the shape of a human, but did not solidify just yet. The pale
man gazed, his mouth open in a silent scream, at the stump where his arm
used to be.
But amidst the chaos her mind had descended into, she saw two groups of
heroes standing apart from the others.
The first group was one of four, three men and one woman.
The woman was exceptionally pretty, making the somewhat shallow
Cassandra jealous. Her hair was dark red, her eyes a startling contrast
of vivid jade green, and her smile was like the burst of a dawn sunrise
in its brilliance and beauty. She was coloured for Slytherin and
Gryffindor both.
The man beside her had dark eyes and hair. His arm was slung around her
shoulders, and he looked exquisitely happy. He had the lean look of a
Chaser. Cassandra almost thought she could see antlers...almost like a
stag's...coming from his head, but later dismissed it as her imagination.
Two men stood next to the couple. One was thin and gangly looking, his
eyes haunted. His skin had a moonlit kind of glow, and he morphed into a
werewolf right before her eyes. Snarling and slavering, the werewolf
launched itself at her.
Cassandra recoiled in terror, but soon realised that the Seeker had
become a stag in earnest. He was battling the werewolf into submission,
but somehow it got past him.
It stalked towards her, its near-human intelligence glittering in its
yellow eyes with malice she had never before encountered in any
creature. Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the fatal
clutch of jaws about her throat, when she realised it wasn't coming.
The final man had become a giant dog, and between the shaggy dog and the
proud stag they cowed the werewolf. They turned and smiled at her.
Cassandra saw the mark of death hanging over three of them like a grim
shadow. The lady and the stag and the dog were being stalked by some
phantasmal terror, but it came to them under a disguise of a smiling,
friendly face. It was the pale man from before!
The werewolf, curiously, seemed set to have a long life.
It whimpered under the pressure from its captors' hooves and paws,
looking at her pitifully.
'Release him!' Cassandra commanded the other beasts. They all vanished,
leaving the werewolf in their stead. Its eyes were no longer murderous,
but hurt and confused. It whimpered, lonesome now that its friends had
vanished.
She stepped forward, either bravely or foolishly (she could never
remember why afterwards) and stroked the werewolf's matted fur.
The werewolf howled mournfully and stalked off.
Meanwhile, Cassandra realised that three more were awaiting her
attention.
A young girl, younger than Cassandra herself, with bushy brown hair and
a look of superiority on her pretty face faced her now. She clutched
books in her arms, and stared at Cassandra as though she were an
interesting magizoological specimen.
Beside her stood a tall, gangling youth with vivid red hair. His
freckles stood out like coal amongst snow, and he gave her a shy smile.
'Can you see me?' she whispered, reaching out her hands to these
apparitions. 'Can you hear me?'
They nodded, and hushed her as their companion stepped forward.
He wore a suit of chain mail and armour, and about his shoulders was
clasped a cloak of red velvet lined with ermine. At his hip was a sword,
and on his head a helmet. He removed this, and held it between his torso
and his arm.
Cassandra could not help but notice the lightning scar on his forehead,
nor could she help realising the similarities between this warrior youth
and the couple from before. He had her eyes, and his features. He, too,
had the same lean look of the other.
Suddenly, the pale man without a hand came forward and cut the boy.
Blood flowed easily from the wound, and flowed sickeningly through the
air towards the dust cloud. This time, it solidified and took its place
in the vanguard of its army.
He turned towards her, his eyes blazing red, almost like her own could
when she was angry, but his were full of such pure, unadulterated evil
that it sickened her to have this sight in her mind.
Up against him rose a tall, slender figure with a sweeping silvery beard
and hair to match. His blue eyes were familiar amongst his crinkled
face, and although his nose was crooked she recognised him.
'ALBUS!' She bellowed.
The older version of Dumbledore battled against the legion of death, led
by their snake-like captain. He heard his name, and turned to her.
Just as he did so, a wandless spell erupted from the evil one's wand and
struck Albus through the heart.
He fell, reaching out a gnarled hand to her as he did so.
'...love you,' he mouthed.
Cassandra fell to her knees, reaching for him, weeping and sobbing.
The evil one stood above Albus' lifeless form, and his lips parted in a
cruel laugh.
'Rest, little one,' it said, turning to face Cassandra, 'And know for
the rest of your life that no matter how much you try to protect him, in
the end I will triumph over Albus Dumbledore. Lord Voldemort shall rule
this world, and none shall oppose him!'
She screamed in horror, and passed out cold.
They found her the next morning in the corridors, her pupils dilating
crazily and still pouring forth a stream of meaningless babbling. All
about her were reams of parchment, with hastily scribbled prophecies on
each of them.
Many spoke of the "Boy Who Lived", and "Demise Eaters", others were
transcripts of upcoming tests, including OWLS and NEWTS, some spoke of
the future of Albus Dumbledore and a glittering career as an Auror and
then as a teacher and Headmaster at Hogwarts, but more spoke of dark
times coming soon and the future of Cassandra Trelawney, which involved
spending much time in St. Mungo's while her mind healed from the
grievous blow of hallucinogenic herbs.
Many of these were dismissed as the ramblings of a weakened mind, but
not all. They were all kept on file in the Department of Mysteries at
the Ministry of Magic for future study and perusal, including the OWLS
and NEWTS, which were to be used for the coming decades.
The one that stood out most in the staff's mind, however, ran thus:
The serpent clutched between the eagle's claws,
While the badger dies and the lion roars.
Long and fabled is the enmity,
Between the red, and the green.
Allies once were red and blue,
Until the rapport of blue and green grew.
Red now depends on yellow,
While bitterness towards the blue grows.
The serpent clutched between the eagle's claws,
While the badger dies and the lion roars.
The red champion forward comes,
In the wind, strong and handsome.
An end to darkness is what he seeks,
But within his heart misgivings speak.
Azure is now allied to jade,
It seems the foundations of defeat are laid.
The serpent clutched between the eagle's claws,
While the badger dies and the lion roars.
It is the ruby hero's destiny,
For the love of sapphire to cause him misery.
The jewel of blue lies in the green's clasp,
But he is unaware that he is caught in her grasp.
Captive to his tormentor's charms,
He longs and falters within her arms.
The serpent clutched between the eagle's claws,
While the badger dies and the lion roars.
The badger falters, the badger fails,
the lion-hearted hero stumbles and pales.
The eagle makes the serpent her slave,
And eventually leads all to a premature grave.
And unless her sway is broken from over him,
The future of Hogwarts looks decidedly grim.
The serpent clutched between the eagle's claws,
While the badger dies and the lion roars.
In the years to come, the prophecy was recognised for its lyrical
quality and made into a song. It became an instant hit amongst Hogwarts
alumni, who recognised the imagery of red, yellow, blue and green, not
to mention the serpent, lion, eagle and badger. The Gryffindors praised
its honest portrayal of the animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor,
whereas Slytherins moaned about being depicted as slaves to Ravenclaw.
Ravenclaws were disturbed by the prophetic element, whereas Hufflepuffs
merely enjoyed the strong beat and catchy melody.
In the time of Harry Potter, however, the Weird Sisters recorded it as a
charity record in aid of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and
Injuries. It had become almost like a drinking song, or more accurately,
one for singing while drunk, almost like The Fields of Athenry, or even
the Wizard's Staff Has A Knob On The End.
And yet, its prophetic element had almost been forgotten.
All except by one man, who yet remembered his passion for the sibyl who
had predicted it.