"Oh, Death, оh Death,
Won't you spare me over til another year"
-Jen Titus "Oh death"
Disclaimer: The "Harry Potter" works and books belong to Jo. I write purely for my own enjoyment, and claim only my imagination as my own.
The witch didn't sleep that night or the night after. One moment, she was gathering required ingredients, the next moment she was questioning herself. The only doubt in her mind was 'will I survive this?'or 'Is it really worth it?' This new emotion was strange for her- feeling vulnerable. It didn't set with her ideals of being invincible or her being powerful. For her it was accepting the fall from greatness. She had worked hard to achieve it and now she would just let it go? The bonds formed by sacrifices would probably never go away. But she wasn't sure if they would remain active as they were before. But willingly accepting pain, death seemed unreasonable to her.
At the same time, other side of her wanted the constant voice in her head to stop. The constant urge to grow strong, be invincible, to dominate irritated her and confused her. Was it her paranoia, she didn't know; she did know that she wouldn't be able to stop her once she succumb to that urge. That face, was right beneath her skin, and she was determined to peel that face away whatever the cost may be.
The chance she'd been given by whatever intervention the universe, she did not want to waste it away. If she stayed such way, the whole place would reek of evil magiks and sooner or later wizards would come sniffing. They always did. And when her identity would be discovered she would be hunted again. She wanted to live alone, like she always did and judging from the place where she had been settled certainly felt good. No, it was better this way, she resolved. Pain she would bear; and she would come out alive. At least she hoped that it would be so. Without a second thought she took the dagger, and made a clean slice on her forearm. As the blood dripped on the goblet below, she chanted.
"I vow to go through the purification ritual. I vow to cleanse my mind, body and soul of evil. I vow to rejuvenate my spirit. I vow and thus IT SHALL BE!" She took couple of breaths and the full meaning of her vow settled on her. Baba Yaga, had to do what she had vowed. The vow would exact itself on her if she didn't; failure to do it would result in pain. A pain so terrible and exacting that going through the said vow was easy.
"What have I done…? What have I done?" she said softly. Next moment she threw a terrible tantrum and the whole house shivered by pulse of raw magic.
At nightfall the witch gathered the required ingredients. She avoided sage as it was more strong purifying agent than cedar. She had spent the day strengthening the wards around the house and now she sat in her front room clearing, shaking her head as she prepared for the ritual.
Purifying ritual was the bane of her, she realized. People had tried to use it against her, but the evil magiks had been so powerful that at the slightest hint of the ritual, it unleashed on them leaving them burnt. What would happen to her remained to be seen.
Why? Why she had to make a vow to do the purifying ritual? She had to go even further to promise cleansing her mind and body. She left no way out when she added her spirit and lit the three candles on the table situated at the end points of the triangle. Triangle would probably collect the evil magick. How much the diagram would withstand, she didn't know. She hoped for the best and chanted.
"O power of fire, work my will by my desire. Friendly spirits light my way, aid the magic cast this day." Trembling, she lit the incense and spoke, "Herb of healing, herb of hope. Herb for strength, help me cope." An unearthly scream filled the room and a dark wisp of smoke extinguished the candles. Witch looked up, exhausted and the white candles were turned black. She staggered as stood up, and took out three new candles and incense. She repeated the process and again and she continued further.
"Energy of air and sacred smoke; blow and drift away evil with each stroke. Candle flames that flickers bright, rid evil with your life." She continued to chant, firm in her resolve. She could feel the soft undercurrent of magic, surrounding her.
"Sacred water that comes to this house; cleanse all evil with each douse." She proceded to place the bowl out on the doorstep. Once again, the dark wisps of smoke extinguished the candles and they turned black. Wiping away the tears and the excruciating pain accompanied by it, she proceeded again, to light up the candles and incense sticks.
"Salt of earth both fertile and pure; against this evil make this house secure." Mustering up all the courage she could get, she spoke in what she hoped to be a strong voice.
"Spirit of this hearth and home, bless this house and give it warmth! And see that only good befalls to those who live within these walls!"
A blinding flash of light originated from the candles, the incense and the water, and the whole house was filled with white light. The witch was both in pain and awed by the power of the ritual. The sigils she had carved on walls, hummed with energy and as the last of them charged, the soft wisps of magic traveled towards her feet. It soon encompassed her whole body felt suffocated. A warm feeling accompanied her, it was the same feeling when she would sit by the hearth in the winters. Spirits were favouring her, and she embraced the pain. It was the light was the last things she saw as she collapsed on the ground and passed out.
In the near vicinity of Baba Yaga's house, there was a sea and across the sea was Azkaban Prison. It was a the height of irony that Baba Yaga lived across from prison. Strangely, this felt right to her. Perhaps it was the place no one would bother to look for 'people like her' as she put it.
The tall structure shaped as toblerone(the chocolate!), was made of black granite and marble. The dementors were slowly returning to their home, their prison. The history of how Azkaban Prison came to be was fascinating to people who knew some part of the actual story. The cover story of how the Azkaban Prison came to be founded was simple; Lord Azkaban found the site interesting and built the prison. The story was believable to most masses but some did question why built the prison there. Various suppositions were made of why Lord Azkaban found the site 'interesting' but he never did comment on the real reason of it. Lord Azkaban was a master in the dark arts. His specialty lay in the detection of dark magic in the surroundings. When Lord Azkaban had acquired a piece of land, in a bargain; he wanted to check his acquirement.
All was well, and Lord Azkaban envisioned this land to become his future home, castle of sorts. Azkaban was notoriously famous for his collection of dark objects; while people and ministry considered them to be dangerous he considered them beautiful. Due to ministry meddling, Azkaban was furious and wanted his island to become an independent nation. The Ministry of course, could not just give away an island to any Lordship just because he wanted to have it. But the minister at that time was well aware of the connections and influence Lord Azkaban held and did not want him displeased or start a war on the ministry.
So in a effort to maintain peace, and promote growth, minister offered settlement. Azkaban was required to built a prison for the wizard kind who were simply 'too dangerous' to be left in the wizarding world, in exchange, not only the ministry would cover the cost of construction but the island would be declared independent and his to rule. Lord Azkaban grudgingly accepted this contract; he was well aware that the prisoner's were his responsibility. That was a benefit to ministry as he did not have to worry of escaped prisoners. He could just dump the blame on Azkaban himself. In that island Lord Azkaban made the rules, and his rules were law. Though building Azkaban Prison was a politically influenced move, why Azkaban chose particular site for prison was very interesting.
A bit far from his castle when Azkaban went to one of his evening strolls, he felt a great fear in him and imposing power on his soldier. For a moment he was helpless do anything against it, and taking it as a sign he ordered to built the prison there. As the construction finished, Lord Azkaban was in dilemma. The prisoners were wizards and even when he had taken steps, there was too much left at the hands of fate to hope that prisoners would not escape. The name 'Azkaban' carried weight around the britain and he would be damned if any prisoners broke out. The next day his problem was solved, relatively speaking of course.
Imagine Lord Azkaban's surprise when cold dark cloaked figures floated across his structure. He was cautious at first when he approached the figures, and bowed down with respect. His policy was simple- Respect those who deserves respect, and manipulate those who can be manipulated. Either way, he would gain and this suited him just fine. This creature or whatever it was clearly classified as one Lord Azkaban respected. After hours of trying to communicate, Azkaban trying out different language; he even went as far as to call a parselmouth to 'have a chat' with the creatures. The creatures on the other hand, made very unusual noises like one would here from a telephone(an ancient one!) trying to connect to the operator.
Finally when all else failed, the creature gently entered the mind of Azkaban, and his mental protection failed the moment the skeletal hands touched his temples. He saw various pictures so grotesque and unearthly in nature that delicious chocolate pudding he had eaten earlier wanted to come out the way it got in. But he got the message and they arrived at a deal of sorts. They wanted food, and in return they would do the bidding of Lord Azkaban.
From that moment on, dementors did as Azkaban told them, and Azkaban prison was known to be the worst place on earth. The place where if one would enter, he would not come back the same. The dementors were true to their word, and guarded the prison with an iron fist. They simply crushed the will of the wizard to live, and they would soon be left without hope, and without life.
Azkaban finally got his answer of why he felt such imposing fear on him the day he took a stroll around his land. Sadly, it also proved to be the day he 'disappeared'. Azkaban, came across Baba Yaga's house. The wards of her house had begun to crumble and thus the illusion of nothingness was fading. As Azkaban caught a rare glimpse of a skull fence surrounding the house, he decided to investigate it. That was last of what people heard of Azkaban, and the wards of the house strengthened and the house transported itself to different part of the island.
No one questioned where exactly the dementors came from. If Azkaban knew, he took that knowledge to his grave. No one also questioned, the small portion of land that had came drifted this way and latched onto the main island of azkaban. And absolutely no one, took notice of strange place wizards would often brush of as 'nothing'. And no unspeakable found it strange that dementors would often visit 'strange small land' that was now part of the main island.
Baba Yaga sat in a chair and huffed. She missed her dragon, or anything to keep herself busy while recovering...er... going through the rituals. She would again perform ritual after 3 days and was currently examining her strange predicament. What to do in her free time? She was not amongst the one's who would lazily sleep away. Perhaps she could get a dragon hatchling. Gold was not an issue as her cache contained some gold items. Also she knew exactly where all the castles she had claimed lay, it was her magic after all and she would have no difficulty finding them.
And now, she was thinking about what she would do after she had done the rituals. She was not suited for such lowly task to clean pubs and serve people. Perhaps she could brush up on the arts she had found? She was a master in Necromancy after all, and as long as she didn't cross well defined lines she could safely practise it. She could learn about this new place, she thought. It certainly was better than back in her days. The world had moved on and now she would have to catch up to it. Here, she was safe. Here, no one would recognise her and she was certain that none of the her exploits were known here.
Back where she was previously settled, she would be recognised. Legends never die and thus she was reluctant in going there again. Besides, current place was not bad. She found people to be a bit obnoxious but that's it. It would be nice to learn of a new country, then to go back someplace else. Yes, she thought. First, she would brush up her arts, and then catch up with the world.
It certainly would save her from doing menial tasks. An animated corpse was a perfect servant for her in assisting her in various tasks. She contemplated other means to keep her occupied, something that'll probably go long way in keeping her interested and busy. She felt a calm cool aura descending on her, and sighed. It was the familiar tingle of death and decay, and its scent she could sniff out anywhere in close vicinity. She turned her head to see the source of such pleasant sensation and smiled as she spot a black hooded creature floating in the air, nearing her ward.
She was not familiar with the creature perse, but she knew enough to manipulate such magic in her advantage. It was time to have a chat with the creature.
A/N: Thanks for reading. Oh and I borrowed the ritual from a site called Blue-moon-manor, or something.
Ps: Its strange to compare Azkaban Prison to a chocolate box and eating chocolates wards off the effects of Dementors. Wonder what was going in mind of Jo's. Abstract reasoning? Ah well, till next time! Leave a REVIEW!