Far off in a tower, nobles knelt in awe-Of the beauty of the little Lady Ravenclaw…

I bear a charmed life

Devoid of feeling pain or strife

But answer me this-if you can at all

Does not lack of feeling make a lifeless doll?

Chapter Three- Angel's Light

I bear a charmed life-William Shakespeare

They had waited so long for this. Richard Ravenclaw hurried down the castle corridor anxious to be of some use to his poor wife. He was not allowed in the birthing chamber (of course not, it wasn't proper), but he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous that he would not be among the first to lay eyes on his child.

His child. He beamed at the thought. Incredible as it seemed, he was about to be father. They had feared that his wife was infertile, there had been a time that he had believed himself to be infertile, but that to had passed and now, what had seemed impossible had come to fruition. He would finally have a family all his own. It filled him with boyish glee.

So caught up in his thoughts was he, that he almost walked past the kitchens which would have been rather unfortunate. Madam Elaine, (wonderful woman, he always did like her, no matter what Mother had said), seeing how put out he was on not participating more fully in the birth of his child, had sent him to fetch some water for his beloved.

"My Lord!" All the servants dipped into deep bows and curtseys when he entered.

"Now, now, no need for that." He said impatiently, waving them off, "I require water in this bucket."

"Water? Of course my Lord." One of the maids hurried forward and (bowing many times as she took the bucket from him) proceeded to run to the courtyard and fill it before running back to give it to him. He could have done all this himself of course, with a flick of his wand, but Richard was a Ravenclaw and doing such menial things for yourself was just not done.

Now that he had possession of the water, he could move much faster. Levitating the bucket before him with a casual flick of his wand, Richard started back up the corridor.

Madam Elaine said that it would be within the next half and hour. Richard hoped she was right. He didn't think he could wait any longer.

He was only was allowed to the opening of the hall where the birthing chamber was. He handed the bucket to a very resigned looking nurse (she was a traditionalist) and asked, almost breathlessly, "Has it happened? Has it-"

"My Lord." The nurse interrupted him, looking as though she was making a great effort not to roll her eyes, "I assure you that when the birth happens, you will be the first to know."

"Thank you." He nodded nervously, dismissing her with the nod of his head. Women like that made him nervous; he wasn't quite sure what to make of them. He came from a world in which women followed a very strict code, and men followed suit. Women like that nurse, well, they simply confuded him. And if there was one thing that made Richard Ravenclaw nervous, it was being confounded. '

Richard leaned back against the cool stone of the hall. Ravenclaw Castle had been built by his ancestors centauries before any other castle of significance had been even conceived of. It was protected by some of the strongest and oldest enchantments of all time, enchantments that were re-enforced almost daily. It was two hundred and forty seven rooms, not including ballrooms, the dungeons, or the kitchens. No other castle on the isle of Britain even came close. Ravenclaw Castle was a legacy, and Richard was prouder of that legacy then he was of anything else in his life.

And his child would now get to share in that legacy. He or she would be born with the magical force of the entire Ravenclaw line behind them. One of Merlin's grandmothers had been a Ravenclaw! They counted Ptolemy among their ancestors! This child would be blest; there was no doubt in his mind.

Suddenly, there was a commotion down at the end of the hall. The nurse that had so frightened Richard before burst out of the room, wand still clutched in her hand.

"My Lord," she cried, running towards him and beaming, but Richard already knew what had happened.

He darted past her and flew into the chamber. There, on the bed, lay his beautiful wife Agatha and in her arms, (Richard was nearly knocked off his feet by the strength of the wave of overpowering love that suddenly rushed through him) swaddled in a white blanket, was his child.

He staggered to her bedside, collapsing by her side.

"Congratulations, my lord," she whispered, the light shining in her eyes, "You have a daughter." She pulled back the blanket so that he could see her.

She was beautiful. Stunning. The most beautiful baby he had ever seen. And that wasn't just because she was his, but because it was true. Already he could imagine himself fending off her potential suitors. Thick black curls already sprouted from her tiny head, and she had inherited her mother's large blue eyes and graceful forehead. Richard could barley find any trace of himself in her.

"What do you want to name her?" Agatha asked, leaning into his shoulder as they both stared at their child.

"Rowena." He had chosen the child's name months ago, and Agatha did not protest. Instead, she smiled and kissed their daughters pale, perfect forehead.

"Rowena Ravenclaw it is."

"My angel." He whispered, and he scooped her from her mother's arms. Agatha had had nine months to embrace her; he could not restrain himself one more minute. He pressed his lips to her hair, his eyes towards the heavens, "Thank you."

Ravenclaw ababac ababc ajfptn knrgnrntrjn fnsfnsdjfn fjsnfskjfnsjn Ravenclaw

She wondered if he suspected anything. Agatha had watched her husband for weeks now, waiting for him to give any sign that he knew the child was not his. He had given none. Gryffindor had still not returned to her, and she was growing more concerned by the day.

He had been her right had ever since she was seven, growing up in the shadow of her elder sister on the Lancaster estate. They had been close in age and Gryffindor had been assigned to protect her by her uncle, Mattinias Lancaster. Clarimond had fallen for him, a poor squire's son, and her father (good hearted as he was) had given Desiderius knighthood.

She had married better then her sister. That, at least, she was proud of. Clarimond had ended up in the wild moor land, a minor lady in a town of muggle peasants. She had married into the oldest and wealthiest family in the country. Her sister had always been more talented, both at magic and lady-like skills, but Agatha had made up for it later in life. She had taken Desiderius from her sister, hired him, trained him; given the one thing she knew he desired above all else-power. She had taken in his best friend too, a man from the village where Gryffindor lived. A handsome, rugged man with the power to ruin everything. Morwyn Gleeson.

He was a muggle. That should have stopped her. He was arrogant. That should have stopped her. He mocked her. That should have stopped her. But she didn't stop. And then she fell pregnant.

She shouldn't have told him. She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Morwyn had been ecstatic; he wanted her to run away with him, to go live in the mountains and the forest with him. We could be so happy, he said.

But he didn't understand-she already was happy. The only thing marring her happiness was him.

He wasn't going to keep his mouth shut. He was going to tell her husband. She tried to fend him off with magic, but she was not the most gifted witch, and he just kept finding ways around her spells.

Finally she had Gryffindor kill him. It had been easy enough to do. He owed her uncle his life and fidelity. Her uncle had been furious when she had told him of her predicament, but he had taken the burden off her shoulders. She had felt bad about how it had all turned out, after all, Gryffindor was an old friend of Morwyn, but it had to be done. Nothing could be allowed to destroy her world. Nothing.

She had set her uncle's servant that task weeks ago, and he had yet to return to her with news. She did not fear that he had deserted that. No, Gryffindor had too much misplaced loyalty for that, but she worried that her plan might have been thwarted in some way.

She could not fail.

"My Lady?" Agatha jumped so violently she dropped the goblet she had been holding. It clattered to the floor, the clanging masking the silent tension that had suddenly formed between the room's two occupants.

"Gryffindor, I expected you back weeks ago." She tried to sound as cold as she could, she did not want to admit that he had frightened her. But as Desiderius emerged from the shadows his face was as impassive as ever, giving no indication that he had even noted her change in tone.

"I am sorry, your grace." The assassin dipped his head in a small courtesy bow, "I had…other matters that required my attendance."

"And what," she hissed, abandoning all pretence of noble dignity, "what pray tell, was so important that you felt the need to abandon me in my hour of need? Before I had even given you leave!"

"I hardly abandoned you my lady." Desiderius raised one, thin eyebrow that managed to make him seem equally detached and disdainful, "I had to be present for the birth and christening of my son."

"You had more pressing engagements!"

"I consider the birth of my heir a pressing engagement."

"You work for me!" she shrieked, her voice echoing down the halls. Casting a dark look around, she continued in a whisper, "If you continue this way, there will be nothing for your so called 'heir' to inherit! I will be sure of that!"

"May I remind you my Lady," Desiderius said his voice hardening for the first time, "that I am in the employ of your uncle…not you."

"And may I remind you," Agatha seethed, her face flushing with rage, "That I am a member of one of the most ancient and powerful magical lines of all time! And," she smiled darkly, "my uncle might put more stock in my desires then those of a servant."

"I wouldn't count on it, your grace." A ghost of a smile flickered across the knight's face, "He's favored you much less since you have become a whore to muggles. Good day." And with a slight nod, ignoring the look of stunned rage on the Lady Ravenclaw's face, he turned and slipped back into the shadows.

/insert page break/

However much Desiderius despised the Lady Ravenclaw, he had to admit, as he strolled through the halls, that her husband's family had impeccable taste. Everything in the castle seemed to be made of one precious metal or another. This place was truly a work of art. And if there was one thing that Desiderius appreciated, it was a work of art.

He could hear laughter from the courtyard, no doubt the fool Ravenclaw playing with his bastard daughter. How could he not see? Desiderius wondered as he rounded the corner, the yard coming into view. Lord Ravenclaw was leaning over a bassinet, maids on either side of him, cooing over the child. He scooped her into his arms, laughing as she gurgled, before covering her face with kisses. How could that man not see what was staring him, literally, in the face? The pretty child was clearly no relation to the homely Ravenclaw and only her hawk like eyes came from her mother. Desiderius shook his head as he mounted his steed; men could be such fools when it came to family. He counted himself lucky to have a dead heart. It was so much better use to him now then when it had been beating inside his chest.