I've published the book! Arthur's Witch: The Priestess is now available on Kindle and Smashwords, and you can download the sample for free, so it's gotta be worth a look! The blurb is below.

Morgan le Fay is a woman shrouded in infamy. The original wicked witch, she is responsible for bringing the golden age of Arthur to a catastrophic end. Though evil guile, ruthless ambition and petty jealousy, she stood against the light of Britain's first Christian King, her own brother. She watched an entire kingdom burn. A subhuman monster who consorted with demons and became the Devil's mistress.

Or a woman shrouded in mystery. The original fairy godmother, she is responsible for creating the golden age of Arthur from the ground to the ramparts of Camelot. Though passion, purity of spirit and selflessness, she stood against the religious perversion which invaded her homeland and corrupted her King, her own brother. She protected an entire kingdom as a mother would a child. A High Priestess whose name and legend have been besmirched and besmeared by lesser men.

Her own story. Now told.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Enjoy the chapter :)

Chapter Thirty Three

To his credit, James only spent two hours teasing Sirius, before he passed into being genuinely pleased. Helena was a good fit for his friend, and apart from anything else, Sirius loved her and she loved him.

"Pretty sure she didn't actually expect you to fall in love with her when she made you promise."

"She seemed pretty serious at the time."

James shrugged. "Times change."

After a little more convincing, Sirius seemed happy that Helena wasn't going to hold him to his previous, anti-matrimonial promise, and that all evidence pointed to her saying yes, once the question had been popped.

Moody, naturally, did not take kindly to such things as frivolous as marriage being discussed in his Auror Office, and stamped the talk out as soon as possible. He did, however, keep his magical eye on Sirius for the rest of the day, James noted, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Moody did odd things after all, and he was probably just wondering why anyone would take such a risk as to commit oneself to complete and everlasting trust in another person.

The lunch break provided an opportunity to open up dialogue once again. The subject turned to rings. Specifically, the idea of expenditure. It followed that money equalled beauty, so spending a thousand galleons guaranteed a nicer ring than spending five hundred. Only James had spent less than two hundred on Lily's engagement ring, and she had loved it. And Sirius had no idea what kind of ring Helena might like. She'd grown up in one of the richest families in the country, and expensive things weren't a luxury for her, they were an everyday fact. And since her parents' death, she was an insanely wealthy woman in her own right. She didn't need him to lavish money on her, and she probably didn't want him to either. Of course, he didn't have all that much to lavish, but that wasn't the point.

"Just go with the colour of her eyes," James advised. "That way you don't have to do the diamond thing and she's happy because you've thought about it."

"Except I haven't."

"I won't tell if you don't. Besides, it's a good starting point."

There seemed no time like the present, so he sent an owl to Helena explaining he was going for some Quidditch with James—it was plausible, and very genuinely tempting—and then the two of them went ring shopping. It turned out not to be a quick process.

The first problem was that Padfoot had completely and utterly forgotten what colour Helena's eyes were. Blue, he got that much, but James could have told him that, and that left sapphire, aquamarine and every shade of blue in between. Which was a lot. The first jeweller they went into had over thirty different rings. And there were over sixteen different jewellery shops in Diagon Alley alone.

Helena rubbed uneasily at her forearm, trying to be surreptitious about it and feeling like she was probably failing. The damn thing hadn't stopped burning for hours. She'd half-expected it, remembering what it had felt like to get her ears pierced, but it was far more maddening than that. It was like she had been stung by a hundred wasps, and the feeling crept up her arm like cramp. The tattoo was invisible under her green robes, of course, but she knew it was inflamed. It had been very difficult to concentrate on anything at all today.

She was in the apothecary lab, mixing a burn salve from the various ingredients there. It was one of many such things fully qualified Healers were expected to know how to produce on demand. Very useful for Healers in the field, wherever 'the field' might take them. Only about half her concentration was on the instructions the apothecary was giving her; the other half was focused on not rolling her sleeve up and smearing some of the soothing balm onto her arm.

When she reached for the final ingredient, a tiny bottle of mandarin extract, the apothecary grabbed her wrist. Helena reflexively snatched it from him, horror instantly in her mind. How had-

Then she stopped to look at what he was looking at; what she had been reaching for wasn't mandarin extract, it was ludwin juice. The apothecary didn't have to say anything else, Helena knew the potential consequences of her actions. She groaned, putting the ludwin juice down and running a hand through her dark hair. "By Morgana, I'm bad at this."

"Yes you are," a voice spoke from the doorway. Octavia Fantaine was stood there, her arms folded. She made her way over to the two of them, peering down into the pestle and mortar Helena was mixing the salve in. "So, rather than heal the burn, you decided to horrifically scar your patient?"

"I wasn't concentrating," Helena explained, feeling blood rush to her face. Evil bitch she might be, but Octavia did know what she was talking about in terms of healing.

"So it would seem. Most unlike you, Healer Malfoy."

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure? Perhaps you should come to my office, and we can talk about it. Come on." Her tone was light, friendly, but firm. Helena had no choice but to follow her to her office. Once there, Octavia shut the door. "It's your arm, isn't it?"

Helena frowned. "How did you know?"

"We've all been through it, my dear. It hurts, and I doubt you'd find anyone who said otherwise."

"Except maybe Bellatrix."

Octavia smirked. "Except maybe her. Come, roll your sleeve up and let's have a look at it."

Helena did so, revealing the Dark Mark. Her whole arm was reddened and swollen, the blank standing starkly out. Octavia directed her to sit in a chair while she crossed to her desk drawer. "I have something that should help."

She came back with a small jar of mint-green cream, which she smoothed over the Dark Mark. It spread a wonderful cooling sensation over Helena's skin. After the irritating burning of the entire morning, it was bliss. Helena let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you."

"It will get better," Octavia assured her. "As soon as-"

If there was one person who should not have opened the office door at that moment, it was the one person who was pretty much guaranteed to, because naturally, the universe hated her. Having absolutely no idea what she was interrupted, Lily knocked and then opened the door before waiting for an answer. "Octavia, can I ask your help with a patient? I'm really con…" she could hardly fail to spot Helena there, and her sharp green eyes instantly swept over the two of them, widening as they saw the Dark Mark. "…fused."

She drew in one deep breath before Octavia had her wand out. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Lily's limbs snapped together, and she slowly began to topple. Helena shot out of her chair to catch her before she hit the floor. Thankfully she didn't have to explain her actions to Octavia; anyone falling loudly to the floor—especially someone whom almost all the staff knew to be pregnant—would draw attention. Lily's eyes were the only thing moving, and they were wide, very, very shocked, and angry beyond measure. Helena drew her wand too, with no idea what she was going to do with it.

Octavia had one solution. Standing over Lily, she took her wand and then pointed her own downwards, saying, "Imper-"

"Stop!" Helena interrupted.

Octavia cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? You intend to kill her?"

"No."

"Then…?"

"We use a Memory Charm. The Imperius Curse can be thrown off by a strong enough mind, and she might be a mudblood, but she's stubborn as a hippogriff. This way she doesn't have that chance, and she won't remember anything to tell anyone."

There was another knock at the door before Octavia could reply, though thankfully whoever it was did not simply open it. Octavia nodded toward Lily's prone form. "Be quick."

Helena immediately locked the door behind her, and then released the spell on Lily. The redhead leapt to her feet, backing away with an expression of complete horror. Not fear, just horror. Helena fixed her eyes on hers, trying to look as honest possible. "Please let me explain," she whispered. "Please, please, let me explain."

"There is no explanation that could ever be good enough, Helena." Lily let out a loud, angry sob, then pressed a hand to her mouth looking furious that she'd been made to cry. Then she turned back to Helena, her spine erect and her eyes steely. "Are you going to kill me? Wipe my memory? Put me under the Imperius Curse?"

Helena gaped. "You think I could do that-"

Lily pointed to her still-exposed arm. "If you can do that, then who the hell knows what else you're capable of?"

"Lily, you're my best friend!"

"How could I be—I'm a mudblood, remember?"

"Look, just- Shut up a minute and let me talk, would you? Here," she said decisively, throwing both wands to Lily, who caught them looking stunned. "Now will you listen?"

She didn't nod, but she didn't shake her head either. She just stared.

"I'll admit that I have been…well, doing what you think I have. But only because I've been spying for Dumbledore, the only reason. Everything I find out about Voldemort's plans and powers, I've passed on to the Order. Please, Lily, you have to believe me. This was the stupidest of things but I did it with the best of intentions."

Lily sat down on the chair behind her. "You're a spy?"

"Yes."

"Not a Death Eater?"

"No. Not really."

"Does Sirius know?"

"No," she breathed. "And if I can get out without telling him then all my prayers will have been answered."

"So what, you're just going to cover that up with makeup for the rest of your life?" Lily demanded. "Or are you telling me that's fake as well?"

"No," Helena said quietly. "It's real."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Throw myself on Dumbledore's mercy. And hope for the best. Do you believe me, Lily?"

Finally, the redhead nodded.

"And do you forgive me?"

This time, the answer was less certain. "I don't know. But Helena, you have to tell Sirius. There is no possibility of you hiding it from him forever. None at all. And if you tell him, then he'll be furious, and sad and disgusted-"

Helena was crying silently now, her heart twisting and contorting in pain.

"-but he might forgive you. Don't tell him, let him find out in some other way, and he probably never will." Reading the look on Helena's face, Lily moved forward, hesitantly taking her hand. "It wasn't you, doing all those things. It was what you had to do—for the greater good. You didn't want to."

Helena shook her head. "But I don't know how to start a conversation like that. I don't know how to think about starting it."

"Well, I'd say when you're alone. And maybe after he's got a drink in him?"

They managed a shaky laugh between them, though it faded quickly. "Don't tell Prongs," Helena asked. "Please. He'll have to tell Sirius and he- He can't hear it from anyone but me."

Lily sighed, but then nodded. "Alright, I won't tell him. But I don't like lying to my husband, Helena, or hiding things from him. Hurry up about telling Sirius."

Three hours later, they finally had a ring. It wasn't particularly big or flashy, but it was elegant and in Helena's style. A marquis-cut ruby (Sirius had decided against sapphire), surrounded by tiny pearls, set in a silver band. It would suit her. That was the hard part over with, as far as Sirius was concerned. It didn't really matter where or how he did it—the feeling was there, on both sides, and the rest would simply fall into place. They already had plans to have dinner out tonight, at the restaurant-cum-pub at the end of the road. Nowhere special, but she was special enough. They'd have dinner, he'd pop the question, they'd go home and have rampant sex and Bob's your cousin or…whatever the muggle saying was.

James did not share his optimism. "That simple, eh?"

"That simple."

"This is Helena we're talking about…she's a classy girl. Don't you think taking her down your local is a bit…"

"No."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose she has been roughing it with you for a while. Maybe she's used to common by now."

"You're so unfunny it's painful, Prongs."

James sobered. It was easy to see his friend was nervous (for him anyway) and maybe ribbing was not what the situation called for. He gestured to the end of Diagon Alley. "Drink at the Cauldron for luck? Or for Dutch courage?"

"Good idea."

Helena didn't get Sirius' owl; she wasn't at home when it arrived. In fact she'd left a message for him, using Lily as her excuse. She was really on her way to Westmoreland Castle, to tell Dumbledore she wanted out. After her conversation with Lily, she was feeling simultaneously vulnerable and invincible. Lily knew. She knew, and she had forgiven her. Soon enough James would know, Remus already did, Peter would probably be a little nervous around her for a while but he'd be okay eventually, and Sirius-

Sirius was where the vulnerability hit, and all confidence deserted her. What if he never forgave her? What if he didn't even give her a chance to explain? It wasn't as if she'd betrayed his trust for any truly good reason—she might have discovered what Voldemort's plan was, got the names of a few Death Eaters, but that was it. She hadn't touched Voldemort himself, hadn't even made any kind of dent. All the good intentions in the world could not change that. Good intentions had been enough to heal the bonds with Lily, but the bonds with Sirius went so much deeper than that, connected them in so many more ways that if they were suddenly severed, both of them would be crippled. But knowing that didn't mean he wouldn't sever them anyway.

But Lily was right, above all. She knew that. She would simply have to trust in his love for her, that was all. It was strong enough. She needed him, so he needed her.

But for now, thoughts and fears of Sirius had to wait. She was here to face Dumbledore, which was a prospect almost as scary. She apparated to a point not far from the castle, to get her story straight, and flew the rest of the way in her eagle-form. Mindful that no one should know about her ability, she changed back to human before she entered the castle. Her heart was beating wildly, and she felt panicky all of a sudden. Dumbledore might refuse her. He might tell her that she had to go back, had to keep doing what she was doing. Maybe he couldn't point out the line between right and wrong for her, maybe it would stay blurred and she'd keep crossing it.

Dumbledore wasn't alone when she got there; Minerva McGonagall was with him. Figuring whatever Dumbledore knew, McGonagall probably did too, Helena pressed forward, moving into the light.

She must have looked as god-awful as she felt, because as soon as he got a clear look at her face, Dumbledore stood quickly. "Helena—what's happened?"

She swallowed, and with a trembling hand, pulled her sleeve up. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she confessed.

"Oh, you foolish, foolish girl," McGonagall whispered.

Dumbledore only looked down at the Dark Mark. "Why have you done this? You were never asked for it."

"I know, but- To help, I suppose? To get closer to him, to learn more to tell you, to pull him down faster. I feel like that's the answer I should give you."

"But is it the truth?"

She nodded, though had the feeling he knew there was more to it. Or could be more, at least. She was violently denying there was in her heart. "But it's a step too far now I've done it, Dumbledore. I know that seems pointless going this far and stopping, but- I'm in too deep and I don't like it. I want to go back,' she finished, sounding like a scared child even to herself.

"It's too late for that," McGonagall said sharply. "There's no taking that thing off your arm now. No magic will touch that, none."

Helena nodded. "I expected that. But still, I can't… I feel like he's watching me all the time now; being with him again would be too much. Please, Professor, don't make me go back."

"No," Dumbledore said finally. "No, of course I won't. No one could ask more of you than you can give. What you have got for us so far has been immensely helpful. There are other ways you can help the Order."

Grateful tears spilled down Helena's cheeks. "Thank you."

"Now we must work out how to hide you. Voldemort knows of your location…"

"Yes. He sent Snape to me there."

"So we cannot use a Fidelius Charm. Unless you move somewhere else..."

"No," she said quickly, wiping her tears away and forcing herself to think rationally. "Sirius doesn't know anything."

"At all?" McGonagall asked, looking disapproving again.

"Nothing. Yet," Helena added. "I intend to tell him the truth, of course."

"Then you had better do so quickly," Dumbledore warned her. "There are protective spells and enchantments that can be put in place around the house to make it impossible for most wizards to breach it, but for Voldemort himself it would be only difficult. If he truly wished to kill you for your desertion then it would be all-too-easy for him. Tell Sirius soon, and then you can move to an unknown location, and be completely safe. It's the only way to ensure it."

Helena wanted to think Lily had been wrong about telling Sirius as soon possible, but she couldn't ignore the warning twice. "I will."

She left them soon after, relief still overwhelming her. Even if Sirius didn't speak to her for a month, she didn't have to go back. She never had to be face to face with Voldemort again, she could avoid being in the same room as that snake for another thing… Relief fed optimism again, so when it was time for her to meet Sirius at the Dog and Duck, she set out feeling that she could probably handle this.

The good mood was completely and utterly demolished by the sight that greeted her. It probably wasn't Sirius' fault. He was a very good looking guy, and charming to boot. Obviously women were going to find him attractive. In theory, Helena had no objection to that. In practice… Well, she'd suddenly got big objections to that.

Waiting for her, Sirius had apparently decided to have a drink at the bar. At then been friendly and polite, and the barmaid had taken it upon herself to try her luck. She was doing it subtly—Helena trusted Sirius enough that if he knew he was being actively flirted with…he'd probably flirt back. But he wouldn't go further than that. Helena's anger wasn't really directed at him; it was directed at the little blonde bitch throwing herself at her man.

I need to get my name tattooed across his forehead, she growled inwardly.

The barmaid threw back her head and laughed, golden hair catching the light in a way that was supposed to be enticing. Then she actually reached out to brush a speck of imaginary dust off his shoulder. How Helena moved so fast, she'd no clear idea, but when the barmaid's fingers were an inch away from Sirius, Helena's hand got there first.

Keeping her eyes narrowed and locked with the barmaid's, Helena bent and pressed a kiss to Sirius' neck. "Sorry I'm late, darling," she purred.

He'd gone tense momentarily at her touch, but then relaxed. Helena felt a stab of uncertainty. He hadn't really been-?

When he turned around to face her, his smile was as open and happy as she had ever seen it though, which relaxed her. He kissed her without any shade of embarrassment. "What you drinking?"

"Hmm…champagne, I think."

He quirked an eyebrow. "What are we celebrating,, exactly?"

She gave a mysterious smile. "Ask me later."

They ordered, and when the barmaid handed Sirius his change, Helena only felt a momentary urge to break her fingers as they touched his skin. She was being less subtle than she realised though, since as they made their way to the table, Sirius chuckled, muttering, "If looks could kill, Hellfire…"

"What?"

"You! She's an innocent barmaid."

"I don't like the way she was looking at you." She checked over her shoulder. "Is looking at you."

"Well, can't blame her really, I mean she's only human, and well…look at me," he smirked.

"Yeah, but she knows I'm with you, and she's still doing it. I hate women like that."

"Jealous, over little old me? I'm flattered."

"You'll be flattened in a minute if you don't stop being so smug," she growled.

He gave a short sigh. "It's just flirtation, Hellfire, it's not against the law."

"Oh, so you were flirting back were you?"

"Of course I wasn't."

"No, didn't look like it."

He stopped. "Okay, so you came here for a fight, is that it?"

"Of course not, but-"

"But what? I came because I wanted to have a nice dinner with my girlfriend and-"

"And what?"

"And instead you're biting my head off."

"I don't mean to, I'm sorry."

"Good."

She reached for his hand, and after a few seconds, he let her take it. Then he sighed. "Shall we just forget about dinner? Let's just go home and get fish and chips on the way, yeah?"

Her face broke into a smile. "Yes. Yes, that sounds brilliant."

Maggie Sharples closed the door behind the last punter with a sigh. It had been a long night, she thought, running a hand through her blonde hair. She'd been shouted at, flirted badly with, had her arse squeezed by men who had no right to squeeze it and only narrowly missed having a drink poured over her. She hated doing this, really she did. But in order to do what she really wanted to do—be an actress—she had to be in London. And to be in London, she needed a job. Hence the bar work. She had to work practically every hour God sent to pay her sky-high rent, and then she'd crawl home to collapse wearily into bed, without even time to check her messages and see if her agent had phoned. He normally hadn't anyway. It was not a good time to be an actress.

She was so focused on the idea of bed tonight that she went through the locking up process mechanically, automatically collecting up the remaining glasses and switching lights off, locking the front door and then bolting it, and only then going out the back way. She had to cross the small yard at the back of the pub in order to get out to the street beyond that—it was piled high with crates and kegs of beer, which created long shadows.

It was out of one of these shadows that her attacker emerged. Maggie saw the movement quite clearly, but what she was seeing didn't match what she knew to be possible. There was no one, and then someone,looming from the dark. The delayed shock caught up with her after a few seconds, and she physically jumped with a cry of alarm.

The attacker—hooded, masked and draped in weird black robes—laughed. It was a low, menacing sound, and made every hair on Maggie's body lift. It was the laugh of no one she recognised; she was not even sure it was human.

"Who- Who are you?"

"You can call me an avenging angel, muggle," replied the figure.

Maggie didn't understand that word, but she didn't need to. Instinct and the terror filling her legs made Maggie run. She bolted for the gate; three planks of wood that separated her from the safety of the open street, but to no avail. Se got no more than a few steps before there was a whisper behind her.

"Immobilus."

Utterly against her will, her feet froze in place, arms doing likewise. She could still talk though, and yell. So she did, loudly. "Help! Help me, please, someone, help!"

The person in the mask laughed again. "No one can hear you, so make all the noise you want. No one is coming to your aid. But please, continue," the shadow encouraged, circling back around to face Maggie. In a gloved hand was a stick of wood, about ten inches long and thin. At its tip burned a bright blue flame. Maggie had never been so afraid of a stick before in her life.

When she shouted for help again, the figure nodded. "Yes, that's it. Good girl. They can't hear you, but I can. And I want to hear you scream."

The stick of wood advanced, and it hadn't even touched her face by the time she started screaming.

Two hours later, her attacker turned away. Maggie had just lapsed into unconsciousness, passing out from either pain or blood-loss, and it was no longer fun. The wand was pointed at her head again, and the woman under the hood muttered. "Obliviate," before disapparating.

She was late, she knew that, but did not believe the Dark Lord would be angry. He was alone when she came to him, apart from Nagini. The Death Eater stopped to stroke the snake's head affectionately before bowing to Voldemort.

He gestured her back up with a pale hand. "I was beginning to believe you would not come."

"My apologies, my lord. I was delayed in getting away."

"Helena?"

A smirk twisted the red mouth. "No. She is sleeping peacefully."

"She still has no knowledge of you?"

"None at all."

"Excellent. Ensure she remains ignorant of it."

"Yes, my lord."

"What have you to report?"

"Little. She went to Dumbledore, as you expected, and told him all she knew. She has renounced you."

"Because?" he asked, apparently surprised.

"Fear," the woman answered scornfully. "And love."

"You desire him too," Voldemort pointed out silkily, analysing her.

"Only for his blood, I assure you."

"Perhaps he will be useful for breeding purposes in the future…kept under the Imperius Curse, naturally."

"Naturally."

"Go now. Report back to me when you can. Do not let anyone know of your existence."

She bowed, then disappeared into the night.

A/N: So...any guesses who she is? Review please!