"…Witch, I let the thread spread.
All I see is your life, fated.
There's a girl I may have misled.
We should still to serpents, instead!"

Jean absently sang along to the song, murmuring under her breath as she bobbed her head along to the staticky tunes coming off of the old record player. The refractory atmosphere hung heavy in the air, with a sultry sort of smog that was almost cloying (even though there had been very little more than heavy petting between the two witches). Back up in the shop, proper, there was a lighter air about the occupants as they moved about. It was as if the ceremony in the basement hadn't ever happened or, at the very least, were pretending that it hadn't.

"Witch, we said what we said
You had better watch where you tread
Don't talk back, just leave it unsaid
Cross us once, you might lose your head!"

On the counter behind her, an old gramophone that had clearly seen better days, sung tunes from long ago. The current record barely scratched as the sultry tones of Celestina Warbeck rippled throughout the store. Apparently, the enchanted box had previously been shrunken down and nestled amongst Nimüe's bundle of morteus flowers. Now, though, it had returned to its original size and sat proudly upon the counter next to the cash register as they set up the equipment needed to destroy the horcrux; namely, lining up the healing potions that would be needed in the aftermath.

"Mmmm…We're the Mother,
We're the Maiden and the Crone, undercover
Take a look, you'll discover
Once you're tangled in our thread, you won't recover"

The lyrics that were coming out of the old-fashioned music box were sung in some sort of old language, one once long dead that Regulus had no hope of ever understanding, save for a few sparse words here & there, thanks to his studies. But here was this little muggleborn happily singing along in Merlin's honest English, as if nothing were amiss. Part of him wondered if it was a side effect of the ritual before he decided it wasn't worth dwelling on and just added it to the laundry list of confusing puzzle pieces that was Jean Granger.

"Mmmm…double, double
We can watch a fire burn, cauldron bubble
Close your eyes, don't struggle
You'll regret the day you gave a goddess trouble"

As for Jean, herself, she found herself feeling lighter, despite the rather dark ritual. She definietely had more power at her fingertips because she suddenly found it a lot easier to use wandless magic & silent casting. Not to mention she could already feel her animagus half sitting closer to the surface than it had in a looooong time.

Technically speaking, the animagus situation was a pretty recent thing in comparison to other things. For you see, without the yearly death threat hanging over her head to occupy her time, Jean had found herself floundering for something to do during her free time (quidditch was out of the question). Where she had once spent hours upon hours combing the Hogwarts library on a way to fight Voldemort's latest scheme, she instead found herself wasting away at the Gryffindor table.

In the end, it had been Pansy Parkinson, of all people who had suggested the animagus ritual. She'd cited Headmistress McGonagall's demonstration during their first-year. They'd been completely sloshed at the time (farewelling the Slytherin's last days of freedom before she was married off after graduation, to some French warlock she'd only met once or twice), sure, but the idea had stuck around in the Gryffindor's brain just the same. It was considered to be the height of transfiguration, which was just the kind of challenge she had been looking for. And, of course, she'd basically grown up on stories about the Marauders who had completed the complicated enchantment in their third-year to aid a friend.

Plus, she reasoned, she concocted a successful Polyjuice potion in the bathroom when she was twelve years old; complicated enchantments such as this one were right up her alley. So, she'd done it. It had taken a while to cook up the potion, and the days spent with the mandrake leaf in her mouth were damn-near hellish, but it was the waiting for a storm that practically killed her. It wasn't until the eve of their graduation, that one had finally arrived; one strong enough that the natural energies in the phenomenon would bolster the spell's effects as she changed forms.

Throughout the whole process, she'd gotten glimpses of what she might be (a sudden interest in spicy & charred foods, spontaneously combusting more than usual, her tongue elongating to abnormal lengths without interference and so on), but it wasn't until she had to cast a patronus for a DADA lesson, that it really solidified what she was going to be.

For you see, once upon a time her patronus had been an otter, sleek and playful. Then, during the war, it had fluctuated between other animals—mostly small amphibious or feline ones—that were known for their protectiveness. Until finally it had solidified into a salamander; small & fiery. Now though? Now, she expected her little eldritch friend to have given her salamander side a little makeover; perhaps her scales would be a darker hue? Perhaps her belly truly would be painted in a hide of temperature-gauging fire. Afterall, the salamander (the wizarding one, at least) was—much like the platypus—an amalgamation of parts.

Figures, that she'd get an animagus with a penchant for setting itself aflame. Jean couldn't count the number of times she'd happily set something alight; from bonfires on family camping trips to that time she'd set Snape's robes alight during Harry's first quidditch match. Let alone the fact that she was drawn to the flickering flames like a moth, possessed. It was one of the reasons she and Seamus Finnegan always got on, actually; he, with blowing things up by accident and she, purposefully setting things afire. They were the two little pyromaniacs of Gryffindor Tower.

Part of Jean was glad that she hadn't settled on anything that was particularly feline in nature. Half because of the incident in her second-year where the Polyjuice had taken a turn and half because of her being a Gryffindor. It was just so stereotypical for a Gryffindor to become a feline, and she knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that if she'd been a cat, she would never hear the end of it. It would be like "Malfoy the Wonder Ferret" all over again.

The cool thing about magical salamanders, she had quickly come to learn, was that they also had the unfortunate habit of setting themselves aflame (which she'd done once or twice on her own, without the amphibious side to aid her). Although they were protected by their scales with hide that wasn't too dissimilar to dragonhide in that sense. And much like a temperature gauge, their belly scales fluctuated between two colours; red for hot and blue for cold.

Regaining her animagus characteristics in this time had been…odd, to say the least. Her penchant for all things spicy was strong and there had been more than one occasion where she had been caught sneaking a jar of pickled chilis to bed. She'd also found herself drawn to the hearth more & more, sticking limbs & digits far too close for one's liking. But fire would never harm a salamander, in fact they craved it to the point that they encircled the flaming coals within the hearth.

She was sure that the remaining Marauders were cottoning on already.

"Mmmm…We're the Mother,
We're the Maiden and the Crone, undercover
Take a look, you'll discover
We'll exchange you in Hell for another"

As his nerves chomped at the bit, Regulus tried to focus his attention on other more benign things than what had happened in the Under Grove. Like the lyrics of the song that he couldn't quite understand. "Hell?" Regulus incredulously puzzled, turning his hooded gaze towards Jean's hunched form as she lined up potion bottles on the counter. "As in H-E-double hockey sticks, Hell? Dante's Inferno, Hell? Hades & Persephone, Hell? That Hell?"

Aside from a couple of pockets of older families and a collection of a few muggleborns who still clung to their religious ways, there wasn't really a true (biblical) religious community in the Wizarding World. For traditional ideologies tended to collide when magic and religion got intertwined, and not in the best way (as proven by history). So, it was strange for popular singers like Celestina Warbeck to discuss such things.

Nimüe spared the ghost boy an amused looked over her shoulder as she replaced her gardening shears with a gnarled-looking oak staff which seemed to have seen better days. The short snort that followed was more like a choked bark trying to escape than anything else. "Ha!"

"…What?" Regulus shifted uncomfortably beneath the hag's discerning gaze as he hovered not too far away. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What are they teaching you young'uns, these days?" Nimüe fondly shook her head in amusement from where she had gravitated towards an upturned crate that sat not too far away from the middle of the room where they had set up. Now that Jean had confirmed her status & bonded with the hag, she seemed almost familial and downright forthcoming. "What? Did you think that magic just spontaneously burst out of the woodwork, one day?"

"Uh…no?" Regulus wasn't totally sure if that was right, but that sounded like correct answer, right?

Nimüe quirked an unimpressed brow at this not-quite answer, but made no move to speak further. "Hm?"

Regulus almost got the feeling that she was offended at his lack of manners and he quickly moved to recover some sort of decorum. "Uh-uh, no ma'am"

Instead of getting offended like he thought she would, the hag threw her head back and barked out a laugh at his response. She even slapped at her crooked knee as if it were the most hysterical thing in the world. "Ma'a! Ha!"

Without looking up from what she was doing elbow-deep in her little beaded bag, Jean took pity on the ghost boy and explained it to him. However as she was wont to do, the young witch easily went into lecturing-scholar-mode as she was oft wont to do. Ingrained habits like that were hard to break, afterall. "It depends on who you ask" She shrugged. "For example, if you go by the muggles' biblical records, then Lilith is the first with—the first magical being ever—to exist in this world. But then there's also other sources which tell tales of Circe & Hecate's tales, and so forth, to contest with. And then there's all that stuff about warlocks gaining power through demonic deals and other such things"

"A-ah" Regulus nodded slowly, not at all following along. Muggles always had the strangest of ideas.

"It's quite a fascinating subject, actually" Jean continued, picking up speed. "Certainly far more interesting than the Goblin Wars, anyhow" Here, she huffed a secretive smile, laughing at some inside joke that only she was privy to. "And it definitely ticks some boxes, y'know?"

"Tick boxes?" Regulus puzzled, "Like—like…your Lady…?"

"What? No, I'm talking about Dark mages like You-Know-Who—" She retorted.

"—Like-like the Dark Lord?" He interjected, incredulously.

"Yeah, well him and Dumbledore" Jean shrugged, unfazed.

"D-Dumbledore?" The ghost boy barked a surprised laugh at that as he turned to the young witch with disbelief swimming in his eyes. "You've got to be joshing me! The Dark Lord, I can understand, but the Leader of the Light? Seriously?"

"Oh, don't get me started on those two!" Jean scoffed as she slammed the next couple of items down on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. She spat out 'those two' like the words were something filthy.

Regulus crossed his arms as he pursed his lips, turning his full attention to his junior. "Explain" He demanded.

Jean didn't like his tone, but she dutifully replied nonetheless. "Put it this way: in my time, Dumbledore died at the ripe old age of one hundred & fifteen-years old, with zero horcruxes to his name" She replied, sarcasm heavy on her tongue. "Whilst Riddle died at a mere seventy-one years old, with seven horcruxes to his name"

Much like when she went into lecture mode, her ranting began to pick up speed as she went. Arms gestured wildly, movements were sharper than usual, her eyes cut a hard glare at someone who wasn't even there and her words dripped with sourness. It was as if she were trying to fight the bile that threatened to climb up her throat; the same could not be said for the accidental magicks flitting through her hair or her eyes.

"Which means that Riddle was—is—the most useless, magically-dependant mage that has ever existed!" Jean went off, "He could've just lived 'til he was like, two hundred-years old, if he just ate well and exercised. But noooo! He just had to go and be a complete and utter berk about the whole thing! He just had to go and split his souls into seven pieces!"

She was really going for it, now; like a steam locomotive that just wouldn't stop. "And then—and then—like a bloody dumbass, he just goes and ruins some perfectly good fucking jewellery! And if he had—if he absolutely had—to live longer, then he could've been, I don't know a freaking alchemist or something! But nooooo! Apparently that's just too much work! And don't get me started on his whole thing with Harry—!" Jean was panting by the end of her tirade.

"—Ha! Never heard it quite put like that before!" Nimüe cackled, her harsh laughter echoing about the cavernous space and it made her sound all the more louder. "He sounds like a little schoolgirl!"

"Wh~at?" Jean's voice cracked in disgust. She turned to the hag with an expression of utter horror spread across her face at the picture she had painted. Regulus couldn't blame her; it was a horrid image.

"Trinkets, boy obsessed, diary etcetera, etcetera" Nimüe listed off, rather flippantly. "See where I'm going with this, girlie?"

Jean's nose scrunched up in disgust ever as a wicked grin danced across the hag's lips. "Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. Ole Snakeface in pigtails, plaid & stockings is not the image that I wanted to see!"

"Eurgh! Why would you even say that?" Regulus groaned into his hands, physically disgusted at the image that had been painted in his own mind. It was equally as horrifying as the image of the toothy hag cackling as she rocked back & forth in her seat; practically oozing glee. "And seven horcruxes? I thought that you said there were only five?"

"Actually, two of them haven't been made yet" Jean pointedly corrected. "And if all goes well, they never will"

"And what about Dumbledore?" Regulus pressed.

"Hm? What about him?" Jean hummed.

"What're your thoughts on him?" Is he some kind of Saviour of Worlds in your time, or something?" He spouted off, using what little of the Light side as he remembered there being.

"Saviour of the Worlds? Please! He wishes! Dumbledore was—is—so embroiled in the goings-on of Dark Lords that it was a feat in of itself that he could even paint himself as the Leader of the Light at all!" Jean scoffed. "Although it does make one wonder…"

"Wonder? About what?" Regulus questioned.

"About his ethics and his morales" Jean explained, "Cause with a lover like Grindelwald and a protégée like Riddle—plus that other thing with Harry—well, it certainly raises a few questions, y'know? Like, I mean, for him to not only outlive, but love two Dark Lords? It makes one wonder if he, himself, is not one as well. Or—worse yet—the darkest one of us all"

Jean resolutely refused to turn around as she continued to muse aloud. Instead, she kept her attention solely focused on the purple cords she had been fiddling with now that all of the potion bottles had been pulled out and lined up. "He'd have to be, wouldn't he?" She shrugged, "I mean, to create not only one but two Dark Lords and raised so many lambs for slaughter? That's not something a Leader of the Light could—should—do, y'know?"

Kreacher huffed in bemusement as he picked at the paint flaking off one the nearby shelves. "That was not the Mudblood's opinion last time"

"Yeah, well, I've had time to think" She shrugged. And then, for the first time since they had moved back upstairs, she paused in her movements and turned to look over her shoulder. "Say, Matron?"

"Yes, girlie?" Nimüe heaved a put-upon sigh as she sobered up a little at the address.

"Is…is there a way to change a ghost's tether?" Jean asked hesitantly, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

Actually that was a GOOD question, Regulus thought to himself. What WOULD happen to me if they destroyed the locket? Would I disappear too? I hope not.

Jean worried her lower lip between her teeth. "It's just that he's still tied to the locket and, I don't know what'll happen if we destroy his tether. But we certainly can't leave that tether in one piece either…"

Nimüe perked up at that and quickly turned her attention towards Regulus. The ghost boy in question shuffled back a pace or two; caught off-guard by the hag's eyes on him "Boy, you haven't broken your tether yet?"

"Was I supposed to?" Regulus replied, equally as confused as the elder mage, for once.

"Wait—!" Jean perked up at that, tumbling over herself as she tried to spun around quickly. "You can actually do that?"

Nimüe rolled her eyes in exasperation at the seemingly stupid question. "How else d'you think those big fancy schools of yours have so many ghoulies just wandering through the halls, girlie?"

"I just figured—" Jean began.

"—That wasn't a question" Nimüe cut her off.

"…Oh"

The hag then turned back to the ghost boy, barking out her orders as she shoved her hand deep into the pockets of her own robes. "Boy! C'me 'ere!"

Reluctantly, Regulus shuffled to his feet and made his way over to the hag. He dragged his feet like a wary child about to receive punishment even as he hovered mere inches above the ground. "My name is Regulus—!" He pouted.

"—Yeah, I don't care" Nimüe dismissed him, waving his concerns away. She was far more interested in the contents of her neverending pockets.

Eventually, the hag retrieved her arm from the depths of her robes, and with it came the world's ugliest brooch. It was a gaudy old thing with a golden stone in the centre that had been scratched to kingdom-come, there was a thick layer of dust covering the surface of the whole thing and delicately-wrought gold which had turned a sort of mustard colour. The entire thing was bent out of shape like someone had sat on it, or it had been stuck at the bottom of a bag for a very long time.

"Merlin, that is foul…!" Regulus muttered under his breath at the sight of the frankly god-awful brooch that she had pulled out of her seemingly endless pockets.

Nimüe simply bared a toothy grin at him, her eyes gleaming with pettiness. "Well, you better get used to it, boy, 'cause this gonna be your new tether!"

"Merlin, please no!" He begged.

"Buckle up, buttercup!" She crowed, staff at the ready.