YAY! I love Crawley.....but hopefully he doesn't turn out crazy phsyco like the animals from Pet Semetary


Awesome Job... I love this story!

I'm afraid to say bringing back Crawley WILL have its consequences, but not in the way you imagine. I haven't seen that film, by the way. Far too scary for me.
Back to the story...

Sam now had a very good idea of which Hounds she could trust and which she couldn't. Those she could trust now constituted the majority of the Hounds still at Hogwarts, but a minority of Hounds overall. This didn't worry her too much- she doubted those Hounds that had already left Hogwarts would be able to get back in. The difficult part would be alerting them to her plan without Mantacori getting wind of it. He already knew far too much about Sam- too much that would get her expelled, and for as long as Crawley's bones lay lifeless in Hogwarts, she didn't want to leave.
There was also the issue of having a ceremonial blade to perform the rite with. Could it have been performed with any old knife, the Hounds had plenty to offer, but Sam had read about the rite in several of Madame's books. Unless she used a proper ceremonial blade, Crawley wouldn't be fully restored. She didn't want to find out what that meant.
Potions class was always a good time to have secret discussions. The bubbling of the cauldrons, the roaring of flames, the shrieks and screams and explosions if the potions went wrong all covered up any muffled whisperings. This year, Gryffindor had Potions with the Ravenclaws, which meant Sam sat with Ben Zarraga, another Hound she trusted.
It was nearly Halloween by that point and the third years were eagerly awaiting their first trip into Hogsmeade. There would only be a skeleton crew of staff with them to spy on them, and Sam and Artie ad agreed this would be their best chance to speak to the other Hounds they were after.
"We'll split up," Sam told Ben as he started adding tiny pinches of silver to his potion. "You, me and Artie, we'll round up the others and go to the Hog's Head. None of the teachers go there."
"What if the other Hounds spot us?" Ben asked, before hastily ducking as one of the other students added too much silver too quickly and her potion exploded, coating everything in a glittery but foul smelling concoction.
"We'll be careful. We won't let them see us," Sam replied. Ben made an unsure sound in his throat. "Fine, if one pof the other Hounds starts asking us what's going on, we lie. Tell them it's a project for History or something."
"They won't buy it," Ben replied. Sam rolled her eyes.
"Then hex them! Get them with a blinding curse or something. Throw itching powder at them or something! I don't know, what would YOU suggest?" Ben looked thoughtful.
"The Hog's Head is too open a location. I've seen the maps of Hogsmeade in the library- there's a system of caves round here. We'll go there. It's on a hiker's route, too, so at the next drill, let me ask around and see how many willing hikers we have. If you start asking, people will get suspicious." Sam looked at Ben, impressed.
"Okay, I'll leave it to you," she agreed.
"By the way, why do you need all of us?" Sam hastily turned her attention on to her potion.
"I need people who remember Crawley," she said, which was half true. Yes, she needed memories of Crawley, but she was also scared. She planned to use the hall in the Broken Wing for the rite, but such powerful necromancy could awaken other things...
"Okay," Ben replied carefully. Sam got the feeling he didn't believe her.

Hogsmead! Cool. Can't wait for next post.

Keep up the good work.

The next Hounds' Drill took place a week before Halloween, on the Wednesday before the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Mantacori spent much of it berating Regelus for showing a lack of leadership; Regelus, now in his final year at Hogwarts, lost his temper more than once during the drill, and at one point had even pointed his wand at Mantacori. The whole room had frozen when he had done it, with all eyes on Mantacori to see what would happen next.
Nothing had happened then.
Sam had been disappointed that nothing had. Ever since her private discussion with Mantacori, she had hated him and would have loved to have seen someone hex him. If she'd not had the threat of expulsion hanging over her head, she would have done it, too. There were more Regelus-loyal Hounds in the school now than Mantacori-loyal ones; their enemies couldn't have killed them ALL before word got out. Besides, she would do nothing until she had Crawley back.
Ben quietly spoke to several Hounds about the walk past the caves. He told Sam that quite a few of the older Hounds knew the walk well- and had blushed a bit when talking about it. The teachers hardly ever went up there, it was secluded and well... it was just a nice, quiet spot. In the end, he only asked seven Hounds- a few that Sam had thought were trustworthy, Ben had discovered were in fact cowards, playing for both Regelus and Mantacori, only to choose a side when one side was clearly more powerful than the other.
"He's got a point," Artie commented after the drill. "We don't need that kind. You'll be all right with just the nine of us to back you up, won't you?" Sam had been right in thinking Ben had guessed more about the rite than she had told him, and he had told Artie.
Nine, however, including Artie and Ben... Nine was a significant number among the necromancers. Many circles had nine Masters, many rites had nine stages- nine guardians to protect her, perhaps it was meant to be.
"I think we'll be fine," she told Artie, trying to sound confident, but failing. "But we'll need to be prepared."

The Hogsmeade weekend finally arrived and the entrance hall of Hogwarts was full of students impatiently waiting for Filch to let them out, checking their names against lists. As they approached the entrance, Sam, Ben and Artie saw Regelus being pulled out of the line. A heated argument flared up between him and Filch before he finally stormed away from the caretaker.
Sam paused.
She needed Regelus there. Needed? Well, wanted, at any rate. Swallowing a blush, she told Artie and Ben that she would catch them up and then chased after Regelus, pulling a piece of parchment out of her pocket...
"Regelus!" she shouted.
"Leave me alone, Sam!" he barked back at her.
"GELU!" Sam hissed, pointing her wand at the floor just in front of Regelus and wincing sympathetically as he slipped over on to his back with a yell. Sam rushed over to him, looking at him suspiciously. "What was THAT all about?" she demanded. "I thought we were friends!"
"Oh leave it out, Sam. I'm not in the mood right now," Regelus told her irritably. "Go and have your little tea party in the caves."
"Tea party?!" Sam repeated, disgusted. "This is something important. I need you there! Why can't you go into Hogsmeade?" Regelus sat up slowly and arched his back painfully.
"Because Mantacori told Filch I'm supposed to be in detention this afternoon, that's why. I can't get out of the school."
"There's more than one way out of this school, you know," Sam said nervously, fingering the parchment. "If you were determined." Regelus' expression softened and he sighed sadly.
"I can't," he told her. "Mantacori is waiting for me in his office. I've got to go and scrub the defence against the Dark Arts classroom after Peeves spilt a jar of werewolf musk everywhere. What are you up to, anyway?" he asked her warily. Sam helped him to his feet and looked at him coyly.
"I'm going to bring back Crawley," she said softly. Regelus' eyes widened.
"That's a bit risky, isn't it? What if he comes back, you know, odd? And, I know you know a lot more about this necromancy stuff than any of the other Hounds, but you're only an apprentice, after all." Sam pouted a little.
"I know I can do this," she assured him. "I'm just missing one thing. A necromancer's blade."
"Ahhh," Regelus breathed. "I've read about them. Blades that have been forged at sunset and been sharpened by a living breath, yes?" He snorted. "I'm sure any old blade would do-" he began.
"No," Sam said firmly. "It has to be the right sort of blade."
"Okay, fine," Regelus told her. "I'll ask Slatero. He'll probably know a good place to look. And Sam, listen-" Sam looked at him curiously. "I'm sure you've realised by now... me and Mantacori, we're not exactly on good terms. The Hounds aren't mercenaries like he told us. They're-" Sam put her fingers on Regelus' lips.
"I know," she told him.
"Then you know Mantacori's views on deserters," Regelus added solemnly. He hung his head. "Sam, if anything happens-"
"Nothing's going to happen," Sam told him defiantly. "I can take care of myself." Regelus looked as though he was about to say something else, then changed his mind.
"Good luck," he told her, smiling lop-sidedly.
"Yeah, you too," she replied, before hurrying out of the school.

Sam told the seven Hounds Ben and Artie had recruited everything she had told Regelus that morning. She was less than reassured by them. Mochrie was Seeker for the Slytherins and was an excellent flyer. There was no sealing charm or magical lock that Athill couldn't get through, and his best friend, Dinsmor, was a skilled potions maker. Lewknor was an animagus who could turn herself into badger, and Nidhan was an expert at concealment charms and hiding. Finally, there was Catherwood, who was more a brawler than a duellist.
When the meeting was over, she had promises from all of them that they would try and find a necromancer's blade, but she had little real hope of them finding one before Easter, and by that time, she would have one anyway.
"What's the rush, anyway?" Artie asked her as they sat in the Three Broomsticks drinking Butterbeer. "You'll have a blade soon enough."
There was a reason she was rushing. Something in the back of her mind kept twitching and bugging her, telling her that she needed Crawley. Something was pushing her forward in her plans. Something was going to happen.
"I just know I need him," she said, trying not to make it sound like a grieving plea. "I don't know why."
"Why don't you ask Beauvarisse?" Ben asked her. Sam shrugged.
"I'm doing this without her knowledge. She'll be pretty annoyed with me already. Besides, she hasn't got a knack for seeing the fut-" She paused, then swore loudly at herself. "But Khyath does. He knows something he's not telling me."
"I think you'd better write to him, then," Artie said.

Sam sent her first letter to Khyath that very day, and she waited impatiently for the reply. As Khyath lived in Germany, the poor school owl she'd used to write to him had to fly for several days to get there, and then come back again. It would take just over a week, therefore, for Sam to get a reply, even if Khyath replied immediately.
He didn't. The school owl returned without any sort of reply, and hid from Sam in the upper perches of the Owlery in case she tried to send it again. Sam sent another letter with another school owl, who bit her hand when it realised how far it would have to go, and again, waited for a reply. Days later, the owl returned, again, with no letter.
Sam had finally revealed the Marauders' Map to Artie and Ben, and they now met every other evening in the hall of the Broken Wing. Ben had been all for investigating the many other rooms, but the hostile feeling Sam had felt from them at her first visit here still lingered like the dust and the musty, old magical smell of ageing spells.
"You know, if I was a seer like Khyath, and I'd seen something about one of my friends, I'd tell them," Artie said, carefully lowering a marshmallow into the glass jar of fire that Ben had conjured. "I mean, what if you saw them about to die or something?"
"I think I'd know if I was about to die, Artie," Sam told him, narrowing her eyes. "Necromancers... death... you know?"
"Yeah but you're only-"
"If you say I'm only an apprentice one more time, I'll hex your ears off!" Artie's sniggers changed into swearing as he realised he'd completely destroyed his marshmallow.
"You made the fire too hot," he told Ben sulkily. Ben shrugged and then turned to Sam.
"What if, by NOT telling you, he's trying to protect you?" he asked.
"What?!" Artie and Sam both said in unison.
"Look, say he sees you sneaking into a cave to steal, I don't know, the Philosopher's Stone-"
"Ben, that thing doesn't exist. Otherwise we'd have ancient old wizards running around everywhere," Artie interrupted.
"It's just an example!" Ben replied. "But say it was true. He tells you that you've found the Philosopher's Stone- so off you go to find it."
"Why would I want it? I don't want to live forever," Sam said.
"Please, just let me finish," Ben sighed. "You could sell it, obviously. Imagine that. So, you set up a deal with a wizard who wants this thing, and the wizard kills you rather than paying for it. So, wouldn't it be better if you'd never gone looking for it in the first place?"
"I still want to know what he saw," Sam said sulkily. Ben sighed again and began toasting his own marshmallow.
"Look, just tell us about the prophecy before you go acting on it," he pleaded. Sam said nothing.

As if to wind her up, Khyath sent his own, magnificent owl with a letter just a few days before Christmas holidays. Sam read it at breakfast in the Great Hall and kicked the table leg hard in frustration. Seeing that she'd had a letter, Artie cornered her before Herbology and demanded she read it out to him:

Dearest Sam,

You can imagine my delight when I received not one, but two letters from you recently. Forgive the delay in my reply, but I have been most busy sorting out the estate. I once again remind you that you are welcome to visit me at any time.
Father spends much of his time now in the library, overlooking our fine gardens. He seems distracted by visions almost every night now, and even more frustrated by the fact he can not understand them. They are all written down, of course, to be passed along to our own Ministry of Magic here. More than a number of these visions have involved dragons. We aren't sure yet if these are metaphors: a dragon hatches out of an egg, not in a nest but in a cauldron; a dragon is chained down in front of a large country house; a dragon snaps at a young wizard on a broomstick while he tries to steal a golden egg. It all sounds like nonsense, but many of our visions are, until after the event concerned.
Mother continues in good health and has been busy sewing a sampler with my father's greatest visions on it to hang in the Seers Gallery alongside my grandfather's and great grandfather's visions and beyond. Why she doesn't simply conjure the needles and thread to do it themselves, I have no idea. So running of the estate has fallen largely to me.
Again, please forgive my delay in replying, and have a wonderful Christmas,

Yours, as always,
Lord Khyath Segur

"Oooooh..." Sam growled, scrunching up the letter and stomping down towards the greenhouses.
"Maybe one of those visions was about you?" Artie suggested.
"I'm not about to change sex and chase after golden eggs, am I? I don't even own a broomstick," Sam replied irritably. "My aunt and uncle have just bought Charlie one, did you know? He's Gryffindor's new Seeker. He didn't even tell me!"
"You've never been to a House Quidditch game!" Artie replied, laughing.
"Yeah, but still... oh shut up, Artie," she laughed.

REALLY great!!!!!


I love that you are continuing this, other stories that I was reading, just kinda stopped. This is really awesome tho. I could never write such a long FF with so much plot and detail.

I know what you mean HPgurl! I love this story soooo much, and it is torture to wait between posts! LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!

I *heart* this story.

Keep up the good work. :flowersmile: :flowersmile: :flowersmile:

Thanks for your lovely comments! I'll do my best to carry on now I've got two of my assignments out of the way (curse these clashing deadlines)

Sam spent her Christmas holidays at Sanctuary with her parents, who gave her the staggering news that Aunt Molly was expecting again. Bert seemed wholly amused by his younger brother’s antics.
“Arthur’s been going spare, he swears Bill, Charlie and Percy weren’t half as much trouble as the twins. He only has to leave them alone for a few seconds and they’ve got hold of his wand and blasted Errol. That poor owl will never be the same. I think they’re hoping for a girl this time,” he added. “Five boys! I suppose he thinks having a girl will be easier, does he?”
Sam sat in her room going over and over the rite needed to bring back Crawley. She didn’t want a single thing to go wrong. Even if nothing DID go wrong, she would still be in terrible danger. The more time she spent in the Broken Wing, the more she suspected that at one time, necromancy had formed part of the studies at Hogwarts. That could mean that there were residues… not all of the necromancy could have left the castle.
Pushing that thought to the back of her head with a shiver, Sam ran over and over the Old Words she would need for the rite until she could say them backwards (not that it was particularly wise to do so). One afternoon, when the last of the brief sunlight was starting fade, Iris knocked on her daughter’s door and walked in without waiting for a response. Sam hastily stopped reciting.
“You’ve been up here almost the entire holidays,” Iris said smiling, and sitting on the end of Sam’s large bed. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, mum,” Sam replied sullenly.
“Hmm, typical teenager,” her mum teased. “I’ve heard that Molly’s not the only one expecting. Do you remember James and Lily?” How could Sam forget? Their wedding had been her first encounter with Death Eaters! She remembered them though, very much in love. They had probably fought side by side to defend themselves and their guests. Well, there was a little witch out there somewhere who probably owed Sam her life, but she’d seen nothing of huge battle outside the church.
“Okay,” Sam replied.
“ ‘Okay’?” Iris repeated, surprised. “Well, I suppose that sort of thing doesn’t interest necromancers, does it?”
“It’s not that mum, it’s just-” Sam finished. Well, frankly it didn’t interest her. She’d been absolutely thrilled when Percy and the twins had been born, but the birth itself was a long way off yet. “I suppose you’re right.”
“It’s not good to spend all your time dealing with death, I’m sure it’s not healthy for you. I’ve asked Madame if you could spend the summer holidays with us, this time. We’ll act like a proper family for once.” Alarm bells rang in Sam’s head.
“Why?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“No reason,” Iris replied too quickly. Sam groaned inwardly. No wonder- the moment her parents had settled down into a proper house, they’d started settling down as a family too. A sudden wave of panic twisted her gut. What if she ended up with a little brother or sister who copied everything she did? What if they got hurt during a rite? What if they better at necromancy than her? And there was no way Iris would allow a snake, albeit a skeletal one, into the house with a helpless baby lying around.
She watched her mother walk out of her bedroom feeling utterly shocked. Why now? Why HER parents? Last time her mum had dealt with a baby, she’d had both arms! How on earth would she cope now?
“Stupid!” Sam hissed under her breath.

Sam returned to school in January in a foul mood. She and Iris had had a terrible row about having a new baby, and Iris had ended up putting Sam under the Silencing curse when she’d said that she didn’t think Iris could cope.
“I’ve coped with a moody, trouble-making necromancer with only one and a half arms! I think I know what I’m doing!” Iris had snapped at her, but Sam was sure she didn’t.
The new term began ordinarily enough, with Sam managing to annoy Filch and being sent up to have yet another infuriatingly calm chat with Dumbledore, Dolly resuming her campaign of irritation against Artie (now that Crawley was gone, she had no fear of being turned into a toad and swallowed alive), and Karissa Verling discovering a new way to make Sam’s life a misery. Some bright spark had told Karissa how to perform a charm which turned her meals into ash. The moment Sam turned to speak to someone at the Gryffindor table, she’d hear a little whooshing sound and, sure enough-
There was only so much of this that Sam and Artie would take however. It would not have happened at all if Crawley had been around, but as nothing could be done about that until her sword arrived, Sam and Artie decided to find some other way of dealing with their nemeses.

Oooo! Getting good!

What happens next?! What happens next?!

*jumps up and down excitedly*

(felt like having some random mischief- enjoy)

It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Sam was sat down at breakfast looking unusually relaxed, despite the fact that three pieces of toast, a plate of bacon and sausages and two glasses of orange juice thus far had ‘mysteriously’ turned into ash in front of her. It was getting to the point where Sam only had to reach for something for it to turn into ash, and yet she carried on smiling calmly. It was driving Karissa nuts.
“Are you up to something?” Charlie whispered to her. Sam looked at him in an utterly fake, hurt-innocent way.
“Why would you suggest such a thing, dear cousin?” she replied, causing one of Charlie’s friends to snort with laughter. Charlie shook his head and muttered under his breath-
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She did.
Dolly hadn’t turned up to breakfast. Very few people had really noticed- sometimes you just woke up ill and had to go to the infirmary. A missing student at breakfast wasn’t actually that much of a big deal.
Sam yawned widely and stretched her arms over-dramatically. In an almost-completely-unrelated-incident, Dinsmor happened to be passing by Karissa on his way to speak to Ben, when he tripped and accidentally spilt his orange juice into Karissa’s drink. He apologised profusely, and Karissa called a few unsavoury things, but things like that happen in just about every school, so there was nothing strange there.
At the same time, Mochrie threw a small piece of rat tail on to Karissa’s plate. Nobody but Sam and Mochrie knew about this, as most people were watching Karissa in fascination as she drank her pumpkin juice regardless of Mochrie’s spill. When nothing happened, everyone gradually went back to their meals. After a few moments…
“Ugh, that bit of sausage was awful! I’d never get served something as disgusting as that back home!” Karissa declared. Sam tried not to look at Mochrie for fear she would start laughing.
Had Karissa decided not to drink her pumpkin juice after all, or had she decided not to eat the rest of her sausages, it never would have worked. But the rat tail was the last ingredient in the potion Dinsmor had spilt. Karissa’s stomach gurgled worryingly as the potion took effect and suddenly, hairs started growing all over her face. Her friends shrieked, and then Karissa shrieked, and then Karissa’s vanished beneath all the hair and her friends had to drag her away blind to the infirmary, trailing longer and longer hair behind her.
The entire hall was filled with laughter, but Charlie was staring at Sam suspiciously. Doctor Sumner, the potions mistress, came sweeping over towards the Gryffindor table and sniffed Karissa’s drink warily.
“Brigetio Dinsmor, could you come here please,” she announced coldly. Dinsmor wandered over to her and put on a nervous face. “Dinsmor, one of my best students,” Sumner added with a smile. “There still seems to be pumpkin juice left over. Feeling thirsty?” Dinsmor didn’t argue. He took the pumpkin juice as though he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it and downed the entire lot.
Nothing happened. It still lacked rat tail. Sumner looked most disappointed, and then excused herself to find a hair removal serum for Karissa.
“Probably took a hair growth potion to make her hair look nice for tomorrow,” Sam heard one of the older Gryffindor girls comment. Dinsmor sat down, looking mildly puzzled, and Sam winked at him.
Of course, he’d have to avoid rat tails for the rest of the day.
Finally, after Sumner left, an extremely harassed-looking Dolly came hurrying into the hall, face red with embarrassment. Although Sam couldn’t hear a word the flustered Dolly said to her friends, Sam knew what had happened. That morning, all of Dolly’s clothes had vanished, and she’d ended up running around Hufflepuff house trying to find them. By the time she got into the bathroom to go to the loo before breakfast, everyone else had gone- but then the lock on the door had broken and Dolly had been trapped inside and had just been freed by Mr Filch.
Athill never did turn up to breakfast. He generally got his food straight from the kitchen.
“And you really had no hand in any of this?” Charlie asked her, watching Dolly about to take a bite out of a breakfast muffin, only to realise she had no time to eat and had to go to lessons.
“Well…” Sam said slowly, and then laughed.
“Remind me not to annoy you. Blimey, I hope the twins don’t hear anything about this. Don’t go giving them ideas.” Sam just smiled and they walked down to Care of Magical Creatures.
On the way back, a restored Karissa was chased all the way into the castle by a mad badger.
Life felt good.

At dinner that evening, however, Quirrel cornered her outside the Great Hall.
“Nice little number you pulled this morning. The potion, couldn’t have done it better myself,” he started. “You’d be amazed, though, at how many people are linking you to all of this. I, of course, would recognise your handiwork, but everyone else..?”
“What do you want?” Sam sighed.
“Oh, don’t make me sound like such a chore. I’m here on Regelus’ behalf. You’ve stolen his leadership and he didn’t seem in his right mind when I saw him. He wants you to meet him tomorrow at The Three Broomsticks at three. Don’t be late.”

Oooo! Cool.

Can't wait to read more! :flowersmile:

Sorry again about yet another delay- I was in A+E Friday night/Saturday morning!!! Feeling better now, though, so I hope this has been worth your wait:

It was unfortunate that Valentine’s Day fell on a school day, and therefore the school was generally irritated all day by half-hearted attempts at a romantic atmosphere. Had Sam not been worrying about what Regelus was going to say or do to her, she would have maybe jinxed a few of the enchanted golden cherubs to start singing Beach Boys songs or something, but as she was too distracted, she left this to Artie, who preferred the Blazin’ Cauldrons anyway.
Sam went to lunch as normal, but reluctantly asked Charlie to get notes for her from that afternoon’s History of Magic class. Bill, on patrol as a prefect again, and now sporting his hair in a ponytail, seemed to be wanting to tell Sam not to skip lessons, but the look on her face was so dejected that he thought better of it and just patted her on the shoulder as he passed. Sam’s mood got lower and lower until finally, at a quarter to three, she slipped behind the statue of the hump-backed witch and hurried along the earthy tunnel towards Hogsmeade.
She emerged in the back of Honeydukes and hurriedly scrambled out of a window to avoid being caught by the owners. Dropping on to the street outside, she dusted herself off and then marched into The Three Broomsticks. It was nearly empty: Madam Rosmerta was supervising some enchanted rags as they cleaned the glasses for her, with her wand in hand, ready; a couple of locals were sat in a booth talking quietly about events in that morning’s Daily Prophet (yet more killings, and they glanced up at Sam suspiciously as though she was there to start something), and Regelus sat on his own at a small table near a window. He was staring out at the world with his chin resting on his hand.
“Regelus,” Sam said quietly, though in the forbidding, suspicious atmosphere, her voice sounded too loud. She winced a little and then hurried to sit down, face burning. Regelus was still staring out of the window as he spoke.
“I hear you’re planning to resurrect Crawley,” he said softly. Sam felt her stomach tighten.
“Who told you?” she asked. Regelus glanced at her swiftly. “Sorry,” Sam mumbled. Quirrel was right. There WAS something odd about Regelus today.
“I want to be there. Crawley was… well, he was a darn good snake.”
“He was my best friend,” Sam said. “I can’t bring him back exactly as he was, but I can bring back the part that made him Crawley. But if Mantacori finds out-”
“You’re an idiot, Sam,” Regelus cut her off cruelly. “Why’d you do this behind Mantacori’s back? Why not involve all the Hounds? Why are you making the divide worse when I’ve been trying so hard to unite us again? I’ll be there for the rite, Sam, for Crawley’s sake, not you. Then I’m leaving. I’ve chosen my side. If you insist on sticking to some deluded idea of what’s right- don’t you see that wizards have been oppressed? Don’t you see what those powerless, moronic, jealous little Muggles have done?” His voice was very low, so that Sam was sure no one else could hear what was being said. All the same, Madam Rosmerta was throwing them some very suspicious looks.
“You shouldn’t say that stuff here,” Sam hissed. “You shouldn’t say it at all!”
“You’re right Sam. The only idiot here has been me.” Regelus got to his feet coldly and glared down at her. “I actually believed you were powerful and smart, but you know what? You’re just a scared little girl. I’ll be there for the rite. After that, I don’t even want to know you anymore.” He walked out of the pub, slamming the door behind him. Sam was still staring at his chair, now empty.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Parts of it he meant, but not all.
She looked at the door fearfully.
“Oh no…” she whispered under her breath.

The day of the Equinox came and passed, and at breakfast the next morning, Sam’s longed-for parcel didn’t arrive.
“It could just be late. Slow owl. It’s a long way from France after all,” Artie said, trying to reassure her. Sam sighed and hoped it would arrive before the Easter holidays, when a lot of her Hounds would be leaving to go home.
Fortunately, when Sam was sat in Charms that afternoon, there came a knock at the door and a smartly dressed wizard in a dark blue, courier’s uniform, walked into the classroom.
“S. J. Weasley?” he asked in a strong, French accent. Sam sheepishly raised her hand. The wizard seemed to suddenly appear in front of her with a large clipboard. “Sign ‘ere, ‘ere, ‘ere, eh… ‘ere and, ah oui, ‘ere.” Sam signed her name over and over and finally, the courier produced a camera and took a photograph of her without warning. “Excuse moi,” the courier apologised. “Monsieur Borascoli wanted to be absolutely sure zis parcel got to ze right person.” He tipped his hat at Professor Flitwick, then walked inhumanly fast out of the classroom. Flitwick recovered himself quickly.
“Ah, a good example of the More Speed, Less Haste charm, if I’m not mistaken.” Unfortunately for Flitwick, all attention was on Sam and the long parcel in front of her. Aware of all the staring eyes, she slipped it under her seat and then tried to pretend nothing unusual had happened.

She sent the message out to the Hounds that very day that they would be performing the rite on the last day of term. That gave her only a few days to prepare, but she had not spent the time waiting for her sword to arrive idly. She knew the rite by heart. She knew several protective charms, as well and, should the worst happen, she had managed to gather up a few healing potions.
The Hounds arrived at the Broken Wing on the last day of term at half eleven at night. Sam didn’t wonder how they had all escaped their dormitories without being noticed; she knew them too well for that. Regelus didn’t even look at her as he swept past her in his Hounds robe.
Sam ignored this as best she could, and Artie gave a very reassuring grin. Sam smiled lopsidedly back at him and nodded. Artie began drawing a circle around the group in a strange, blue sand, while Sam ceremoniously placed Crawley’s bones in the centre of the group. As Artie finished the circle, it erupted into blue flames, making a few of the Hounds gasp or swear in surprise.
“It’s a protective barrier,” Sam explained.
“Protective? What do we need to be protected for?” Mochrie asked anxiously. If Sam had answered that truthfully, she would have said ‘Well, there’s a lot of things really but I’m mostly worried about the Shadows of old necromancers who might kill us, not that I’m trying to panic you or anything.’ What she DID say however was:
“It’s perfectly normal for a necromantic rite.” This was also true. She unwrapped the paper from around her sword and tried to hide her own amazement, even as the rest of the Hounds all gaped and gasped. The sword was unmistakably enchanted- the metal was black with an iridescent finish which caused it gleam all colours of the rainbow. It seemed to hum with power as Sam gripped the hilt, though it felt too heavy to wield with grace. Was she really ready for this?
“What the hell’s that for?” Catherwood demanded, taking out his wand to defend himself.
“Not you, not any of you,” Sam reassured them. It looked horribly sharp. No doubt there would be incantations forged into the metal to ensure it remained sharp. She took a deep breath. “Get ready. Whatever happens, don’t try to leave the circle.” A few of the Hounds looked at her incredulously. Why on earth would they try to flee through fire?
Sam approached Crawley’s bones with a lump in her throat. She tried to recall everything she had ever done with him, all the times she had secretly carried him around in her bag, all the times she had shared her meals with him… tears started to fall down her face and wiped them on to her fingers. She put the tears on to Crawley’s head, and then waved her wand over him. She began chanting in the Old Words, and within the first syllable, the atmosphere changed dramatically. It grew cold and her breath formed a mist in front of her face. There was more though, the old stones began to awaken. They remembered, they could still remember the old rites that had taken place here.
With a blue flash, Crawley’s head reattached itself to his spine and became surrounded in an eerie, sticky green glow. Sam touched her fingers to the skull again and felt as though she was being pulled forward. In truth, she was being milked for memories. When it was satisfied it had all it could have from her, the spell released her.
“Touch his skull,” Sam told the Hounds in a slightly croaky voice. At first, no one moved, and then Regelus strode forward and planted his fingertips firmly on to Crawley’s skull. He withdrew after a few seconds, and then everybody came closer to donate their memories of Crawley. Artie was the last, as Sam had specifically asked him, so that he could make sure everyone contributed . His memories were the signal for Sam to…
She didn’t want to do this. She wasn’t sure she could.
“Sam,” Artie told her, holding her shoulder. Sam took hold of the sword in her left hand and ran her right hand along the blade. Panting with pain, and hoping she wouldn’t do anything daft like faint, she wiped her hand the entire length of Crawley’s bones. The blood seemed to boil and sizzle like acid before vanishing stainlessly into the bones. There was a moment’s pause and then-
ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!! What’s going on? What’s going on? Crawley demanded, lashing his tail and causing his skeletal rattle to shake as a warning. Sam stepped back and waited, hoping. Sam? Crawley asked her.
Welcome back, Sam hissed back at him. She looked around the hall at the other Hounds. “He’s okay,” she told them. The Hounds cheered and a few of them came forward to pat Crawley’s skull. The snake responded as he always did, by playfully trying to bite their fingers, but never actually doing so.
“Good to see you back,” Regelus told him. Crawley hissed happily. Meanwhile, the rest of the Hounds were now clustering around Artie. Tiny little flashes kept coming from their midst. As they turned around, Sam saw the emblem of a snake wrapped around a sword remarkably similar to her own, printed on to their robes.
“Well, we want to remember that we did this,” Mochrie told her. “Hope you don’t mind.” Sam looked fearfully at Regelus, who looked at Sam coldly. “Aren’t you going to join in?” Mochrie asked Regelus.
“I think it’s time we left,” he answered her. There was a moment of awkwardness as the rest of the Hounds looked guiltily at each other, and at the silver emblems now on their robes. Then Artie carefully re-opened the circle to let them leave. Nothing more was spoken until Ben, Artie, Sam and Crawley were the only ones left. Sam set about matter-of-factly binding her hand in a strip of bandage before pouring a small amount of healing potion on to it. By morning, it would be healed.
“It really worked,” Ben commented, kneeling next to Crawley. “It’s really him, isn’t it?” he asked Sam.
Of course I’m me! Crawley argued.
“He says it’s him,” Sam replied, breaking out into a grin, which was soon mirrored on Ben and Artie’s faces. Soon, they were laughing with relief.

Sam suddenly felt whole again. She felt that was no one in the school who could control her. She had defied the natural order of things. She had brought Crawley back. As she smuggled him back into Gryffindor house, she thought delicious thoughts of turning Dolly into a toad again and had to bury her face in her pillow to stop herself laughing.
It was short-lived.
“He’s… gone,” Mochrie told Sam at breakfast. The Slytherin seeker looked nothing like her confident self as she rubbed her arms anxiously. “No note, not even Quirrel knows anything, or he’s not letting on.”
Regelus had vanished. On hearing this, Sam set out immediately to find Quirrel. He HAD to know something, he was Regelus’ best friend! However, when she finally tracked him down to the courtyard, he seemed genuine as he told Sam:
“He just upped and left, Sam. I had a feeling he was going to do it. After that whole thing with Umbridge and Verling, well, can you blame him? You stole half the Hounds from right under his nose. He couldn’t do anything more here, could he? I’d guess he’s gone in Bella’s footsteps, joined the big league.” Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“He wouldn’t!” she snapped at him. “You didn’t know him at all! He didn’t want to hurt anyone! He was brave!”
“ ‘Didn’t want to hurt anyone’?” Quirrel repeated sarcastically. “Sounds pretty much like a coward to me. Take a look around you, Sam. Can’t you see the fear in everyone’s eyes? Haven’t you felt the way wizards and witches regard each other these days? These are dangerous times. You either kill, or be killed.” Sam took in a sharp breath at these words and hurried away to the girls’ toilets on the second floor.
Crawley, she hissed. The skeletal snake poked its head out of her bag and regarded her as fondly as a snake skull could.
Would you like me to find him for you? Crawley volunteered.
That would take too long without some vague idea of where he went, Sam hissed back sadly. We need a better plan than that. If Bella was still here, I’d have you follow her, but as she isn’t, well, I think you should follow Mantacori around. If he says anything about Regelus, I want to know.
Would you expect anything less of me? Crawley replied, before dropping out of her bag and making a curious rattling sound as he moved, like the constant shaking of dice. Sam felt a lump in her throat.
Be careful, she told him. Don’t be seen. Crawley gave her a look which rebuked her for even thinking that he WOULD be seen, and then disappeared into the school’s plumbing.
“What are you up to?” Sam jumped nearly a foot off the floor.
“Myrtle!” Sam barked.
“You were speaking ever so funny just then,” Myrtle continued, with a fearful look at the sinks.
“It’s none of your business!” Sam replied indignantly.
“I could tell, you know,” Myrtle threatened darkly. Sam breathed an Old Word under her breath and for a very brief moment, a ghostly apparition of a girl, not that dissimilar to Karissa Verling, floated through the girls’ bathroom before fading away again. Myrtle was shaking like a leaf.
“O… Olive Hornby!!!” Myrtle whispered, before shrieking and hiding in the U-bend of the nearest loo with a distasteful splash. Sam smirked to herself, but her minor victory brought her little ease. She had to know where Regelus was. She had to find him. Suddenly she was shaken by the strangest feeling, as though someone was watching her through a massive magnifying glass and she was a tiny insect. She clutched her head, moaning as she slowly dropped to her knees, and blackness consumed her.

“Let’s get on with it.”
There he was. Flaming red hair, a reluctant bravery combined with a fierce loyalty pushing him on as he wandered through strange corridors, following some spectacled boy with a scar on his head. There he was, with other kids, surrounded by Death Eaters-
“Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.” Sam let out a cry of shock as she realised she recognised that voice! He had been one of the Death Eaters at the Potters’ wedding. And he’d mentioned Potter! The boy… the boy had looked like James and yet… yet the one she had been following, the focus of the vision, the boy with the flaming red hair-
Sam opened her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious on the floor for, only that she needed to get to the Burrow.

Sam was on the train home the next day, having left most of her possessions, and her beloved Crawley, behind her. Molly had given birth. In all the drama of the previous three weeks, Sam had barely taken that in. The child was another boy, much to Arthur’s dismay, although he seemed quieter than the twins at least (who were even more a menace now they could crawl). They had called him Ronald Bilius. Ronald! Middle names were supposed to be embarrassing (Sam felt she’d had a lucky mistake to only have ‘Joan’), but Ronald?
Her parents met her at the station looking a little flustered at the sudden change of plans, though they were extremely pleased to see Sam and amazed at her sudden, keen interest in the new baby. For two, frustrating days she stayed at Sanctuary with her parents, doing her homework. She would start to relax, listening to old stories of dark wizards defeated, when the vision would slam into the back of her head again and she would pace about her room. She barely ate, she couldn’t sleep, even when she got Ronald out of her head she had Regelus there waiting for her.
Finally, she was taken to the Burrow. Molly and Arthur were waiting at the door for her, but she only said the briefest ‘hello’s to them before dashing into the house, finding the crib and staring inside at the tiny boy. A few tufts of red hair were sitting fluffily on top of his head. He seemed to be frowning in his sleep. Sam touched his hand gently and-
“You look awful, mate. I mean, when I really look-”
Sam gasped and withdrew her hand. She knew all she needed to know. Asking Molly rather breathlessly for paper and a quill, she began penning a letter to Madame Beauvarisse.
“Whatever for?” Molly asked Sam, throwing an anxious look at her parents, who shrugged helplessly. “Is something wrong with him?”
“He’s a necromancer,” Sam replied before thinking. Molly snatched back the paper, her face as white as a corpse. “Aunt Molly!”
“Oh no you don’t!” Molly replied swiftly. “No, I won’t have it. I don’t mean any disrespect to you, or to you,” she added, looking apologetically at Bert and Iris. “But I’ve seen what that stuff has done to one member of this family already, and I’m not having one of my own getting swept up into death rites and whatnot! Charlie told me you had a sword!! A sword in the hands of a thirteen year old girl!”
“But-” Sam began. Molly face softened.
“No, Sam, I’m sorry. You won’t mention a word of this to Ron, or to anyone, least of all that awful Beauvy-what’s-it. I don’t want Ron with all… with all THAT on his shoulders.” Sam stared at the paper and quill that Molly now placed back on the table. She looked at baby Ron and bit her lip. There was more to it. She’d read about such connections before. Madame had seen such a sight when Sam had been born, and had known then that Sam was to be her apprentice. Ron was supposed to be Sam’s. She didn’t want to end up an old loner like Borascoli!
And yet…
And yet he WAS family.
Sam sighed and pushed the paper away.
“I’m telling Bill and Charlie!” she said defiantly. “So they’ll know what to look out for.”
“Yes, and we’ll tell Dumbledore,” Molly answered her. “Beyond that-” Sam mimed zipping her lips shut, then looked at Ron regretfully.
“It’s not going to be easy,” she whispered once Molly’s attention was elsewhere. “You’ll come into your birthright whether Molly wants it or not, and without proper instruction, it’ll be useless to you. But if that’s what Molly wants, at least you won’t get HER arm ripped off.”

well... not exactly what I expected but it's coming along nicely

I'm Glad Crawley's back, but I'm worried about him going off around the school by himself... someone could find him and he could get his head shopped off again... and maybe his bones smashed and separated just so Sam can't bring him back again :ermsmile: well, we'll see what happens.

The awkward feeling in the Burrow after that meant that Sam returned to school a week early. As she’d promised, she told no one but Bill and Charlie, not even Artie. She now had the task of finding Crawley, although this was somewhat easier than she had expected.
“Ow!” Crawley hissed his amusement as Sam clutched her ankle and sat down on to the bed.
What did you expect? Crawley asked her. You left me all alone!
It was sort of urgent, Sam replied sulkily. Are you still poisonous? Crawley hissed with laughter again but said nothing. CRAWLEY!
No glands, he replied, shaking his skull from side to side. Just teeth. No stomach, either, though there’s a few dead mice lying around for that tatty old cat to eat anyway. Regelus has joined the Death Eaters. Sam nodded thoughtfully and lay back on her bed. Crawley coiled himself around the leg of the bed and curled up beside her. He continued speaking as she stroked his head.
Apparently, thus far Regelus has made good impression. He has taken on Aurors and won for his master. He is ruthless in battle, but Mantacori doesn’t seem to trust him. In two nights’ time, Regelus will be tested. If he passes the test, he will be admitted into Lord Voldemort’s confidence. If he should fail-
They’ll kill him, Sam finished needlessly. So what’s the test? Crawley reared to look at her.
They’re going to kill Frank and Alice Longbottom, he replied. They’re Aurors apparently, or were. Alice is pregnant. Something about the child… I didn’t understand the importance, but above all else, Alice must die.
He’ll never do it, Sam hissed.
Then he’ll die, Crawley replied matter-of-factly.
He’ll escape.
You don’t sound so sure.
He’ll… Sam swore, an impressive feat in Parseltongue. Where is he? I have to stop him going through with the test, she hissed resignedly.
Pendle, Crawley replied. Sam sat up on her elbow.
Where’s that?
I don’t know, Crawley replied. But you’ve not got long to find out.

Sam barely ate for the entire following day, particularly as Madam Pince seemed to be able to smell a crumb of food from the opposite end of the library. Trying to find an up-to-date map of Pendle was harder than it seemed in the Hogwarts library. Where was it near? What county was it in? She searched and searched, and Artie and Ben searched and searched, while Crawley continued his watch of Mantacori. Presently, Mochrie, intrigued by what they were doing, came and joined them. Then Dinsmor, Athill and the other Hounds present at Crawley’s return came and joined them. They worked in near silence, save for the occasional curse as yet another book proved useless.
Nothing in “Significant Magical Places in the Twentieth Century”.
Nothing in “Places of Magical Interest in the British Isles”.
Nothing in “Travels through Magical Ireland”.
Nothing in “The Modern Magical Gazetteer”.
It was getting late. One by one, various people excused themselves to go to tea or to get on with some of their actual work. Soon, Sam was left all alone. Her eyes ached and all the words on the pages appeared blurred and smudged. She couldn’t find it. Despairingly, she trudged back to Gryffindor common room and was amazed to see Bill still awake. Bill now had a proper ponytail going on, and the reason for his non-appearance at the Burrow at Easter was painfully obvious. In one ear, one, swollen, red, sore ear, was a small hoop.
Sam gaped, then recovered herself.
“Goodnight, Bill,” she told him.
“You and your friends looked busy today,” Bill commented, stretching his arms behind his back and yawning. “What’s up?” Sam looked at Bill awkwardly.
“You wouldn’t happen to know a place called Pendle, would you?” she asked hopelessly.
“Know it?!” Bill replied exasperatedly. “I’ve written 5000 bloody words on the place for Professor Binns! I got all these books out of the library yesterday. Here’s “The Pendle Witch Trials”, “Famous Witches and Wizards of Pendle” and-”
“ “Great British Brews?” ” Sam asked disbelievingly.
“Pendle Witches Brew,” Bill replied sullenly.
“You’ve book marked ‘Fire whiskey- how to brew’,” Sam replied, grinning. Bill snatched the book back from her.
“Yeah, well, I was comparing Pendle Witches Brew to Fire Whiskey, okay? Why do you need to know where Pendle is, anyway?” Sam didn’t answer him. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on page 3 of “A Wizard’s Guide to Pendle”. “Sam, is someone in trouble?” Sam looked up at Bill, and bit her lip.
“I can’t get you involved,” she told him.
“Tell me everything, Sam, I mean it,” Bill replied sternly. “I know people. I know people who might be able to help.” Sam didn’t know why she did it, but she started telling Bill everything. She told him about the Hounds, about Bellatrix, about the rift, about all the members, about the Death Eaters, about what Mantacori was really up to, and now ab