The serpent flicks its tongue impatient at her and Rowan closes her gaping mouth. Glancing back down at Tales of Beedle the Bard, she furrows her brows and turns to the last page and finds old hand writing that says, "Not all tales are fiction, and monsters are very much real," with a signature underneath as that of "Beedle the Bard."
Rowan's hand trembles as if burned, before hastily shoving the book back into the pile on the floor. Pulling her hand as if burned, her hand curls into a fist as she struggles to compose her thoughts. Trying to word them, she says, "Is it truly impossible to change fate?"
"Fate cannot be cheated. Destiny cannot be changed," the serpent answered to Rowan's growing dismay. "However, Life is a fickle mistress, and Death is trickster."
Rowan's eyes brighten at the reply as improbable does not mean impossible. Glancing down at her hand, she asks, "And what of that which is in me?"
"There is always a price to be paid," the serpent murmured. "You already knew this."
"Yes, but what of that evening?"
"You had already been marked."
"Marked how?" Rowan hastily asked. It had been one of her chief worries ever since the night when she had destroyed the resurrection stone. But then again, it did say, she had already been marked, and it could only be one of two ways. Either the death magic surge or that of the terrible act of killing someone. And she had been only compelled not of her own will, while the other had been of her own volition.
The serpent is silent for a moment, before answering, "Those that have been marked cannot transform into the Children of the Spirits and that of mother nature. By instinct, those marked will never seek to become Animagus as such a transformation will only result in a swift death."
Rowan's eyes widen in understanding as to the instinctual reluctance to even attempt to become an animagus. A part understood that she had committed an act most foul against nature and nature in turn would retaliate given the chance. And no matter what Rowan's intentions might be, there are no exceptions to the laws of the magical world.
The serpent's tongue flickers in the dusty air, before impatiently hissing, "Hurry."
Feeling some urgency herself, Rowan says, "This is a tale that all wizarding children know, and unlike them I know that not all things are fiction. So, I must ask this am I the first? Because Beedle the Bard wrote this not as a tale it would seem after all if his note is anything to go by, but rather as a cleverly hidden historical means to preserve the past."
"You are certainly not the first and as for the last, I do not know," the serpent frankly answered.
"Not the first?" Rowan whispered aghast as the impact of that simple sentence. A terrible dread began to fill her, because if that was the case, then what possibility was there that she could even succeed. Just how many had there been before her?
Suddenly, the serpent reels up and hisses, "Run! He comes!"
The serpent scurries away as Rowan chases after the fleeing serpent as it leads her out through the back. Running through the tall grass she hears the snake loudly hiss ahead, "The ash tree grove, girl. Reach the tree line!"
Raising her gaze, Rowan sees the Ash tree's in the distance. Ash trees were said to ward evil, and many an Auror's wand had been forged from such a tree. However, something causes her heart to pound and the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up as she hears a hungry, and rather angry cry behind her.
"Don't stop! Don't lock back! Hurry!" The serpent roared as it slid to a halt and turned to face their purser.
Rowan grit's here teeth and rushes past the serpent and does not look back. From behind her, she hears the serpent shout, "Beware of the Hydra that comes in the shadows of the night. Beware of the Hydra that hides in the phantoms of the past. And beware of the Hydra that hunts in the shadows of the light and the day." A furious roar is heard that is followed by the scent of a sickening metallic smell, blood.
Sorrow and dread bubble up her throat, but Rowan continues sprinting forward as she spots the tree line less than a meter away, but she feels her purser increase their pace as well. Desperate, she surged forward with unknown strength as she felt claws brush against the back of her neck as she fell through the Ash tree line. A cry of such violent outrage fills the air as she trips and falls forward in exhaustion and horror onto the dark forest floor.
Gasping, Rowan sits up in bed with droplets of cold sweat dripping down her forehead and back. Panting she clutches at her chest trying to regain her breath and reaches to the bedstand drawer for a silk handkerchief to dry her face. Suddenly, she hisses in pain, and frowns as she moves her hand back to touch the back of her neck to only feel it wet. Bringing her hand back in front of her, her eyes widen at seeing the red droplets on her hand.
It had simply been a nightmare! But why was their blood on her neck? Unless, it had not entirely been a nightmare.
Disquieted by the thought, Rowan's lips press into a thin line until they turn pale. Mother snake had said that the dreamscape was neither here nor there. However, that does not mean that her nightmare had not been very much real in its own way. Whatever happens on another plane of existence is no less real than this one!
Still the dream, no, a warning. Had something occurred? And if so, what? Either way, she had the certainty that she would learn of it very soon.
And with that perturbing thought in mind, Rowan spent the rest of the night sleepless and lost in thought with the exception of tending to her wound. (It had been with great relief to find that her wound was easily healed and there were no traces of poison, infection, or dark magic. But that was a terrible consolation in retrospect.)
Without much energy, Rowan arose from her bed at seeing the sunlight creeping over the horizon and into her bedroom. After a quick wash, and change of clothes, she wandered down to the dining room for brunch. Already seated were the figures of Severus, and Reginald, who was reading the Daily Prophet. Georgine was missing as she had elected to lie in bed until Tadbey would rudely eject from her bed. And Merlin knows when she would have another such opportunity.
From behind the newspaper, Reginald peered at his granddaughter and frowned at her dreadful appearance, before hiding himself once more. He could not force her hand, and nor was it safe to do so. He could only act and guess as best as he could.
On the other hand, Severus, who had been happily eating toast with marmalade frowned at seeing the pale and gaunt appearance of his twin sister. However, they both had an unspoken agreement, and so, he feigned to not have noticed her sleepless appearance.
Trying to lighten the atmosphere, Severus idly remarks, "Mm, Rita Skeeter was off speaking nonsense again this morning. According to her, Harold Mitchum has gone and vanished, but everyone knows the man went on vacation to Greece weeks ago."
Rowan tried not to flinch as she heard Severus's remark, and recalled the words of the serpent from last night. "Beware of the Hydra that comes in the shadows of the night. Beware of the Hydra that hides in the phantoms of the past. And beware of the Hydra that hunts in the shadows of the light and day."
If Harold Mitchum, a member of the Ministry of Magic was part of the day, then the rest of the riddle were clues. The light, Auror's or possibly even members of the Order of the Phoenix. The shadows of the past, the previous generation (s). Then what of the night? Death Eater's or even the underworld.
A growing trace of dismay and horror filled Rowan's eyes. If that were the case, then would it even be possible to destroy that thing?! Because if there was even just one left alive, everything would start all over again, because that is just what a Hydra is.
Left with more answers that she previously wanted, Rowan is silent and disinterested during the rest of the meal. She would in fact be rather disillusioned for the rest of the morning until she unconsciously touched the back of her neck. Dream or no dream, someone had died for her. And she could not afford to have self-pity.
With that in mind, Rowan threw herself into her research. She would lack the time to do so, once Hogwarts started and her position as Prefect not to mention that O.W.L.'s were this year, and even a few N.E.W.T.'s. She would just have to do the best that she could.