The Raven

Chapter 1: Fifth Year

Narcissa rubbed the smooth surface of the stone as she contemplated her work in the dark of the library.  The candle cast a weak shadow over her parchment.  Defense Against the Dark Arts was such a pointless class. The Dark Lord had been defeated almost twenty years ago.  There was nothing to protect oneself from any longer.

“I still can’t believe you found it.  And in all of twelve minutes too.”

Cissa looked up from her work to find Sam.  He’d grown older since their first year.  He was taller, his hair was darker.  It used to be a lighter blond but now it seemed to be a light auburn color.  His voice was definitely deeper.  They had become close since that night.  Nearly four years ago.  They had been only eleven.  And now here they were, nearly alone in the library.  

“Believe it,” Narcissa answered simply, closing her book with a soft thump.  

“What does it mean?”

“What does what mean?”

He took a seat beside her.  

“That you found it.  What does that mean?”

“It means that I could raise my mother from the dead if I so pleased.  It’s all mine.  If I use it right.”

“They said in History of magic that it’s never been found.”

“Correction, it’s never been recorded that it’s been found.  But here we are.  And here it is.”

Sam frowned.  “How do you know it’s the one?”

Narcissa smirked.  “Rocks the size and shape of diamonds don’t just form in the ground.”

    “Prove it’s the resurrection stone.”

She shrugged.  “I can’t.   I just can’t.  It’s not how it works.”  She slipped it into her pocket.  “I can’t take its powers for granted. Or I’ll die.  I have to keep it special.”

Sam stared at her in the candlelight, watching it flicker in her big eyes. “How did you find it anyway?”

She had never told anyone about the voice.  No one ever.  Not Sam or her friend Marceline or her own father, her cat even.  Nothing.  

She shrugged.  “I just did.”  The voice was something to keep to herself.  Not something to share with others.  Besides, it was no big deal, she hadn’t heard it since that night.  She couldn’t even remember what it sounded like.  She felt the stone in the dark of her pocket.  Sam pulled out the chair beside her.

“Than what do you think it means?”

Narcissa shrugged.  She had never really thought twice about it.  She had just been an 11-year-old girl with the luck of a queen.  It hadn’t mattered much.  She flipped her platinum blond waves over her shoulder and stood.  “Is there anything else you have questions about, Samuel?” she asked.

Sam stood, following her out of the library.  “Actually yeah.  With Divination…”

“Andrade?  Donavan Andrade?”

The receptionist gave the man an odd look but odd-looking people were always making appointments with Mr. Andrade. 

“Name?” she asked politely, clicking into her appointment calendar for Andrade, D. 

“Viggiani, Maxwell.”

Max was definitely an odd-looking man.  His face was much too long and his nose was much too big for his much to long face.  He was gaunt and pale as a clean, white napkin and his head was bald as an egg and shiny as the Queen’s crown jewels.  His eyes were large and round like an owl’s with icy blue irises.  He was somewhere between old and young.  He had the youthful appearance of a thirty-year-old man but a cane with a lion’s head on it and the way he walked with it he could have passed for fifty. 

“Ah.  Vee-eye-gee-gee-eye-ay-en-eye?” the receptionist spelled.

“Yes.  Maxwell Viggiani.”

“Alright sir.  You can go right up.  It’s room number---“

“Thank you,” he said, cutting her off.  He turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.  It was nothing like the elevator in the ministry, where he’d worked when he’d still had hair that is.  He was forty-two and his hair had, since his teenaged years, fallen clean out of his head.  Every day since the day he’d turned forty, his hair had grown gray and day by day he found at least five hairs on his pillow. 

He stood quietly in the elevator, waiting…waiting.

At his floor he got out, traveled down the maroon carpeted corridor to the door marked, Andrade, D.  He knocked solidly two times.

“Come in…”

Donavan Andrade was nowhere near as old as Maxwell.  His hair was not graying and he was much more attractive.  Smooth, mark brown hair and light, amber eyes on a youthful pale face attached to a slim, fit body.  He sat in his chair, holding his time turner in his long fingers, staring at the sand lazily. 

“Mr. Andrade,” Maxwell said.  He addressed the younger man with reverent respect even though he was nearly twenty years younger.  At the tender age of twenty-five, Donavan Andrade was not a force to be reckoned with.

“Was is done, Maxwell?”

“It was done, my lord.”

“Close the door.”

“Yes sir.”

Hurriedly, Maxwell wen to close the door.  It clicked shut and the room was pitched into darkness. 

“Lumos,” Andrade whispered.  His wand lit at the tip, casting a bluish light over everything. 

“What was that for, my lord?”

“Ambiance, Maxwell.”

Maxwell nodded.  “I see.”

“Now tell me.  What have you learned?  Anything new?”

“Nothing really sir.  Harry Potter is to make another appearance at the Ministry but he still refuses to run.”

“Harry Potter is off our least concerns.  Anything else interesting?  A new Potter type?  We cannot allow what happened to the Dark Lord to happen to us.”

“No sir.”

“What have you accomplished then Maxwell?”

“Not much sir.  There isn’t much to accomplish.”

“Hm…”

The light flicked off and Viggiani heard Andrade’s chair scrape back from the desk.  “Out with you, Maxwell.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

He stood hurriedly, heading for the door.  His shin thumped into the coffee table and he winced.  His cane tapped lightly against the door and he yanked it open. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

Maxwell peered over his shoulder to see his boss lazily flipping the time turner with a small smirk on his face.  And then he was gone.