Kreacher popped in front of her, all pointed nose and ears, mean eyes, and yellowed teeth. "Honoured Bastard Mistress called?"
"Yes. Please get me a sharp knife and a healing potion." Moments later she held a wickedly sharp looking knife and a healing draught.
She nodded and turned back to Kreacher. "You are not to know where I am, or what I'm doing, for the next thirty minutes, understood?"
Kreacher grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Honoured Bastard Mistress is being sneaky again. Kreacher understands, Honoured Bastard Mistress."
Kreacher popped away.
Alex nodded to herself. When she'd been five, she'd taken to asking the elf to pop her just outside her then friends houses. A confused Sirius Black had randomly asked Kreacher where she was and blew a fuse when the elf had been forced to tell him. Since then, she'd always been very careful to make sure the elf didn't know anything that could get her into big trouble. That included rituals, dark magic, and anything to do with Lord Slytherin.
She padded across the library until she faced a bookcase that looked just like every other bookcase, took a deep breath, sliced open a cut on her palm and winced. It hurt. No, it really hurt. Tears forming in her eyes, she smeared the blood across the spine of the book titled Alchemic Transmutation Volume VIII — Maintaining Purity. The bookcase shivered, the books leapt from their shelves, woodwork slid and reformed itself, and in moments the bookcase become an archway of books, framing a solid looking door, also made from books.
Alex drank the healing potion and a wave of relief washed through her, pooled in her hand, and within moments, the cut was as though it had never been. Thank Morgana. She grasped the door handle, which looked to be made of two ornate looking book stoppers, and pushed.
Darkness greeted her. She stepped through in worshipful silence. The room was tiny. There were only two book shelves on either side of her and barely enough space from two people to comfortably move around in.
These books contained the Black family magic. The magic that only Blacks and their immediate families could cast, or that the family wanted only Blacks to be able to cast. It was part shrine, part incubation chamber and clearly hadn't been accessed in many years.
Alex idly wondered how many of the spells on the shelves had become actual Black family magic on her birth. The rule of three said that for a new spell to become family magic it had to pass through three generations of heirs without being used by any not of the family's blood. She was sure that her own father hadn't invented any spells that he hadn't immediately shared with the Lord Potter at least.
When she eventually had children…one day… a long, long time in the future… they wouldn't be getting anything new from their grandfather.
She sniffed bitterly and reached for an interesting looking tome named The Dendromancer's Doomsday Book.
Wings flittered.
Alexandra stiffened.
Something had moved just outside her field of vision. Then, suddenly, something grabbed her long black hair and started yanking it backwards.
She cried out, felt a small bite on her leg through her thin nightdress, heard a cacophony of little angry shouts, stumbled towards the door, grabbed at whatever was yanking on her hair, kicked off the thing on her leg, saw a little blue something fly into the wall, half fell through the door, slammed it shut behind her, flinched as she felt the thing in her hand bite down hard, and smashed it against the nearest bookshelf in retaliation. The thing smushed under force of her ritual empowered attack, sending blue gunk everywhere and all over her hand in particular.
Alex gasped for breath, her heart now beating a million beats a minute. Doxies! She gently cradled her bit hand, felt the bite on her leg rapidly turning enflamed, and glared at the now closed book-like door to the secret chamber of Black family magic. Damn it! She stamped her foot in frustration. Now what was she supposed to do? She needed to get this treated, but she couldn't ask Kreacher. He was under orders to tell her father if she got hurt. She couldn't go to St. Mungo's for the same reason.
But… there was someone who might be able to help. Alex's jaw firmed. She hated this, but there was nothing else for it. She darted downstairs, zipped to the floo, threw some floo powder into the fireplace, ducked her head into the fire and shouted, 'The Rookery!'
The living room of the Lovegoods faded into view and a regal and dignified looking man bearing more than a passing resemblance to Lord Malfoy crouched down to her eyesight and asked, "Do you know the meaning of life, young lady?!" in quite a loud voice.
Alex panicked. "I, what?"
The man crouched closer. important to rule or to serve?"
"Is
it
more
Alex sneezed on a bit of wood ash and resisted the urge to back off. "That's like asking if its more important to breathe in or out!"
"Then do you rule servitude, or serve leadership?"
a a
master follower
through through
"Either! It doesn't matter! Do whatever is needed!"
"Good." The man stood back up, suddenly all formality and politeness. "I am Xenophilius Lovegood, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Lovegood. How may I serve you?"
Alex hesitated. "I—"
"Alex!"
Luna bounded into view and skidded to a halt in front of her. "You're here! Oh, don't mind Daddy, he just gets a kick out of being all mysterious."
Lord Lovegood smiled and stepped back a few paces.
Alex suddenly realised her knees were starting to ache and both her leg and hand were flaming quite magnificently. "Ah, I… Lord Lovegood? Could I maybe speak to Luna in private for a few moments?"
Lord Lovegood nodded and retreated. "Luna, I got bit by a doxy and I can't go to the hospital. I can't let my Dad find out about this!"
Luna's eyes widened slightly. She nodded slowly. "One moment, Alex, I think I might have just what you need."
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