October 30th, 1991
Time, as it is known to do, moved on.
Severus has not been particularly warmer, nor have I. That is not who we are. No. We are snakes. Thus, over three weeks —or rather, nine mock-detentions, three potions classes, and three weekly House meetings— to say we have ‘opened up’ would be wholly incorrect. I am cold and I snipe at him –but now it is with tentative attachment. And he is the same, really. It is not as if he is the one who had a crisis of personality and stormed into my office saying wholly embarrassing revelations and crying.
Thus, aside from several pointed questions —that I tended to generally answer— and some questions I pointedly ignored, all was well. The darkness relating to Severus was not gone —that is not how one’s psyche functions— but it has felt more manageable. Less like I was a thief and more like perhaps just a swindler. Severus is attempting to convince I am not that either.
“Oh, bollocks, I can’t believe tomorrow is Halloween. Are you doing something?”
Now, however, a peculiar event is unfolding that has me forgetting much of my inner turmoil to focus on a rather more physical turmoil. As I was laying down after a run, Longbottom had decided to chat. Over the last two months, this had become common enough.
What was not common was that Millie and Daphne had responded.
“Longbottom, you cannot be serious,” Came Millie’s voice, ragged from exhaustion, “Why on Merlin’s beard do you call it Halloween?”
“It is Samhain ,” Interjected Daphne, her face contorted at the very thought of calling it anything else, “Does your family not celebrate? You are pureblooded.”
“Well —most of my House calls it that. Especially the muggleborns,” At Millie’s disbelieving face and Daphne’s snort, Longbottom decided to take another approach, “Besides, most of the Longbottom’s are elderly. Never been much for celebration.”
“Longbottom,” Daphne looked reluctant but eventually continued, “Are you telling me you have never participated in Samhain rites?”
“Augusta Longbottom is many things, but progressive isn’t something I would peg her as,” I mused.
“That’s because she’s not. My great aunt did the rite with her just a year or two ago,” Millie added, her eyes locked onto Longbottom’s sagging form, “Answer, Gryffindor. Have you performed Samhain sites?”
Longbottom let out a hiccup before biting his lip and shaking his head, red running across his cheeks and up to his ears, “Is it important?”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose as Daphne and Millie turned their attention to me. Malfoys tended to host the most popular rite events for Samhain and Yule. It’s why Mother asked which families I wanted to invite even though I couldn’t actually attend this year.
“Augusta is a hag,” I sighed, ignoring another hiccup from Longbottom, “Yes, you sod. Samhain is magic. It is incredibly important for building strength and stability. You at least participate in Yule?”
At his shuffle Millie ran her hand across her face, “Medea is right —Madam Longbottom is a failure of a guardian.”
“What are they? I… didn’t know.” He trembled, as if our ire was directed at him.
I felt a smile creep onto my face as I remembered the past Samhain rites at the Manor.
“Terribly powerful and wonderfully beautiful.”
Daphne’s laugh resounded across the morning fog, “Would you want to participate? It is a traditional pureblood rite —most of the half-bloods stopped doing it centuries back.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” Millie nodded.
Now it was my turn to be confused.
“What are you two talking about? Mother wouldn’t let me bring anything related to the rites.”
Daphne gave a, I daresay, sheepish smile, “It was supposed to be a surprise. Father sent enough supplies with one of my older cousins during a Hogsmeade trip. But,” she glanced towards Longbottom, a frown tainting her face at both the words and the implication, “Longbottom, you should embrace some traditions. At the very least call it Samhain —not whatever those mudbloods have got you saying .”
It was rather comical to watch Longbottom’s hesitation as he looked between the three snakes openly and actively telling him to participate —and to watch him flinch at the term ‘mudblood’. Daphne had always said it so casually and after the first month of him attempting to say something it seemed he had lost his nerve entirely.
Now his eyes were locked on mine. I could feel the tug of fate rolling through my magic. It wanted him to decline. It knew this could change everything for him.
Samhain is a time of magic and blood and power. Longbottom took five years to become powerful in elsewhere. It took him being faced with death and bloodshed and getting a new wand. This could be an avenue for him to explore —even if Samhain is not exempt from the more grotesque aspects of magic. An avenue that allows him to find a voice earlier.
“Uh, I’m—“ He took a breath, steadying himself, I felt my breath catch as I waited for his agreement, anticipation rising until—“Can I think about it?”
I didn’t deflate, but I was no longer focusing on Longbottom. Daphne rolled her eyes and Millie looked unsurprised, and I let a wry grin show, putting on a mask, “Longbottom, be a coward. It doesn’t matter to us.”
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“You have until eleven. Come to the dungeon entrance if you’ll join,” Daphne started to get up and I gave one more look at Longbottom, something akin to disappointment creeping in, before I got up and took my spot ahead of Daphne and Millie as we walked.
I took out a vial and downed my potion as we walked back to the dungeons to prepare for the day.
-
“Is that enough?” I was having trouble holding back my excitement as I watched Draco inspect the two vials Daphne had slid to us hidden within a jumper.
“Yes,” She humored me, “There is an expansion charm on each vial. It holds several dozen liters.”
“How did your father even get this?” Draco scrunched his nose, unexpectedly hesitant about our first Samhain with other snakes —outside the family, of course.
“Father met with a broker for some of the living dead and got a deal on buying bulk.” Daphne had a smug grin on her face, “Knockturn is a place of opportunity, after all.”
I took one of the vials from my brother, and laid it at the crevice of my book to hide it as I watched the viscous liquid roil.
“This Samhain is going to be amazing.” I sighed, running a finger down the side of the vial, before looking back to my the other two snakes, “Is it sanctioned by Snape or must we sneak out?”
Draco scowled and Daphne shrugged, “Supposedly, he turns a blind eye so long as there isn’t any actual sacrifice involved. And so long as everyone is back before daybreak.”
“Who all is coming?” I smiled as I leaned forward to rest my chin in my palm.
“Millie, obviously, the Bulstrodes have never not participated in Samhain. Pansy and Tracey, as well. Dorothea declined, but she says it’s not in opposition; she simply isn’t feeling well. Whatever.” Daphne turned to Draco, “Pretty much all the boys, yeah? Oh and those other three girls that room with Tracey are joining.”
“Are you telling me we’ll have all but two first years in our circle? Nearly twenty witches and wizards?” I sighed delightedly, “Who will lead?”
Draco snorted and Daphne grinned, “Only the most esteemed Slytherin, of course.”
“Adrian Pucey?” I sniped, eyes sparkling.
My brother gagged and Daphne cackled.
“You wish. The upper years are doing their own thing —but we’re all meeting up for merrymaking after the actual rites are finished.”
Merrymaking. What a tame way to say partying. Samhain has two crescendos. Most know of the usual night celebration on the 31st, but the proper celebrations begin as soon as the clock strikes midnight. In the early hours of the morning are the rites. Followed by merrymaking until daybreak. Then rest until nightfall. Then, more merrymaking —until finally 1st of November begins and Winter is summoned.
If all went as in elsewhere, it was fortunate we’ll be doing rites in the morning with a round of merrymaking —because the evening of Samhain sees the first of many machinations of the Dark Lord and will disrupt the night celebrations. How annoying.
“You, you hag —this surprise is for you!” Daphne grinned as she slid one more item into my hands.
A crown of thorns.
Once again, I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.
I had always loved Samhain, and Mother and Father always held a more moderate rite for Draco and I.
This would be the real deal. I could feel my blood jump in my veins. Less than twelve hours to midnight.
-
“I didn’t bring a ritual outfit,” I whispered in horror as I pulled outfit after outfit from my expanding trunk.
Green robes, a royal blue ball gown, a sleek suit with an outer robe, several sets of iridescent shawls, even a fur coat. No ritual robes.
The closest I had was a silver cloak with a silver clasp molded into the form of an ouroboros —a serpent wrapped into a spiral, eating its own tail. It was as close to a quick release ritual robe as I would get.
I slid out of my school robes and wrapped the silver cloak around my shoulders, leaving my body bare beneath.
“What do you think?” I turned to look at Pansy, her hands frozen as she fastened her crimson ritual garment around her shoulders.
“Medea,” She looked from my bare feet, to where the cloak hung close to my skin, examining the opening that kept my naked skin covered, until settling on the fresh curls I had spelled into my ice white hair. She had insisted on braiding in strands of silver into my hair and charming my makeup to be a pale blue to offset the steel of my eyes, “Where is the crown? You need the crown.”
“It’s here! Here!” Daphne hurried over, her composure barely regained as she spelled the crown to sit lightly on my head. She took a breath, before- “Beautiful.”
Daphne was in a charcoal ritual robe that looked similar to Millie’s, and as the meow of a cat rang out Millie barked from the door, “It’s eleven. It’s time to head to the forest.”
With a quick sticking charm on my cloak to ensure it kept closed as we walked, it did not escape me that Longbottom never showed. Nevertheless, Samhain is sacred and his absence couldn’t so much as dampen the fleeting thought that acknowledged his failure to attend.
One would think that such a large group would make an equally large amount of noise as they left through the castle. In actuality, only the first years were in the common room at eleven and making their way through the castle. The upper years had planned it as such to give us plenty of time to leave. The rest headed into the forest in year groups ranging from ten to twenty snakes.
Thus, we found ourselves in a group of seventeen —it appeared one of the first year boys hadn’t attended after all. All in cloaks and ritual robes, our wands in our left hand and vials —from not just the Greengrass patriarch but many other families— in our right hands.
It would appear all of the year group was in on the surprise. For me. I felt something warm well up in my chest and quickly pushed it back into the far reaches of my mind.
We were a forty minutes walk from the castle, with green fairy lights sparkling around us —a protective field some of the seventh years set up along the path and into the clearing to keep us safe during the rites.
Midnight was nearing. Samhain would begin in earnest soon. Thus, I began my role, taking on the empowered voice of magic —usually reserved for incantations, my voice morphed into power . I lifted my wand.
“Gather all ye witches and wizards, for the Rite of Samhain.”
As the myriad of first years began to circle around me, laughs like tinkling bells began spreading around the clearing.
“Tonight we gather in magic and power and blood, thrice over.”
The circle raised their wands. Where my brother or Daphne or even Pansy stood I was unsure, in the moment. Magic began to gather in silver lights at the tip of each wand. Building and building —until I sent a stream of silver hurdling through the air.
The silver ribbon circled and rolled and coiled as it darted from wand to wand collecting the magic. Strictly speaking, I was not directing it. Samhain was a time for ghouls and ghosts and wraiths to assume material forms in the mortal realm. It was a time when the limits of magic were relieved. Thus, something other was truly directing the ribbon. I was simply funneling the magic to fuel it.
“We offer our magic to the fae, to feast upon.”
The silver ribbon grew longer with every mote of magic it collected.
“We offer our power to the spirits, to use as your own.”
The tinkling laughter continued —but was joined with wails, and dark chuckles, and ethereal song.
“We offer the blood of mortal realms in exchange for the threefold sacrifice once owed, as a gift unbound by hospitality.”
And so the vials opened themselves and the cloaks and robes of the witches and wizards gathered billowed back —exposing bare skin beneath. But no one paid attention to the nakedness. It was the blood that mattered.
And it began with mine.
The crown of thorns tightened on my forehead, drawing my own blood. Drops trailed from my forehead as the liquid in the vials began lifting into the air and gathering over each witch and wizard.
And then we were bathed in blood.
As was the way of Samhain.