The Hepatic Hex

Prologue

The aging woman advanced on the cottage on the far western outskirts of the village. It is a long forgotten and much neglected magical community within the rolling hillsides of Scotland’s rural landscape. In years gone by, the ancient stone ruins, which surround the district, were once the most powerful of the stone circles in not only Great Britain- but also the entire world. The magic that was mastered and manipulated by the witches and wizards of that era, although once prolific has now been disposed of in all but the most ancient of texts. With the move towards incantation coupled with wand gestures in the belief that they “concentrated” magical energy, pure earth magic was largely considered to be a slow and feeble means. In truth it was anything but. Although the result of wand usage was immediate, relyin the the ability of a piece of wood to manipulate magical forces led to laziness amongst the wizarding world as a whole and a gradual dilution of magical reserves and knowledge.

The decline in ability and knowledge is what has led to the current situation she muses to herself as she continues up the white stone path, glowing under the moon just like the cottage radiated in the ancient Earth magic it was protected by.

\'The current situation.\' A gentle euphemism for a dire state of affairs. The magical world was in a state of turmoil held on its knees for the past 50 years by one wizard who chose wisely not to neglect the ancient ways.

Tom Riddle- also known as Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort’s agenda was simple really, and not one she disagreed with. To rid the world of half bloods, Mudbloods (those magical folk with no magical ancestry) and most importantly Muggles (everyday worthless, pathetic non-magical folk).

The woman had waited in the shadows and the Muggle world for 50 years for Voldemort to achieve his goal. But over time his focus became obscured and his obsession had now become to kill that Potter kid in the belief that the magical world would disintegrate and allow for his dominance to be unrivaled and unquestioned once \'The-Boy-Who-Lived\' was no more. But Potter who was now in his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was still alive. She had assumed that Voldemort’s delay was because that he was biding his time until the boy’s 18th birthday, when he was of age and his power come full strength. If Voldemort destroyed Potter at this time, he could harness the boys magical energies for himself and in such become the most powerful wizard in history, surpassing even the great Merlin. Potters birthday had been 2 days ago and still the boy was very much alive.

Voldemort was obviously weaker than she had thought and his lack of action 2 days ago had been the last straw for her.

The woman was a witch who was a direct ancestor to Mab and Nimue from the time of King Arthur, so not only was she powerful, she had more right to lead the world, both magical and Muggle than Voldemort. For 50 years she lived hidden from the magical world and had assumed the guise as a lecturer in Human Anatomy and Physiology in a Muggle university, waiting for the time Voldemort had succeed with his plans so that she could claim her rightful place as Queen of the Dark next to him.

He had stuffed up, failed and really pissed her of. So now she was on a mission. She would not be content in just kicking his ass tonight.

“Tonight, Lord Voldemort will die” she said out aloud as she blasted the poorly maintained white washed door off its hinges.

Footsteps became louder and faster towards her as she strode confidently into a room bathed in candlelight. As the figure with the silver hand approached her she waved her hand dismissively and he flew backwards hitting the stone wall behind him and falling unceremoniously to the floor. She stood over the pathetic creature referred to by Voldemort as Wormtail and murmured an incantation. Wormtail’s still body suddenly bucked and convulsed violently but the only sounds to break the silence was the gurgling in the back of his throat as he choked on his own tongue. Two minutes passed until she was satisfied that Wormtail, born Peter Pettigrew was finally and deservedly dead.

Stepping over his twisted corpse she stood in the center of the room behind the chair of the reptilian creature who had a look of amusement on his face at the demise of his former servant.

“TOM RIDDLE” she yelled loud and clear, 50 years of anger and frustration apparent in her voice.

Slowly the chair turned around and she looked into the eyes of the serpent like creature that sat in front of her.

“Well”, started Voldemort. “I was wondering when I would see you again, my dear,” he hissed. “Together tonight we shall let the world know that Suzie Owen, my Queen has returned”.

She stood unfazed by his reaction to her and simply stated, “That we will my love, that we will”.