The Moon Has Spoken

The troubled waters washed mercilessly the base of the cliff. The Ocean, grayish sometimes, but mostly of a dark blue color, showed all of its rage, as if it wanted to tear down the house that insolently crowned the cliff, framed by the Sky’s bright hues of purple and crimson.
A small figure, wrapped in a long black cloak was climbing up the tortuous path, pausing every now and then to release the hem of her cloak from the thorns in the way.

It hurt…

And it would always hurt. It was Destiny.

Cold wind was blowing. The dark figure was suddenly surrounded by a thick fog, and the wolves howled. But she kept going. She feared no wolves…
For no wolf was as frightening as the Wail of the Banshee.

The cloaked figure stopped in front of a wooden gate and helf out a small, pale hand to push it open. She glided inside, removed her cloak and hung it on a chair. The hearth cracked merrily and the hound was sitting in front of it, not moving, gazing intently at the flames.

“Ceo, I have arrived”.

A quiet whisper was heard, and all of the sudden, as usual, a gray haired woman came out of the shadows clutchin an old parchment in her wrinkled hand.

“Same thing as always has happened, I presume”, she croaked.

“Yes. Same thing…”

“Sit down, Oidhche”, Ceo said. “Your sister shall join us soon”.

Oidhche did as she was told. Ceo put a heavy cauldron to the fire and begun stirring its contents with a large wooden spoon.

Then a loud, echoing bang was heard.

“That must be her”, Ceo asserted. She put the spoon aside but the door opened of its own volition to make way to Oidhche’s reflection… The the cause of their Rejection.

But that was not it, Ceo told herself. It was not only the unbelievable similarity between Oidhche and Báistighe, it was not only the fact that they had been born the same fateful day the cause of their disownment. Oidhche and Báistighe were different. They were like Ceo. And the Family, as the Druids, feared what they could not understand.

“I have heard the wolves”, Báistighe spoke. “Have you, my sister?”

“As well. I believe…”

“A soul”, Ceo cut in, “A soul shall perish tonight”.

Both sisters turned their heards to look at Ceo, but she went back to her cauldron, ignoring them.

“Did the Moon tell you…?”, Oidhche begun, but the Wail didn’t let her finish.

“You have heard that”, Ceo said then. “The Wail of Death. That’s the Banshee”.

“But we—”, Oidhche objected.

“You have not yet learned to tell from Night of Death and Night of Life, my daughters”.

And after saying so, Ceo went silent.

“I have gone to see the Druids”, Báistighe spoke suddenly. “Ceo, you are right. Someone shall die tonight. It can be Oidhche… Or it could be me”.

“What have you said, you foolish girl?”, Ceo hissed.

“I am merely telling you what the Druids told me”.

“Did they not refuse to see you?”

“Oh, in the beginning! They insulted me, and cursed me, of course”, Báistighe said with a light smile. “But then, out of the blue… They have let me pass to see the Druid”.

“And… He said…?” asked Ceo, curious now.

“Oidhche and myself are not allowed to exist”, said Báistighe evokingly. “It is not usual. Hence, The Banshee has chosen one of us to become her heiress. The other one… shall perish, for her blood will bring life to the new Banshee. That is… what the Druid has said, Ceo.”

Ceo only shook her head, her expression unfathomable. Oidhche fixed her gaze on her, but said nothing.

“However”, Báistighe added, “they have not said yet who it is that shall perish. The Banshee will wail at midnight… and she will chose”.

“Not Báistighe…”, Oidche mumbled to herself.

“Oidhche”, her sister replied, faithful echo.

“Then, all we can do is wait”, Ceo said.

And she drifted back to her memories, as the Wolf howled, marking her words.

~§~

It was Samhain; the Family anxiously waited for the Birth of the Heir, amongst the rites and celebrations. But the Druids disowned the Mother for she had given birth to the Daughters of the Banshee.

They dared not sacrifice them; they all feared the Banshee, even the Druids. Instead, the Mother was sentenced to die as a noblewoman, in the Circle of Fire. The Druids, with a sharp stone performed deep cuts from her shoulders to her wrists, tied her hands to her back and made her kneel, dressed with her ceremonial robe, among the flaming logs.

“You die as a noblewoman, Fairrge, wife of Fearg”, the Druid chanted, “for you have only been a victim of the Banshee. She has chosen you to carry her creatures in your womb. We, the Druids, are hereby preventing you the pain of beholding what you’ve helped to create, and thus condemning you”.
The Mother remained silent and insensible to The Druids’ homily, and it didn’t take long for her to die. Several years later, people still muttered respectfully as they passed through the remains of the Circle of Fire, for the legend said that, right before collapsing, Fairrge had laughed, with a cackle like no one have ever heard before; it made the drums rumble and the tripods had fallen, killing the Great Bard…
And no matter how hard they had tried, no one had been able yet able to remove the smoldered logs.

Ceo took care of the Daughters of the Banshee. She named them Oidhche and Báistighe, true to the old tradition that said babies should be named after the Nature and its circumstances on the day of their birth. And it had been a stormy night.

She didn’t take them to the Mistletoe Caves, that had been her home for more years than she could count. Instead, Ceo took the Disowned to the House on the Cliff, and it was there where they grew up, away from the Family.

Until Ghaoth appeared.

He was a very respected member of the family, direct descendant of the Great Bard that had been killed the same night as Fairrge. Ghaoth himself had been ten years of age at the time.
Ceo knew all of this. And she knew as well that he was predestined to one of the Daughters of the Banshee.

That is why she trembled when she saw him coming, riding a black horse, fruitlessly searching for his hunting mates, ending up at their door, meeting at last the Daughters of the Banshee and the old woman watching over them.
Ceo had seen the Full Moon and heard the Wolf howl; she knew that encounter was to bring fatal consequencies…

From that day on, Ghaoth was not the same; The Family did not know him anymore, nor they could understand his demeanor. Ghaoth would mumble all day long, whispering lexis that sounded taken from an old incantation, always ending with the same word: “Oidhche”.

Night, that’s what it meant, and that they knew. But, the incantation…?

It meant, even though the Family only knew at the Sacrifice Night, his husband’s vows to the Daughter of the Banshee, whom he had married, endowed by his own power as a Bard’s son.

They both believed that no one else knew, but themselves and Báistighe…


But one of Ceo’s virtues was to know it all.

~§~

“The Wolf is howling, Ceo”, Báistighe announced, bringing her back from her reflections.

“It is almost Midnight”, Oidhche added.

“Then, you shall get prepared”, Ceo said, piercing Oidhche with her inquiring gaze.

“Yes, Ceo?” , she asked.

“You must bid farewell to your husband”, the old woman said. “And your son… he shall perish as well”.
Oidhche showed no astonishment. She wrapped herself in her cloak and went outside, to the fierce wind (Ghaoth…), that seemed to urge the ocean to hit the cliff harder with each wave.
Ghaoth appeared out of the blue, along with the shrieking wind, maybe the same airstream that had extinguished the flames on the Mother’s body, maybe the sameone that had blown the day of his birth, maybe the one that had given him his name.
Oidhche said nothing, just pointed at the Moon and showed her face to Ghaoth. She had been Marked.
Ghaoth knew what was bound to happen when the Banshee wailed at Midnight. And hew Oew Oidhche was not the Chosen One. Why was she marked, then?

“We both carry the Mark”, Oidhche replied, hearing his thoughts. “We’re both her heiresses.
Ghaoth trembled and he said with hoarse voice:

“It will not be an honorable death”.

“I know. The Chosen One will be killed by The Family… But the new Banshee shall avenge her blood”.

Ghaoth remained silent. He stared at Oidhche intently, as if he wanted to imprint her image into his memories forever.

“The fate of your Heir has been written as well”, his wife spoke, always looking to the Moon, “and his death has been pronounced before his birth”.

She took and amulet from her neck, mumbling strange words as she raised it towards the Moon, wind jumbling her cloak and hair. She then handed the amulet over to her husband.


And then they heard the Wail of the Banshee.


Báistighe was the Chosen One. She lay on a Funeral Pyre , hands and feet bound, celtic eyes fixed on the Moon, not caring, nor hearing, the insults of The Family.
She was still alive, but she was not there anymore.

The young Bard received the sword from the Druid’s hands, and was carried along towards the pire in a chair held by four warriers. Ghaoth raised the sword above hea head and made it shine with the moonlight. The priests rolled their drums, and the Druids invoked the gods.
Ghaoth let the sword fall and filled a bowl with the blood pouring from Báistighe’s neck. He descended from the pyre and offered Oidhche the bowl.

Ceo watched the whole scene from afar.

The priests lit the pyre and Báistighe’s body burned to ashes, that flew with the wind. Oidhche took the bowl from Ghaoth’s hands but instead of drinking it, she tossed it into the flames.
The Family, numb with bewilderment, gaped at the Daughter of the Banshee.

“I carry within me the Heir of the Bards!”, she cried. “Hear, oh, Family, and shudder! The Young Bard has married Oidhche, the Daughter of the Banshee! The Moon has spoken, oh, Family, and Death reigns tonight!
You have spilled my sister’s blood to bring the new Banshee toe. Be. But her blood gives me no life!”, Oidhche wailed. “She shall not die for me to live! Learn, Family, that when you slaughtered Báistighe, you’ve killed Oidhche as well!”

And Oidhche threw herself to the pyre, as Ghaoth’s searing lament rumbled through the night.

“You have betrayed us, Young Bard”, the Druid spoke, white faced, red eyed, mindless to his pain. “You have engendered a son with the Banshee, you have turned your back to your Blood, to your Father, and to his death, not avenged. You have…”

But Ghaoth was not listening. He kept his eyes fixed in Oidhche’s amulet. A spark flew from the pyre towards him, and Ghaoth did not realise he was dead until he watched his ashes mingle with Oidhche’s as they danced together in the wind, up to the sky, in the breaking of dawn.


~§~§~§~

Severus woke up, breathing heavily, his body matted with sweat, his hair a mess and his heart beating it’s way out of his chest.

Merlin, that dream had been so real…

They all were, in fact, but nonetheless, this particular one had been frightening for the dark meaning within it. Severus had quite a grasp on Muggle psychology and he knew all too well what his blasted subconscious was trying to tell him.

And, for the first time of his life, maybe, he was honest enough to admit someone besides the Dark Lord was actually fearsome.

Fiddler Green
Sh
She had been there as usual, but she wasn’t involved in her usual Muggle activities, nor was she snarling at someone, or perhaps using that blasted thing she called a PC, not even having a sip of wine in her bubblebath. He shivered with delight as he remembered just what that dream had done to him, and then cursed out loud and willed himself to remain focused.

The Moon has spoken.

The mere memory of those hoarsely spoken words made skinskin crawl, for he recalled his last chat with the Headmaster: the centaurs had approached him with news from the skies, and it wasn’t good news.

The Moon had spoken, indeed.

You have spilled my sister’s blood. Severus himself, as a Bard’s son, sacrifycing the maiden. The Druid, white-faced, red-eyed… The Dark Lord. He knew of Severus’ betrayal.
And the other “her”, the one with child, throwing herself willingly into the pyre and killing Severus’ bard-self in the process. He couldn’t fathom that last part, nor what did he had to do with it, but at least one mystery was solved; Fiddler Greene was a Banshee, and some part of him had known so all along. Her hair gave her away mercilessly.

He made up his mind. He had to see Albus. Right away.

Ever since his dreams of Fiddler had become a permanent attendance in his nights, Severus knew he would have to let the Headmasterw, aw, and more sooner than later.

But he had been renuent, for he found her presence soothing, after years of either sleepless nights or horrid nightmares, and he told himself he didn’t want to lose that blissful rest he’d become used to for over a month now. He knew Albus would take matters into his own hands and then he would lose his snapping, sarcastic, dark haired Miss Sandwoman forever.
And he couldn’t bring himself to let that happen.

Severus Snape wasn’t a man who usually dwelt in the past, nor did he roam about the treacherous paths of the what if’s. He hlwaylways accepted the consequences of his actions, and was willing to endure them. But he found himself wondering for the first time, had he stayed on the Dark Side, would he have had the chance of getting acquainted with Fiddler?
For he was sure now she was not a creation of his mind’s hidden longings. She was real, and she was dangerous. All the Muggle things he had always esseessed her doing only served to worry him the most, for he could only think of a reason that would bring a Banshee to the Muggle World. And that thought wasn’t pleasant.

He could put it off no longer. He throwed his legs out of the bed and walked slowly towards his bathroom, where he took a quick shower and got hastily dressed.
He was about to Floo to the Headmaster’s office when he felt the call of the Dark Lord. He grabbed his left arm convulsively and fell to his knees, breathing heavily through the searing pain. He waited until it subsided, leaing on the hearth for support.

“Nyx”, he called hoarsely. “Nyx, come here”.

A black wolf emerged from a shadowed corner and stalked elegantly towards Severus.

“Nyx”, he said again, patting her fur. He got to his feet slowly, and held out a shaking hand to the nearest bookshelve, from where he grabbed the Pensieve where he stored all his Fiddler-Dreams. He quickly added the last one, and then addressed to Nyx again.

“I must go”, he said. “Make sure this gets to Dumbledore”.

Nyx stared at him with yellowing eyes. She nodded slightly.
Severus turned on his heels and strode out of the Dungeons.

~§~

“What am I supposed to be seeing, pray tell?” Severus Snape asked, scowling at the crystal ball the Headmaster was gazing at.
He had returned from a Dark Revel and he was, to say the least, nauseated and exhausted. He had known all along, of course, there was still the matter of Fiddler to discuss, so his hopes weren’t up when he finally made it to the safety of his dungeons.

A letter from the Headmaster was waiting for him.

“Severus,
I have seen your Pensieve.
Please meet me at my office when you see it fit.”

He never wasted words, the Headmaster.

So there he was, sitting in front a cup of tea and a cristall, ll, trying very unsuccesfully to read the Headmaster’s thoughts.

“You shall see in a moment”, Albus Dumbledore replied, blinking calmly, but without looking at him. “Lemon drop?”

“No, thank you”.

“I wonder why everyone keeps rejecting them”.
Snape said nothing.

“Anything yet?”

“Honestly, Headmaster, if you think I share Trelawney’s dubious talent for babbling nonsense, you—“

“That’s her, though” Dumbledore interrupted, mg a g a shushing gesture with his hand.
Against his will, Severus Snape fixed his ferocious gaze on the crystal sphere, and he couldn’t tell whether he was bored or annoyed as he saw a figure through the fume.
“Ah, yes… She does indeed look like her mother.Wouldn’t you agree?”

Snape’s thin lips curled in disdain.

“How should I know?”

“Oh, dear man, you have eyes! Take a look at her and tell me what she looks like! Besides you, that is”. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement at the expression on Severus’ face.
Snape leaned forward for a better look and frowned.

“A Muggle?” he said with unhidden disdain.

“Oh, no, my boy, nothing of the sort! Look, Severus, look…”

So he did, and suddenly his sallow face grew blank and flat. It was Fiddler.

“I knew it wouldn’t take you too long”.

“How can it be?”, he asked harshly.

“Well, that certainly remains unclear. And Minerva couldn’t give much information as she hasn’t seen her brother in quite some time”.

“Minerva McGonagall? What does she have to do with anything?”

“Ah, she’s the girl’s aunt…”

Severus Snape wasn’t someone who got easily surprised, and when he actually was, he managed to hide it well.
He turned his eyes to the sphere and stared at the figure in it.
He didn’t notice when Albus Dumore ore moved his wand, and all of the sudden he felt the room spinning, and he clutched the sides of his ch des despite himself, to prevent from falling.
~§~

“Fiddler… Oi, Fiddler!”
hat?hat?”

“What yourself! You were staring at nothing…”

“Ah—Oh— Was I?”, Fiddler brushed impatiently a long strand of jet-black hair, and fixed her greenish-blue eyes on her friend.

“Sorry, Penny” she said. “I guess I was just daydreaming”.

“Met someone, have you?”

“Don’t make me laugh”. Fiddler snapped, going serious. “Come on, let’s go back to work. Mr. Dahl from bed 234 is giving everybody a hard time”.

“Still haven’t figured out what he’s got?”

“No… My guess is a mild case of hypochondriasis plus Lonely Bloke Syndrome, but if I say that to Dr. Allen, he’ll snap my neck”.

Penny laughed, then said appraisingly.

“Well, all you have to do is let him near that hair of yours and you’ll have him where you want”.

That comment earned a disdainful raised eyebrow.
“Most likely he’ll run out screaming, he will. My hair does nothing but scare the wits out of people”.

“Oh, Fiddler, but it is wonderful!”, Penny cried, looking at it enviously, and Fiddler knew, although she couldn’t say how, that Penny meant it.

“I am not so sure about that”, she said. “But really now I—”

“Doctor Greene!” someone called from behind them.

“Oh, for crying out loud, what now?” Fiddler muttered and turned to face the bloke.

“It’s an emergency—!”

“I should think so, since we ARE in the ER” Fiddler snarled, but turned on her heels and strodwardwards an open door, her white coat billowing behind her, her long black hair flying at her back.

The room became clearer as the spinning stopped and Severus eased his nuckle-white grip on his chair. He then shot an inquiring glance to the Headmaster.

“Well?” he asked.

“Oh, I would have thought you’d figure it out, Severus. I mean to say, with your upbringing, I figured you’d be rather quick on picking the signs”.

Severus gifted him with his trademark scowl.

“Well. So she is real. I had figured that much. But I cannot fathom why has she gained your utmost attention, Headmaster”. He begun. “As for her—features”, he said the word as if it pained him, “I know she’s a Banshee. That last dream was clear enough. But you said McGonagall’s brother had something to do with her?”

“Very well, my boy, now do the math” Dumbledore said with a chuckle.

Severus drew in a deep breath and added through gritted teeth:
e’s e’s a Half-breed, is she not?”

“Not ‘a Half-breed’, Severus; “THE” Half-Breed”.

A raised eyebrow greeted that remark.

“Simply splendid” Snape sneered. “Ruddy Harriet Potter, is she?”

Dumbledore gave a hearty laugh.

“Ah, Severus, you’ve hit the wound! No, lad, nothing of the sort. Although they do share some things… They were both brought up by muggles, but Fiddler has never been mistreated, though. Not to my knowledge, that is; she’s reached almost 26 years of age without acknowledge of her own astonishing powers, and yet… some of her… life circumstances seem to have occurred precisely because of them. Her profession, for instance.
Snape sneered.

“Muggle doctor, Merlin spare us”.

Dumbledore’s expression hardened.

“You’d be surprised of what they can do, let alone of what Doctor Greene actually does”.

“What, she heals people with her mind?” Snape snorted.

“She could do that, if only she knew she can”.

Severus fought very hard to keep his jaw from dropping.

“So you mean to say— She could actually… Is that why you’re keeping an eye on her?”

“No, she couldn’t actually defeat Voldemort” said Dumbledore as if he’d read Snape’s mind. “Harry will be doing that, as we all hope. But my sources tell me… She’s somehow linked to Harry, and hence, to Voldemort’s annihilation. And it’s because of that alone that I’ve come to a decision… Some rather interesting characters have started to focus on her”.
Snape gave a curt nod. He’d understood. Completely.

“She is to be brought at Hogwarts, Severus. As soon as it can be possible. We cannot afford to lose her” Dumbledore sighed, and then he added, as though as if he already knew what Snaas aas about to ask: “She’s full with Earth Magic, Severus. Earth magic and amazing intellect, no need for a wand there. Somehow she managed to inherit both the best part of her banshee and wizarding heritage. Ever been near a Banshee?”
Snape shaked his dark head.
“Ah well. You have certainly missed an overwhelming experience. I met one myself, long ago… Had to wear earmuffs, because her wailing was something of a tale, but I tell you you can actually feel the power flowing through her… It is amazing. Well, you’ll certainly feel it when you meet Fiddler”.

“Why didn’t you keep her here on the first place, Headmaster?” asked Severus.

“A rather good question, I say. We couldn’t find her. Her adoptive parents were close friends to Wallace McGonagall. They felt it in their heart to take care of his child when he died. And they hid her well. Until now”.

“And what happened to the B—Mother?”

“Died giving birth. I think it is the first time in history a Banshee has actually bore a wizard’s child; not to mention she bore it into full term and healthy birth”.

“I’ve certainly never heard of such a thing happening. And I’ve read a whole lot, mind”.

“Yes, it is a wonder. But then, Wally was always something of a strange fellow. He got in Minerva’s nerves, I say!” Dumbledore seemed amused.

“And she’s lived like a Muggle…”

“All her life, of, of course, she knows strange things happen all the time around her, and you’ve heard her, her features, or rather, that hair of hers, scares the wits out of the Muggles. After all, she’s in Ireland, and Banshees are well feared there. A reminder of our Auld Celt Era…”

Snape remained silent, thinking of what he’d just heard. The Headmaster was right, his own upbringing fully qualified him to recognize this Fiddler lassy for what she was. From a distant childhood he was starting to forget, Severus pitched some memories of his mother’s respectful celebrations and sober respect for the Wiccan Sabbats, the Candles, the Oils, the Herbs that were his very first contact with Potionmaking…

“That is correct, Severus” said Dumbledore, blue eyes twinking. “Oh, and she was born in Ostara”.
Snape glared at him, but he was fully aware of what the Headmaster meant.

“Yes… I am familiar with the tradition”, he replied. “Ostara. The Vernal Equinox. ‘Winter has passed, and those who have survived the harshness of the Darker Days celebrate… Life begins anew. I—Understand”.

“But do you? She was born in Ostara, and Harry… was born in Lughnassadh. When the Sun King, now Dark Lord, gives his energy to the crops to ensure life while the Mother prepares to give away to her aspect as the Crone—“

“Potter’s own mother”.

“Yes… And Fiddler. Their birthdates are linked, Dark Lord, Motherhood and the beginning of a new life… I must confess I don’t understand it, myself”. Dumbledore sighed once more, and struggling with what it seemed to be the millionth lemon drop, he concluded: “However, we must see that Fiddler finds her safe way here”.

A/N.

Ceo: Gaelic for “Fog”.
Oidhche: Gaelic for “Night”.
Báistighe: Gaelic for “Rain”.
Ghaoth: Gaelic for “Wind”.
Nyx: Greek for “Night”.
Ostara: Wiccan Festival, celebration of the Vernal Equinox, held on March 21. The spring Equinox is the point of equilibrium, the balance is suspended just before springs bursts forth from winter. The God and Goddess are young children at play.
Lughnassadh: Or August Eve, the Celtic Festival in honor of the Sun God, is held on July 31th. It also happens to be HP’s b-day. It’s the celebration of the first fruits of the harvest. The Sun King, now Dark Lord, gives his energy to the crops to ensure life while the Mother prepares ive ive away to her aspect as the Crone.
I think the underlying meaning is quite interesting…
Please review!!!!