Opheliac

“Amelie, stop that!” Ai bit out over her cup of whiskey. “You’re making
me dizzy!”
The blonde paused for a brief moment, just long enough to throw a glare
at her Asian friend, before turning on her heel and continuing on in
her pacing.
“Pssh,” she hissed. “I’ll stop when I get some damn answers. I want to
know what the hell is going on!” she suddenly yelled, throwing her
fists up in frustration.
One man, presumably one of the house members, chose that particularly
bad moment to enter the room. “How are you kiddies do-WHAT
THE-AHHHGHHH!”
“I demand answers, and I demand them now!” the raging girl growled,
grabbing the man by his long black hair and proceeding to strangle him
with it.
“Gaaah!” he choked out, grey eyes flashing in a mixture of surprise,
anger and fear.
“Amelie! Stop that!!!” Ai screeched, lunging over the dining table at
the couple.
Only when Amelie had a psychotic Asian girl on her back and pounding on
her head did she let go.
“Ow! OW! Geroff!!” she cried out, arms flailing about.
She hit the ground with a thud.
“Ha! I win!!” Ai cried victoriously, pumping her fist in the air.
The sound of a man coughing frantically for breath had her running to
Sirius’ side.
“Are you okay? Did that mean, nasty girl hurt you?” she soothed,
petting his hair and cradling him to her chest.
His coughing subsided, and with a raised eyebrow, let her continue.
“I’m good. Perfect, actually.”
“Damn you!” Amelie cursed from where she lay on the ground, panting for
breath.
Ai glared at her. “Why would you ever want to kill the sexiness that is
Sirius?” she exclaimed, shock apparent on her features.
“Well, I want answers. He can give them,” Amelie stated simply.
“Ok…”
“Plus, I’m not sober.”
“But he’s still no use to you if he’s DEAD.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to be thinking that clearly. I’m not that
quick.”
“It’s kind of obvious that the dead can’t give you answers.”
“Too right you are,” a voice said from the doorway of the dining room.
Both girls looked up, startled. An old man, with long white hair and a
matching beard, dressed in outlandishly patterned robes, stood before
them, his blue eye twinkling omnisciently. He was flanked by at least a
dozen other people of varying ages.
“And who are you?!” Amelie cried, finally getting to her feet. This was
getting to be too much.
“Forgive me, we have not been properly introduced,” the old man said.
“I am Albus Dumbledore. The man with the answers.”
He held out a wrinkled hand to her, gaudy black ring catching in the
dim light.
After a small hesitation, she stuck out her hand. “Amelie Autumn,” she
said, and placed her hand in his.
A shock went through her, as if a bolt of electricity had just shot up
her arm. The ring on Dumbledore’s hand flashed once. Twice. Glowed a
dazzling white, blinding them with it’s intensity, before dying back
down
to the dull onyx it had been before.
Amelie jerked her hand back, brown eyes wide and bulging. She stumbled
back a few steps, running into a chair and toppling over again.
The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to grow brighter. “Ah,” he
said. “It would seem that the Peverell family ring has found it’s
remaining
descendant at last.”
“Peva-wha?”
Dumbledore pulled out a chair and gestured for Amelie to sit. “Please.
I think it’s time for explanations.”
Ai reluctantly moved away from Sirius and helped her friend to her
feet. They took their seats beside a sleeping Gemma, who they nudged
awake,
and turned their attentions fully on Dumbledore.
He waited for the rest of his group to take seats at the long dining
table, before starting in on his tale. “This ring that I wear,” he
gestured to the black ring, “is an old heirloom to the Peverell family,
the
purest wizarding family in England. Now, before you interrupt,” he
said,
as the three girls opened their mouths to argue, “yes, there are such
things as magic, wizards and witches.” He pulled a stick from his
robes.
A stick like the ‘Death Eaters’ had been using. “This is a wand. This
is what most wizards use in order to perform magic.” With a small
flick,
a tray of drinks appeared on the table. “Please, have something to
drink. I fear this may be a long story.”
“Whoa,” Ai said, taking a glass with an expression of awe.
Gemma blinked at Dumbledore, jaw slack, before taking a glass of her
own.
Amelie continued to sit there, almost in a catatonic state, she was so
shocked. “What does this have to do with me?”
Dumbledore smiled apologetically. “The Peverell ring only recognizes
one of it’s descendents by flashing as it did so a few moments ago. I
am
afraid, my dear, that means you are a Peverell. THE Amelie Peverell, if
I’m not mistaken. Your mother, Eris, and your father, Holan, were
unfortunately killed by an evil wizard when you were but a year old. I
was
sent a letter along with this ring explaining that you had been hidden
in a muggle orphanage. I have spent 16 years trying to find the
rightful
owner of the ring, you, but to no avail. And now here you are.”
“But- I mean- I can’t be a witch. I don’t have magical powers,” Amelie
insisted, grasping at anything she can.
Dumbledore handed her his wand. “Try a little wave,” he said, with his
ever-present, damned, twinkling eyes that were really beginning to bug
her.
Eyeing the wand as if it were some deadly snake about to attack, she
took it, a waved it a little. Sparks flew out the end and a vase on the
mantle of the fireplace exploded. With a jump, she dropped the wand on
the table.
“Holy, oh, God!” she cried. “That was-”
“Magic, Ms. Peverell,” he finished for her, gently taking his wand back
from beneath her trembling hands. “That is the proof that you are who I
believed.”
“Now, you’re telling me that there’s this whole society of magic people
out there that we never knew about,” Ai broke in, leaning forward
eagerly. “And Amelie is one of them? How could we not have known?”
“Our Ministy of Magic is quite proficient at cover-ups,” Dumbledore
replied grimly.
At their confused looks, he went on. “I believe there is much more
explaining to do. This will take a while.”

Hours later, the girls lay in their loaned bedroom, wide awake, still
mulling over the information they had heard. They were now up to date
on
the wizarding schools, the Ministry, the current war and Harry’s part
in it. But most of all, Amelie was stuck on her heritage. The story of
her parents’ demise. Eris Malfoy and Holan Peverell brutally murdered
by
Lord Voldemort, solely because they carried the Peverell blood in their
veins. Because he wanted no one connected to him by blood. And soon he
would know she had been found, and she would be killed as well.
It seemed like just a few hours ago, her only worry had been
remembering lyrics to her songs while performing in front of thousands.
It HAD
been hours ago. And now her life was in danger. She was a witch. Born
to
parents she had never known. And was to be trained and schooled for a
war that she wanted no part in but had no choice.
She would never be able to sleep with this kind of pressure weighing
upon her shoulders. She needed to do something. She needed to write.
She
needed to sing.
Quietly as she could, she slipped out of the bedroom and down the
hallway, carefully peeking into doors at random. At last, she found
what she
had been looking for. A small study. And there in the middle was an
old, extremely dusty piano. It would do.
She sat down on the crickety bench and blew off the keys.
She sneezed.
“Damn. Ignore that,” she muttered, deciding she could handle a bit of
dust upon her fingers and took to playing the untuned piano the best
she
could, writing up a new song in her head as she did so.


“Absynthe and Marigold
Make a good spell I'm told
Takes one away from the everyday place
Wormwood and Licorice
Cater to every wish
Rest for a moment and hide from the chase

Run from the meadowland
Rise up from the depths
Of the shallow white river that weighs my dress down
Out of the chimney I'm on my best broomstick
As smoke fills the sky close your eyes
Sleep little town

For the Absynthe flows like wine where I'm going
They say there's a demon
There probably is
But I've met the best of them
Keep the fire burning if you want to
I'll tell you when I get home if I do
Now close your eyes
And fly away to where they are dancing

When the sun sets behind the hill
I'll journey on until
I reach a circle of stones standing tall
Lit by a full moon
As bright as the high noon
And now a transparent veil covers us all

Start up the chanting
We sing a little louder
And try to forget what just won't go away
As the shadows grow larger
I'll let all my hair down
And lift up my eyes to the heavens
How shall I pray

For the Absynthe flows like wine where I'm going
They say there's a demon
There probably is
But I've met the best of them
Married them, slept with them and
Damned if I'm frightened away by the rest of them
When I close my eyes
I'll fly away

Poor Jane Brooks
Keep your apples to yourself
They're not too familiar with fruit of your taste
When you untie the winds
Let them fight against churches
And palaces, pyramids
Acting in hast
The ceremony of my seduction
Is not my illusion
I'll show you a thousand graves
Covered in aspen
You paranoid people
I'll make you believe
I'll make you believe
I'll make you believe
What you want to

Rosemary, Maidenhair
Wolfbane and maidens fair
Whisper the secrets we hid in the night
Call Horse and Hattock
Grimalkin and Paddock
I'll leave you the Columbine
Now to the flight

Summon the Spirit
For the town below is stirring
And say the words this world has no right to know
In the Kingdom of Darkness
I'll bow to another lord
Hear now the word
But you'll never find where I go

For the Absynthe flows like wine where I'm going
They say there's a demon
There probably is
But I'll be the end of them
Go on and send for them
So burn me and break me
You know I'll pretend for them
When I close my eyes

I shall goe intill ane catt
With sorrow and sych and a blak shott
And I shall goe in the Devellis nam
Ay will I com hom again”


“What in the bloody hell is this racket?!” a low, baritone voice
drolled
from the hallway.
The study door burst open and hit the wall. The voice fit the man
perfectly. The greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed, sneering man
that
was just now looking at her as if she were scum beneath his shoe.
She whipped around and gaped at him, as her foot caught on the bench
and toppled her over. “Who-wha?”
“Insufferable girl,” he said, disdain evident in every fiber of his
being. “Do you have no respect for those who are trying to work?”
“Snarky git,” she shot back, “Do YOU have no respect for those of the
same reason?”
“Excuse me,” he hissed, baring his yellowing teeth. “Just who do you
think you are?”
She stalked past him, nose in the air. “Someone who knows the meaning
of personal hygiene,” she spat, before stalking back to her room.
He stood there sputtering for a moment, before growling out,
“Ungrateful little chit,” and slamming the study door shut behind him.

After she got comfortable on her bed, all Amelie could think
was...'Damn, I don't know what's gotten into me, but he's fucking HOT!'