Amelia Riddle and the Serpents Stone

In the days following the tragic end of Lily and James Potter, the wizarding world would come to know the young toddler, Harry Potter, as The Boy Who Lived, and the defeated dark lord, Voldemort, was officially titled He Who Must Not Be Named.

In a hidden room within the brick walls of the Hog's Head Inn, Amelia read allowed these new and former titles from the Daily Prophet to her reptilian companion in the ghoulish tones of parseltongue. The snake seemed to find this most amusing, because Drei began to chortle through his small throat in a strange hissing fashion. In the small kitchen where this abnormal conversation was happening, the disquieted form of Aberforth Dumbledore observed silently from across the room. Though it wasn't shocking to learn the witch was a parselmouth, a witch gifted with the tongue of lizards, to observe her perform the feat with a willing partner was most unnerving for the old wizard. Amelia had informed him of her snake familiar when he'd shown her the guest room two days ago, and though he hadn't spoken against harboring the reptilian creature, Aberforth had made it clear he wanted as little to do with it as possible. So far, the snake had been no issue.

Next to the chair in which Amelia and Drei resided, the small creature Ribky appeared, carrying two steaming mugs. The austere little elf set one upon the coffee table before her mistress, and took the other mug with her to the other side of the table. With a twirl of a finger the elf was lifted by an invisible force and set on the cushion of the mundane couch facing Amelia and Drei, and sipped at the steaming liquid.

With an acknowledging nod, Amelia grabbed the drink and lifted it to her lips. She sighed as she smelled the contents of the mug and partook of whatever the elf had made. Drei waited impatiently for his mistress to finish and continue reading the words of the Daily Prophet. When she took too long he nudged her hand with his nose. He did this twice before she noticed, and once she did she put the mug down and returned to reading the paper out loud in hissing tones. On the couch, though she couldn't understand, Ribky closed her eyes and listened to her mistress speak. The jarring language seemed to almost calm the elf.

Still silently observing, Aberforth found himself mesmerized by the odd trio. Not forty eight hours ago the witch had broken into his Inn and seemed to flip his world upside down. They had yet to discuss the contents of Rawena Maleficum's letter, and to be honest, he had been avoiding it. The facts within the letter were earth shattering alone, and he knew he'd only learned the surface of what was happening here. If it were any other person who'd written the letter, any other, Aberforth wouldn't have believed them. There were few things in the world the old wizard trusted, and Rawena was the only person amongst them.

It was a while before Aberforth realized that the room had grown quiet. When he did, he found the sharp sterling eyes of Amelia resting on him expectantly. The old wizard coughed to cover up a sharp intake of breath and stroked his long grey beard in a comforting manner.

"I believe that it is time we… get to know each other," He said. The witch smiled softly in a patient manner. With a grace that Aberforth found unexpected, Amelia gestured towards the couch across from her. Even though the room was not hers, the invitation helped to quiet his nerves. He looked over to catch the elf mid way through scooting to the other side of the couch, giving him room. He sat in the designated spot, careful not to land too heavily and shake the small creature. As Aberforth prepared to speak, Amelia raised a hand to stall him.

"Before you are to ask any questions, I would like to say a few things, if I may?" her voice was calm and soothing as she spoke. Aberforth was quick to recognize that the witch knew how to control the mood of the room. Acting calm in order to gain his compliance and understanding; a tactic he was intimately familiar with. An uncontrollable sneer took over Aberforth's face. Amelia noticed, but didn't comment or react in any way. Taking a deep breath, Amelia set her mug down on the coffee table and situated herself back into the chair. The striking black snake curled around her neck and set its head below her ear in a familiar manner.

"Rawena has informed you of who I am, and when I come from," she stated, not needing any confirmation on the letter's content, "She has also told you of my lineage and how I came into her care. You are the only one Rawena could trust, and the only one I can trust. The Order can not find out who I am, not yet. Especially not it's leader," at this, Aberforth's scowl began to slowly fade away. "The Dark Lord is not dead, and will return. Twice. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen, but I need to remain hidden. No one can know that I exist, Aberforth. No one, but you." With that, Amelia finished and sat back. No one moved for some time until Amelia leaned forward to grab her still steaming mug. Aberforth watched the movement absentmindedly. Many things were swinging around in the old wizard's head, but only one thing seemed to stand out in that moment.

"What of Rawena?" he asked. Amelia, the mug tilted towards her, paused a moment with her eyes rested on the rim before taking a slow sip. Suspicion sprouted instantly over Aberforth's weathered features. "She sent you back, why not back to herself?" Amelia slowly set the mug on the table, her eyes cast down. Her movement were slow, and her silence irksome to him. He was about to ask again when Amelia's eyes set on him.

"Because, she is needed elsewhere," was her cryptic answer. Aberforth was about to speak, but Amelia continued, "I don't even know where she is at this time, Aberforth. I'm sorry," Aberforth looked down and away, unaware of the woman's pitiful gaze. A quiet settled over the room. In the silence, Aberforth turned slowly towards the cracks and pops spiting out of the fireplace. Amelia's eyes watched as the elderly wizard's taunt shoulders stiffened. Mistrust replaced by irritation, at least for the moment.

"I see you've wasted no time in making yourself at home," Aberforth's stiff voice broke the silent tension. Amelia relaxed, her pity hidden away before the man turned. Rawena was left for later conversation, thank goodness. Amelia eyed the fireplace behind the darkened silhouette of her new guardian. How strange, what things could become saving graces. As if noticing her gratification, an ember popped, casting up a small display of white sparks.

Amelia smirked thoughtlessly, and Aberforth's silhouette visibly darkened, his countenance visually growling. For such a hermit, he was certainly observant. As rusty as the iron grate, who's remaining three arms were barely holding the two flaming logs, but observant still. Amelia hid her mirth behind another sip, eyes trained on the flames. In a reflective moment Amelia chided herself. Aberforth was as untrustworthy as Rawena had said, and, Amelia thought, glancing at the far wall, it's emptiness gaping, for good reason.

Amelia, mirth gone, put her mug down, as its contents were gone, none left to sip at. Spoke to soon. She watched as white liquid magically filled from within, sloshing around. She glanced at Ribky, who hid her own smile behind a long drink of her own. Her thanks was known and received.

"The fireplace was in such a deteriorated state, I assumed you hadn't a care for wether it was put to use or not," Amelia paused, ready to leave it with an apology, but the slight twitch of Aberforth's left nostril egged her on, "and Ribky's toes were ever so cold". Aberforth's scowl deepened as the seemingly unaware elf wiggled her tiny feet, which hung childishly off of the weathered cushion.

And warming charms are ever so difficult to cast, added Drei. Aberforth glanced at the charcoal creature dangling from Amelia's neck, some of his anger forgotten to trepidation. Amelia sighed. She glided a hand down Drei's tail along her right arm.

"I find the comforts of a homely fireplace more desirable than a practical warming charm, but that is personal preference," Amelia admitted, "Which, in your home, is something that comes second to yours, Aberforth. I apologize." Aberforth stared into Amelia's eyes, making some sort of inner decision. When whatever it was was made, he turned from her.

"It's a fireplace, it doesn't matter," he grumbled, shoulders hunching, as he meandered off to the side of the room with the vacant wall. Once again it's emptiness caught Amelia's attention. A large 3 1/2 by 6 inch lightened patch of wallpaper stood out awkwardly on the wall. At the top middle was a thick half bent nail, rusted as much as any other metal object in the house. Aberforth passed this and ended up before a console table, holding a deteriorated platter with very well maintained crystal tumblers and a small verity of well maintained crystal decanters.

Aberforth's hand grabbed the middle bottle of amber-rose liquid, pulling the stopper off with a satisfying pop. He poured himself a rather generous glass of - Amelia sniffed a few times before the draft pulled the smell towards her, bourbon. But not just any bourbon.

"Tennessee Bourbon," Amelia whispered. Rawena's preferred poison.

A glass of the dark liquid stilled halfway up to the man's mouth, before it was quickly lost within his stomach. He went to poor another, and began sipping instantly, not even bothering to close off the decanter. A rush of memories flew through Amelia's mind, many nights of empty words of comfort, a glass in another's hand and a mug in her own. Ribky sat next to her and put a hand on her arm, knowingly.

Amelia was pulled away as a sloshing tumbler in a wobbly hand was presented to her. The smell, as nostalgic as it made her, was not a sweet one, especially this close. Amelia's nose curled in on itself.

"Ah, thank you, Aberforth, but-" Amelia stopped, wide eyed, as the old man broke out in a loud chortle.

"I see she hadn't turned you towards her favorite hobby," he mused. He set the glass on the table before her, next to a forgotten mug. He stepped away and sat on the couch where Ribky had sat. He stared into the flames, which had softened since he last looked.

"Not without lack of trying," Amelia offered. Aberforth smirked at that, if not truly genuine, an acknowledgment all the same. Amelia glanced at the tumbler in front of her. Memories still fresh in her mind, Amelia thought, screw it. Taking up the glass she shot it back, but not quick enough. The burn hit the back of her throat and half the glass didn't make it before Amelia was spewing onto her lap.

Aberforth laughed from his spot, a low chortle of amusement that fit his rough looks. Amelia cast scourgify, clearing all remains of the liquid from her dress and the floor, while wiping her mouth with a napkin that had appear a la Ribky. A handy spell, but the smell still remained. With half the glass gone, still the other had made it down, reminding Amelia of its presence with furnace like heat, engulfing her stomach. Ribky flicked her wrist and the fireplace dimmed further, the radius pulling away from her grateful mistress.

"This is my personal preference," Aberforth said, holding his glass up in the air, looking as if he could see something in its amber depths. He downed the remainder of his drink. A few moments passed as his brow relaxed and his body sunk into the couch.

"It's," Amelia coughed, "effective." Aberforth nodded, eyes lost to whatever he saw before him. His image blurred away as tears filled Amelia's ducts after each cough. A minute later, composure gained, Amelia gulped down the rest of her mug.

"So, Rawena sent you back in time to make sure the worst never comes to pass. The return, second return of Tom Riddle," Aberforth said. "And so, she sent you to me." He went to take another swig of bourbon, but found the glass empty. A gentle flick of Ribky's wrist, and the tumbler filled a tiny bit, as the decanter drained in tandem. The bottle capped and drifted back to its designated spot on the tray. Aberforth nodded in thanks as he slowly slipped the remaining of his comfort.

"Why now?" he asked. It was quiet, spoken to the fire. "Why after the Potter's deaths? Why not before?"

"Lily and James Potter were not his first victims, Aberforth," Amelia said, causing the man to jump. He did not expect someone to respond to him. Speaking aloud to himself, a glass of bourbon in his hand, was routine. As was the life of a paranoid bachelor. Aberforth grimaced, sipping again.

"And not the last, I'd recon," he said. Eyes closed, be brought a wide hand up, fingers rubbing his temples.

"No, not the last by far," Amelia's tone was dry. Detached. Aberforth looked up at her, eyes glossy from the drink, and something else. The girl was staring at the fire, eyes blank. Her little elf companion's hand was on her mistresses knee. It had been since he'd pulled that stopper, and the overwhelming smell waifed over them all. There was something the girl wasn't telling him. Actually, there was a lot of things she wasn't telling him. The mere thought of what she knew, the oncoming forty years and some, brought on a not so pleasant migraine.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…The Potters' demise was the turning point," Amelia said, "prophesied."

"Not all prophesies come true," Aberforth said.

"This one did," Amelia said, eyes never leaving the flames, "this one set motion to a series of events, in which I know every step, every course of action, every plan both sides will make. All thanks to the very well documented thoughts cast within a certain pensive," a knowing glint shifted in her eyes as she turned to Aberforth. He was rubbing his temple with both hands now, eyes scrunched together. "Rewana trained me, Aberforth. You don't need to worry about all of this."

"There lies the problem, girl," he said, voice heavy. "I can't just follow along. I'm not the order taking type." Amelia smiled.

"I know." Aberforth looked up at that. They shared a moment of silence.

"Damn," he sighed, stood, and went off to bed.