The days blurred by and soon enough it was Halloween and everyone was anticipating the feast later that night. There were rumors of a vampire clan dropping in to add to the effect, which I personally thought was highly unlikely - really, inviting a whole clan to a school full of children? I think not - but wisely refrained from commenting. Adelheid in particular was hell-bent on meeting a vampire or two, and she'd nearly bitten Emmanuel's head off when he'd voiced his doubts about the rumors. The rest of us had quickly steered clear of that minefield.

And while it was Halloween, it was also Samhain.

Largely forgotten by the wizarding world save for a minority (mostly Dark purebloods), Samhain was celebrated from when the sun went down on Halloween to sunset on the first of November. Around the medieval ages and the time of the witch burnings that spread across Europe and America, the festival came to be viewed as demonic and the Muggleborns in particular objected to it. Seeing as Samhain was dedicated to celebrating the dead and sometimes even inviting their spirits to cross the veil between the world of the living and the deceased, I could see why they would reject it with such vehemence. Over time less and less people celebrated it until it was all but forgotten in the sands of time.

The Potters hadn't practiced many of the Olde celebrations for a long, long time - my father's side of the family had little interest in such things, seeing them as archaic and more or less useless. It wasn't as if it was absolutely essential to celebrate such things, after all; so, Samhain was never more than a fleeting thought for them.

The Blacks, though...

Dorea Potter nee Black had held me spellbound for hours during my childhood with tales of the Olde Ways as well as other forgotten lore. The Blacks were a traditionally Dark family and much more conservative, and always passed on such legends to their children, instilling a sense of awe and reverence for the past. Where James was every bit the Potter, I had absorbed much of our mother's Black traits, which meant I was a bit more receptive to the forgotten practices.

Naturally, I was going to celebrate Samhain this year.

Mum had walked me through the procedures for a proper Samhain ritual once or twice before, but never too much in detail - and for good reason; how do you explain to a six-year-old the intricacies of summoning spirits back from the dead when the veil was at its weakest? - so I'd retreated to the library, where books on the Olde Ways were frustratingly hard to find. The influx of Muggleborns in the previous centuries had more or less led to the unofficial banishment of such books from the Hogwarts library, a source of major discontentment among the Dark families. I'd managed to track down just one battered tome, which was as thick as a Quaffle and annoyingly difficult to carry around.

Though it wasn't as detailed as I would have liked, it served its purpose and I was confident in my ability to carry out the steps alone.

Even better, I knew just where to celebrate Samhain.

Right after lunch on October 31st, I wandered down to our oak tree, where Harper was attempting to catch up on sleep while fending off a bored Clay and Connolly was scrambling to finish his Potions paper. They briefly acknowledged my presence before we settled in a comfortable silence (well, if you ignored Harper hissing at Clay to leave her alone for Merlin's sake), enjoying the rare warmth. It had become increasingly chilly and it was the first decently warm day we'd had for a while.

I couldn't wait until evening, when I would slip away from the others after the feast and make my way up to the seventh floor. It meant that I would have to shake off the girls as well as Connolly (who seemed to have the odd ability to sense whenever I was about to do something stupid and kept shooting me suspicious looks), which would definitely be a challenge, but I figured it was a fair price for the thrill of practicing an intricate ritual by my lonesome. Though trying out the ritual on my own had its risks, I was confident that I could pull it off.

James's invisibility cloak would have been handy for sneaking the necessary items to the seventh floor, but then I'd have to tell him the reason why for him to relinquish the heirloom. (Ever since Dad had given it to him, he'd carried it everywhere and was ridiculously protective of it.) And though I loved my brother, I wanted to try it on my own; besides, he had zero interest in Samhain, or any of the other festivals. Trying to convince him to tag along would be much like coaxing a brick wall to relocate by itself, sans magic.

I'd talked to him briefly a few days prior, and it was obvious he wouldn't have been interested. Ever since he'd made the Quidditch team as a Chaser, he'd been waiting impatiently for the first game of the season, which happened to be Gryffindor against Slytherin during the first week of November. I was already making preparations for what would undoubtedly be a brutal aerial slaughter - the snakes and lions possessed no love for each other.

Of course, I was hoping that Black would be knocked off his broom. The git had managed to snag a position as Gryffindor Beater and had strutted around the castle with that insufferably smug face of his until I'd accidentally hexed him.

Accidentally.

Arrogant ponces aside, my first year at Hogwarts was relatively tame, which somewhat disappointed me. Here I was, thinking that there would be dangerous adventures around every corner, but then I realized that everything that had happened in the books - the troll, the Chamber, etc. - had only happened because of my nephew's debatably rotten luck.

(Debatable because he never really got hurt, did he? Defeating a full-grown troll without any adult aid, escaping unscathed... yep, I'd say that's pretty good luck right there.)

I wasn't sure if I should be worried about my disappointment in the lack of potentially life-threatening events at Hogwarts or not, but decided not to worry myself over it.

And then it was the feast.

Here's one thing about magical feasts: they're never dull. Much to Del's bitter dissatisfaction, the rumored vampire clan had been noticeably absent, but the skeleton troupe provided suitable entertainment, made merrier when a couple of seventh years clambered onto the conjured stage and challenged the skeletons to a dance-off. It was ridiculous - none of the students could dance very well - but it was sheer comedy, and the night ended on a high note.

By the time everyone calmed down and managed to drift off to sleep, it was half past midnight, and as soon as I was sure the girls were all asleep, I scurried out of bed and down the winding staircase, somehow not tripping over my robes in the dark. I spared a brief glance out the massive windows in the common room and took a moment to appreciate the natural splendor of the school grounds. The Forbidden Forest was a mass of darkness that stretched on, seemingly infinite, while the Black Lake resembled a mirror, reflecting the silver of the moon on its smooth surface; apparently, the giant squid had retreated for the night. The stars were scattered across the darkened sky as if someone had taken a handful of gold dust and thrown it carelessly across a black canvas, much more beautiful than in the city or somewhere plagued with pollution.

The serenity of the scene put me at ease and soothed my worries and, with a last look at the magnificence that was Hogwarts, I turned to head out.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Connolly raised a brow. "Going somewhere?"

By some miracle, I managed not to scream.

"What the – what are you doing here?" He certainly didn't look like someone who had just rolled out of bed. He was seated comfortably in one of the armchairs near the corner, where the shadows from the massive bookshelf hid him from plain view, and was dressed comfortably in a sweater and well-worn jeans. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Strangely enough, I was going to ask you that." Connolly shrugged. "You've been acting weirdly for a few days now, and I saw that giant book of yours. Got curious, so I asked Bea about it and she told me what it was basically about."

Here he stopped and gave me a knowing look. "Off to celebrate Samhain, Potter?"

I scowled. "Of all the times to be smart, you just had to pick today."

"Naturally," he replied easily. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets and flashed me a grin. "So where are we going?"

"We?" I echoed. "Well, Connolly, you are going back to sleep and pretend this never happened while I do whatever I was going to do. Which may or may not have to do with Samhain."

He completely glossed over my words and walked out the door, only pausing to give me an expectant look before he disappeared down the stairs.

Rolling my eyes, I hurried after him, ignoring the little smile tugging at my lips.

"Does your brother know about what you're doing?"

"Shush, you. And no, he doesn't."

"Sorry." Pause. "Does anyone else know about this?"

"No. Merlin and Morgana, you're talkative."

"It's part of my natural charm. Wait, so you were going to go through the ritual, which more than likely is dangerous, without any supervision? Without anyone knowing where you were?"

Silence.

"Potter."

"That was my intended course of action, yes, until you came along and started pestering me - "

"Potter, for a Ravenclaw, you can be pretty thick sometimes."

"Connolly."

"Just stating the facts." He squinted. "Where are we going, anyway? Some incredibly secret room you stumbled across?"

"Close, but not quite; I just asked around and the house elves pointed it out to me. Now, please be quiet until we get there. I'd rather not get caught by anyone."

"You and me both, Potter."

We walked in silence for a while, keeping to the shadows and ducking into empty classrooms whenever we thought we heard something. My nerves were strung high after a particularly close run-in with Professor Sinistra, who had fortunately been too busy bustling up to the Astronomy tower with various scrolls and books tucked underneath her arm. She had probably seen the clear, bright skies and decided to do a bit of stargazing.

At long last we made it to our destination and as Connolly watched, bemused, I paced back and forth thrice in front of the blank wall on the seventh floor.

I need a place to celebrate Samhain without fear of interruption. I need a place to celebrate Samhain without fear of interruption. I need a place to celebrate Samhain without fear of interruption -

"What the bloody hell?"

When I whirled around, an ornate door with silver markings had materialized in the wall and grinning widely, I threw it open and rushed inside. I more heard than saw my accomplice slip in behind me, but I was a bit occupied, staring around the room in unconcealed wonder.

The ceiling sloped high and torches lines the walls at even intervals. The floor was wooden with soft rugs laid out tastefully here and there, and in the center of the room was a circular area of stone, a single silver trough the length of a broom resting in the middle atop a stone dais. The walls were furnished with regal tapestries of wildlife and creatures of old and the windows were cloaked in black and silver draperies.

It was perfect.

"Do you know anything about the ritual?" I asked my Housemate while moving to inspect one of the tapestries. The Nemean lion pawed at my hand as I pressed it against the cloth surface.

Connolly replied in the negative and I directed him to one of the armchairs lining the edges of the room before approaching the stone circle. A closer inspection revealed faint runes etched around the circumference but I didn't bother trying to puzzle them out. Instead, I kneeled facing the trough but carefully outside of the circle and rummaged through my bag, pulling out various items: A silver knife with the Potter crest engraved on the handle, thirteen white candles, a box of flammable items ranging from food to a silk handkerchief and a bottle of well-aged wine, acquired from the house elves in the kitchen.

I took a deep breath. "Connolly, the time?"

"Tempus." He peered at the red numbers hovering in the air. "Fifteen past one. Merlin, I'm going to be comatose in class tomorrow. Or today, whichever."

"I've prepared Rejuvenating Potions for this," I told him. "Now shush, don't interrupt me."

Walking around the circle of stone I carefully placed the candles on its inner sides, where thirteen holes had been drilled into the hard surface. When I finished I moved back to my original position and closed my eyes, stretching my senses and delving into my magic. Perhaps it was because I had been reincarnated, perhaps because I'd come from a place where magic wasn't real, but I had always been sensitive to it and could sense it, feel it, more deeply than the others. The only thing that had saved me from insanity, driven by the sheer amount of magic permeating the ancestral Potter grounds, had been Aella, who'd dimmed my magic sensitivity from a blazing fire to a steady candlelight.

Aella, I called silently, help me.

There was no verbal response but there was a pulsing sensation and suddenly the world was ablaze, even though my eyes were closed. I could see the tendrils of magic woven through the air, flecks of indigo scattered at odd intervals. Then there was the mass of warm green from behind me, where Connolly was sitting; his green was the shade of moss with undertones of steadfast brown intermixed. It was a soothing thing, his magic, and I thought I could smell the earth after a light shower in it.

I marveled at the various auras in the room before reining it in and honing it, controlling my senses into a fine needle point. Once I was sure I could maintain the shape, I opened my eyes and stepped up to the first candle starting from the right.

One by one I lit the candles with my magic, which I channeled through my finger. It was a tedious process, made more taxing on my mind due to my lack of practice with it. I could feel beads of sweat lining my forehead.

You're doing well, encouraged Aella. Almost there.

I was left panting and shuddering lightly when I lit the thirteenth candle, but a sense of triumph had washed over me, numbing my physical aches. Not many people could say that they'd possessed enough control over their magic to do what I'd just done, and I took a moment to preen.

"Hey Potter, you alright there?" Connolly was leaning forward, brows furrowed as waves of concern radiated from him. It was touching, just how worried he was. I could feel it even more acutely thanks to my magic sensitivity, which was still flipped on, so to speak.

I gave him a quick smile over my shoulder. "I'm fine, Connolly. Now watch and learn."

He snorted but took my word for it, magic settling again.

Certain that he wasn't going to distract me anytime soon, I picked up the bottle of wine and stepped into the circle until I stood directly in front of the trough. With my magic I sliced off the top of the bottle and poured the dark liquid into the trough. In ancient times, when magic still ran rampant through the world, the wine would have been replaced with blood until the trough was about full; most people used animal blood, but some cultures were known to use human sacrifices for the required amount. As it was, I slashed my palm and held it over the wine-filled trough until seven drops had fallen in. Then I retracted my hand and healed it with a quiet prod of my magic. The skin molded together clumsily and I grimaced; I'd have to fix that before it permanently scarred.

By now the magic in the air had thickened to the point where it was difficult not to get drunk off of it. Connolly's magic told me that even he could feel the shift in the air. I stepped back out of the stone circle and cast an eye over the meager offerings I had gathered. Deciding to go with something safe, I picked up a slice of ham and carried it into the center of the circle and burned it to nothing with my magic.

A faint rustling, similar to the sound of a thousand whispering voices, arose.

I sank into a deep curtsy. "I offer my humble greetings to the spirits past the River and Veil and bid them blessed be."

Everything seemed to stop. The rustling cut off abruptly and the magic hovered in place, unmoving.

Keep going, Aella murmured. You're doing well.

I swallowed. "I come with humble offerings for the passing of many and hope to converse with the spirits of the parted."

The eerie silence stretched; I could hear Connolly's breath as if it was a tidal wave and my own heartbeat sounded like a giant stomping through a forest. Then, without warning, the silence broke.

Wisps of gray figures surged forward from the opposite side of the trough, arguing with each other, though I only heard whispers that sounded like the hissing of irate vipers. Then one figure stepped up, slipping unnoticed through the other gray masses, and lowered what vaguely resembled a head to dip into the trough and sip the wine, mixed with my blood.

I watched in fascination as the gray blur, humanoid in shape in the loosest of definitions, solidified into something like one of the Hogwarts ghosts. It was a woman; she was dressed in a flowing red gown with golden linings and her hair, so black it seemed a dull blue, was swept back over one shoulder.

She had been beautiful once. But the face I saw was lined with anger and deep torment, and her dark eyes shone with a cruel light. Her magic was dark and barely restrained and felt as if it was trying not to lash out in utter fury. The other gray figures subdued behind her.

"I am Medea, sorceress and mistress of potions, kin of the great sorceress Circe," she said. "I have accepted your offering and bid you to speak, young one."

Medea.

Oh Merlin, I'd just summoned Medea.

Medea had been a powerful witch in Ancient Greece, so much so that her name was known even amongst Muggles. She'd been the lover of Jason, the hero who had led the quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece, and had been wholly devoted to him. Then the man had thrown aside her faithfulness and gone and gotten himself a new toy, never mind the fact that Medea had tortured, killed, and manipulated for his sake, not to mention borne his children. She'd killed her competition for the man's heart but, having been driven insane by bitterness and rage, had slaughtered him as well.

And now she was looking at me.

Didn't really think things through, did you?

Apparently not.

AN: Surprise! I'm not dead!

Right. I've been pretty busy lately and I didn't have too much time to write, so even if it would have been more fitting to post this chapter – and the next – on Halloween, well, obviously it didn't happen. You can probably tell that I don't have the best timing ever. Now it's time to focus on a Yule chapter and what a joy that will be.

Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed Mosaic, hope this little chapter didn't disappoint too much, I love all you awesome people.

There's a poll on my page that you might want to check out – it's basically going to help me make up my mind about what story to start next. Just go through the list of ideas on my page and vote. :)

Thanks for supporting Mosaic, hope you'll enjoy future chapters!

-Beni