Chapter 554 - Fenny Snake Ⅱ (1/2)

The serpent flicks its tongue impatient at her and Rowan closes her gaping mouth. Glancing back down at Tales of Beedle the Bard, she furrows her brows and turns to the last page and finds old hand writing that says, ”Not all tales are fiction, and monsters are very much real,” with a signature underneath as that of ”Beedle the Bard.”

Rowan's hand trembles as if burned, before hastily shoving the book back into the pile on the floor. Pulling her hand as if burned, her hand curls into a fist as she struggles to compose her thoughts. Trying to word them, she says, ”Is it truly impossible to change fate?”

”Fate cannot be cheated. Destiny cannot be changed,” the serpent answered to Rowan's growing dismay. ”However, Life is a fickle mistress, and Death is trickster.”

Rowan's eyes brighten at the reply as improbable does not mean impossible. Glancing down at her hand, she asks, ”And what of that which is in me?”

”There is always a price to be paid,” the serpent murmured. ”You already knew this.”

”Yes, but what of that evening?”

”You had already been marked.”

”Marked how?” Rowan hastily asked. It had been one of her chief worries ever since the night when she had destroyed the resurrection stone. But then again, it did say, she had already been marked, and it could only be one of two ways. Either the death magic surge or that of the terrible act of killing someone. And she had been only compelled not of her own will, while the other had been of her own volition.

The serpent is silent for a moment, before answering, ”Those that have been marked cannot transform into the Children of the Spirits and that of mother nature. By instinct, those marked will never seek to become Animagus as such a transformation will only result in a swift death.”

Rowan's eyes widen in understanding as to the instinctual reluctance to even attempt to become an animagus. A part understood that she had committed an act most foul against nature and nature in turn would retaliate given the chance. And no matter what Rowan's intentions might be, there are no exceptions to the laws of the magical world.

The serpent's tongue flickers in the dusty air, before impatiently hissing, ”Hurry.”

Feeling some urgency herself, Rowan says, ”This is a tale that all wizarding children know, and unlike them I know that not all things are fiction. So, I must ask this am I the first? Because Beedle the Bard wrote this not as a tale it would seem after all if his note is anything to go by, but rather as a cleverly hidden historical means to preserve the past.”

”You are certainly not the first and as for the last, I do not know,” the serpent frankly answered.

”Not the first?” Rowan whispered aghast as the impact of that simple sentence. A terrible dread began to fill her, because if that was the case, then what possibility was there that she could even succeed. Just how many had there been before her?

Suddenly, the serpent reels up and hisses, ”Run! He comes!”

The serpent scurries away as Rowan chases after the fleeing serpent as it leads her out through the back. Running through the tall grass she hears the snake loudly hiss ahead, ”The ash tree grove, girl. Reach the tree line!”

Raising her gaze, Rowan sees the Ash tree's in the distance. Ash trees were said to ward evil, and many an Auror's wand had been forged from such a tree. However, something causes her heart to pound and the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up as she hears a hungry, and rather angry cry behind her.