Chapter 157 - Nightmare

Again, Rowan found herself walking past in the dim gloomy darkness of the Chamber of Secrets. The carved snakes on the column seemed to be watching her as before, but this time she could swear she saw them move out of the corner of her eye. Stopping at the last pair of pillars, she found herself unwilling to gaze upon the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Rather she kept her gaze on the statue boots and robes trailing to the stone floor. And yet, she found herself unwilling to glance up as she felt that the moment she did, something terrible would happen.

Yet by some strange force, Rowan found her vision slowly dragged above to see the gigantic stone mouth opening all on its own. Hastily tearing her glance away, she desperately searched her robes and pockets for her wand. Suddenly, her hand froze at feeling a gaping hole in the corner of a pocket.

The creature rapidly slithering from Salazar's depths as with horror, Rowan found herself utterly defenseless. With an earth-quaking thud, the creature slithered onto the stone floor behind her. Unable to turn she found her feet glued to the floor. Feeling the enormous basilisk behind her coil, she feels it's breath above her as it hisses, "Let me kill you.... Let me rip you…...Let me eat you!" Feeling the maws open wide to swallow her whole-.

With a loud gasp, Rowan sat up in bed panting as her eyes flickered over to her trunk, where a large emerald muffler was carefully placed at the very bottom of her trunk. Taking a deep breath, she glances at the time to see that it is only three in the morning. Wiping the cold sweat off her brow, she sits up in bed cross-legged to meditate. Either way, it was about time for her to get up, what did an hour or two's difference make?

Tracing the energy within her body, Rowan followed the pathways that had drastically increased since killing the basilisk. She hadn't had wanted to admit the truth until her class in Transfiguration, but her magic had felt that much stronger. It was through she had found a hidden underground river from which to draw water from rather than the well that she had been using all along.

It wasn't just that for her unfinished mindscape had expanded by leaps and bounds. Hogwarts was nearing completion and the construction of the Prince manor behind the hidden doorway was finally completed. Now it was merely a matter of clearing the mind of every day and selecting which was valuable or not. And though her natural mind barriers did not seem stronger than before there was a slight trace of awareness to them that had not been there before. The awareness would instantly alert her should anyone try to breach them or merely try to peek inside for a closer look.

Opening her eyes, Rowan's eyes flickered over to the gray, blackish wand on the nightstand. Ollivanders' words slowly came to mind, "Forged by the Ollivander that is best forgotten and inspired by that children's tale. - May you fare better with this wand, Miss Prince, than the wand that inspired its creation."

The Elder wand that was the only wand that Ollivander could possibly be referring too. And the only wand that she knew of that shared a Thestral core as well.

Reaching out to stretch her hand, Rowan grasped the wand that pulsed unlike before as though it had awakened from a deep slumber. There was definitely something different about the wand now, but what could have caused it? She'd defeated plenty of others before in Professor Adric's class. It wasn't a matter of winning, and if not what?

A slow unease feeling crawled up Rowan's throat as her eyes flickered over to her trunk. Aragog words suddenly ringing clearly in her ears, "Even dealing the creature the fatal blow that caused its fall. -Take the victor's spoils, witch." Death, it had always been about death.

Rowan's hand gripped her wand that much tighter as she recalled the first brother, Antioch Peverell. Whether Antioch Peverell had forged said wand or Death really gave it to him did not matter as it was said to be the strongest wand in existence. The first act of the Elder Wand was not of a great wizarding feat but rather the callous action of taking the life of a wizard that Antioch Peverell had quarreled with before. And once again the wand was passed by the taking the life of Antioch Peverell by an unknown murderous wizard who slit his throat. And thusly so the fate of the wand was sealed in victory and bloodshed.

And if so, what if that which fueled the Elder Wand's power was not magic itself but death? That would certainly explain the sudden increase in her own magic and wand. That which was forged in death could only grow by death in that same manner. For now, there is no doubt that her wand is lesser than the Elder Wand, but with enough enticement that might not be the case in the future.

Rowan shook that train thought out of her mind. She had no desire to walk down that path nor become the next Dark Lord. She already knew exactly how that path ended. Both paths only ended in death at the hands of another. Whether by victory or treachery mattered not as both endings were still inevitably the same, Death.

Still, it was best, to be honest with herself. Yes, she was ambitious. Yes, she would one day kill again. And yes, one day she would even use Avada Kedavra. But she would not and did not want to become an unredeemable monster. For just because a snake is born poisonous that does not make it a monster.

With that solemn promise in mind, Rowan once more closed her eyes and began to meditate. In the end, all that mattered was that she chose for herself. Whether light or dark, it did not matter. A snake always moved best in the gray.