Tracy Davis

Despite her cloaked form, Tracy could not contain the mischievous giggle which escaped her mouth. The door to her room clicked behind her, the lock clicking into place. Her eyes flickered over to the other bed. The curtains were shut, the sound-enchantments active. She hadn't disturbed Daphne - which was good, she thought, as she wanted to keep this secret to herself, for now... and for all her perfect manners, Daphne could be awfully snappy without sleep.

Satisfied, her attention returned to the book. The book! Oh what a book! Tracey let out a joyous laugh this time, letting it stream from her like water from a brook. Voodoo was lost. Lost! She let the hood fall, revealing her auburn hair, her Cheshire grin... it was lost! The French had wiped real Voodoo off the face of the earth, leaving a paltry muggle mockery behind. No shaman had been left alive, and no book - especially not Gail Obsidian's Voodoo Magic, Bewitching and Cursing Your Enemies. It was infamous, and famously hunted until every copy was but ash and dust.

And for good reason. Voodoo could make a man turn on his friends; it could not ensnare the mind, but the body... with merely a vial of blood, or a hair... or even better, both. Which, Tracey supposed with a bare-toothed smile, was worse. You were fully aware of what you were doing, while you were **** to do it. Some European magic mimicked Voodoo, but not even great magicians could come close to the power the otherwise primitive shamans had so effortlessly wielded...

Unconsciously, she hugged the tome close to her breast. Now she had the book. Now she had Harry Potter's hair, and his blood. There was only one path to travel. But how? Something funny? Something humiliating? Something degrading?

Tracey licked her lips... or better yet, all of the above.