The Flames Of The Revolution
C.1
It was a dark, shadowy night, the winds had picked up speed – and Harry knew that he only had a small amount of time left before the Aurors pinpointed his location, and arrested him.
Had Harry been told by someone a couple years prior that he was going to steal an important artifact from the Department of Mysteries, He would've scoffed at them, incredulous. But here he was, holding upon his hand a small pouch, filled with a pure white sand, in front of a ritual circle, preparing to do something incredibly moronic.
Well, at least if I fail, I won't be left to old age in a broken world. He mused. This was his last stand, all-in, or all-out, as they say.
Opening the pouch, he dumped the Continuum Sand into the centre of the ritual circle, where it flared briefly, like a pile of embers from a fire, and, as if an invisible force was there, it split into nine piles, and each flew to the separate points of the enneagram neatly.
There's no going back now, time for the last step.
Harry planted himself heavily at the centre of the enneagram, and summoned his Flame, at once, nine balls of a deep purple fire materialized in front of him, and his mind settled into a deep, pleasant mood.
The fireballs flew off, towards the Continuum Sand piles, one flame for each pile. Once all were in place, Harry reached deeply unto himself, and the fireballs seemed to shrink, but , they were not snuffed out. The fireballs burned intensely, more than they had before, and at once, they all impacted with the sand piles below.
There was a great flash, and Harry felt as though his entire being was melting, and black came from the edges of his vision, and then, he was unconscious.
He jolted up from a hard surface, his back damp from the recently rained-on ground. He was surrounded by trees, and saw a large body of water to his right.
Harry looked, and stared above himself, there, upon a great stone cliff, was a castle. The castle's towers pierced the deep, black sky, it's windows shone brightly, like large stars. It was beautiful, and he drank it in with his eyes, wondrously.
"I-I'm back... my home is whole once again."
His home, the home of many children. Hogwarts. And, Merlin, did he ever miss it.
Hogsmeade, as one of the few purely magical towns dotting the magical world, was used to many people, strangers and that sort, passing by. As-such, no one really took too much notice of Harry, though his appearance drew a couple eyes. His eyes, now a deep, flickering purple, instead of green, were quite noticeable, as were his large, long coat, and his durable dragonhide boots.
Ignoring the glances, he headed at a normal pace towards The Three Broomsticks, entering, he strolled immediately over to the barkeep. "Excuse me, good sir, I require a room, do you have any available?" He queried, polite.
"Yeah, that'll be a galleon for a night's stay." the young man at the bar said. Harry tossed a galleon onto the bar, and received the key from the barkeep. Heading straight upstairs, he unlocked his room, and shut the door behind him.
The room paid host to a simple twin sized bed, and desk, and an unlit fireplace. He walked over to the fireplace, rubbing his hands together, and as if a spark was lit, a small, low burning purple flame flickered into existence inside his fingers. He looked at it for a second, and then tossed it towards the empty fireplace. Even though there was no wood in the fireplace, and thus the fire had no fuel, the flame did not extinguish, in fact, it grew in size, until a roaring purple fire was burning merrily in the fireplace.
He chuckled at the nice feeling burning in his chest, and took a mental step backwards, and looked at his situation. He had done what he planned to do, correctly, or at least something close. He had another chance, a chance to do things right, a chance to fix the world.
Well, he hadn't planned much for what he was to do when he got here, He'd just wing it, then.
He sat down, legs crossed, and leaned into the heat of the fire, while for others it may have been almost blisteringly hot, for him, it only tingled and was a pleasant warmth. He closed his eyes, and before he knew it, was slumped over in front of the flames.
He woke, the sunlight from the windows shinning brightly into his face, he stood up, the fire still roaring brightly beside him, not having diminished in the slightest, he cracked his back, many joints cracking loudly.
He decided he would go downstairs, and did so. The bar downstairs was not very filled, and the smell of breakfast foods was prevalent in the air. No one looked up at his presence, and that was just how he liked it.
Strolling on over to the barkeep, now a buxom woman, he settled onto a barstool, "So what's on the menu today, Miss?" he asked.
"G'Morning, we got a English skillet, as well as pancakes, what can i get ya? She said, leaning across the table slightly, flashing him a glimpse of her cleavage, taunting him to look. He, of course, politely ignored that, "I'll take a cuppa, and the pancakes, Please." he stated. She grinned a bit at him, and bustled off towards the kitchen.
There was a discarded Daily Prophet on the counter, and Harry picked it up. Ignoring the normal, gossipy tosh of the Prophet, He glanced at the date, it read August 23rd 1992.
Interesting, I was a bit late, but not too late, good. He thought. This meant that he would have the chance to get the position he wanted, at Hogwarts. Though he had nil to none of a plan, he always loved teaching the DA.
The barkeep came back with his food, which he started digging into, at a moderate pace. He noted the barkeep had settled down again, across from him. Pausing from eating, he asked "So, Miss, I never caught your name?"
"Aye, I'm Rosamerta, owned this place, grew up here, you?" She queried, looking curiously at him.
He paused for a second, "I'm Harold Alexandrov, though most call me Harry, I'm from Canada, and looking for work." he responded, coming up with it along the way. She became quite curious at the mention of Canada.
"Looking for work, you say? What type of work?" She asked him.
"Well, I was mostly a tutor back up in Canada, there's a school around here, isn't there? Hogspots or something?" he asked, she giggled at his butchering of Hogwarts' name.
"Haha! It's Hogwarts, Harry! Not Hogspots!" she laughed, and he fake blushed. "Sometimes the school's Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, comes down here for a drink or two, and you, my friend, may just be in luck. From what I've heard, the position for Defence Against the Dark Arts is still open." She said.
"Really? D'you know how one may perhaps get the job?" He asked. She nodded, and said "You'd probably do best by going up to the castle, and meeting with the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall."
"Thank you, Rosamerta, for the help, and for the food." He said, slipping off the barstool, and heading for the door.
"No problem, Harry, have a nice day!" He nodded, and wished her the same.
-~Author's Note~-
Many thanks for reading! Please, if you would leave a review, and say what you think of this so far, I'd very much appreciate it!
Farewell,
Comrade Delta