Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or the NCIS series.
Chapter One:
There was no sound in the office except the flipping of paper. With his back against a wall a lone man sat on a plain wooden chair in what was once a magnificent office.
The office looked as if the past owner had needed to leave in a great hurry- the chair behind the desk pushed to the wall, desk askew, writing materials hastily dropped on the desk leaving a long ink-stain on the table; but had never come back- a layer of thick dust covered every surface, dust motes swirled in the air having been disturbed from their perches due to the recent activity. But the man paid it no heed.
It was well past sunset by the time he was finished. Abruptly he stood up. He laid the sheet reverently on the table and picked up two military-issue duffel bags and moved towards the door. When the man crossed the threshold he paused and turned and gave the office one last sweeping glance. Having seemingly come to a conclusion he set down his right bag and flicked his wrist. Into view came an unusual object.
A long thin stick appeared which he grasped before it flew out of range. Muttering inaudibly he waved the stick sharply and from nowhere flames sprang up in all areas of the office. With a similar movement the stick disappeared from view. The man stood as if mesmerised by the flames but he was staring at a picture frame on the wall behind the desk. It was not an illusion created by the heat of the flames. There was no mistake- the picture of a very old man with long silver hair a beard to match was moving. Though no sound could be heard above the roaring flames the words were clear.
"Good luck, my boy." Through the conflagration the picture could be seen to be waving and his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkling.
Coming out of his stupor the man at the doorway dropped his remaining bag and snapped into crisp, millimetre-perfect salute. Having held it for several seconds more than necessary he about-turned, picked up his bags and left, down the escalator-that-was-not, eyes shiny- whether from the emotions or from the heat, no-one would ever tell. Behind him a piece of the burning paper broke off and fluttered in the flame-induced thermals. A few words could be seen: ...ddle, 194...
The man moved swiftly through the hallways of what appeared to be a medieval castle in excellent condition, and yet here also were pictures that moved. All watched as the man strode down the hall, some even going as far as to follow the man into the next painting. And yet, nearly all kept silent, staring distrustfully at the man-that-was-half-in-shadows. Those courageous enough to venture to speak were quickly and quietly hushed back to silence, out voted by the majority.
The man paid all this no attention. Oh, he was aware of the scuffles and hushes behind him- it was hard not to in the heavy silence of the corridor, but his mind was far too occupied with the ghosts of the past to process the mistrust as anything but observations in his war-honed situational awareness.
In his mind's eye, a bushy-haired female hurried several paces in front of the ghostly image of himself and his freckled friend.
"... then Jenkins smashed the Bludger straight into the Harpie's Seek-"
The girl spun around exasperated. "RON! You have been going about that for hours! You'd better move onto something else soon or, Merlin as my witness,I will be using a beater's bat on something far more precious!" She turned back around and muttered under her breath, "though I am not sure whether it is more valued to you..." and continued to stalk ahead.
Ron turned back to him and whispered, "blimey mate! A man can't even describe the best bit of his favourite team's match anymore! She needs to relax. It's not as if-"
"It's not as if what Ronald?" The boys stared amazed at her. 'When had she traversed the several feet between them without them noticing?'
"I ask again. It's not as if what Ronald Bilius Weasley? It's not as if this transfiguration test is important?" She was positively crackling .She proceeded to prod him in the chest, "Well if I'm late for this test and as a result have a 10 mark penalty for tardiness, being unable to describe the Cannon's game against the Harpies will be the least of your worries!" And with that she spun on her heel and moved off.The boys stared open-mouthed after her. They glanced in unison at each other and hurried after her, moving to flank her as she entered the classroom.
The corners of the man's mouth upturned. Recalling the days when the only thing to worry about was whether there McGonagall would be on their ass if they were late or whether the Chudley Cannons would ever make it to the finals of the Quiddich League. He spotted a closet hidden away in the shadows of the alcove, frequented often by couples in search of some quiet time. This time an older memory self was walking with another from Ronald's family.
Suddenly they paused and listened.
"Hey. Forge. You hear that?"
"... what say you, we investigate these mysterious sounds, my fellow mischief-maker?"
As one they took a stick each from their robe pocket and crept towards the sound emitting closet. With a hand on a handle the red-head mouthed the count-down.
"On... one... two... three!"
Together they yanked the door open shone the now-lit wand into the space. The occupants shielded their faces from the brightness and so were unable to hide the state of disrepair their clothes were in.
"Oh ho ho ho! Brother mine! Starting without me! I am so shocked. I thought we shared everything!" Having said this he turned to the girl in question, "so how do you feel about being in the middle m'dear."
The girl was now red enough to rival a tomato however had a glazed look in her eyes and her breaths were starting to come out in short pants. His work done he turned to the gawker in their midst and patted his younger-self on the head.
"Many thanks Prongslet. Couldn't have done it without you. Now it is time for you youngsters to run-along. Us adults have business to conduct..." With that he turned and pushed him away and shut the door.
In his mind the man smirked. 'Ah so young! I remember starting to notice such trysts after that incident. To be that age again!... on second thought, going through puberty again would so not be pleasant.' As he neared the entrance hall, evidence for the reason this once-bustling school stood silent became apparent. There were scorch marks on the wall and bloodstains that would never be erased, nor the people from whence they originated forgotten. There was a clear line where the fighting stopped; where the enemy advanced no further. He remembered it like it was only yesterday.
The occasional vocalisations of spells from frustrated combatants were the only sounds that echoed in the entrance hall other than the swish of clothing, grunts of exertion or the sound of flesh or other bodily fluids slapping on the unforgiving, bare stone surroundings.It was down to the last handful of a huge enemy army, outnumbering the volunteer defenders of Hogwarts Castle, home of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, many tens to one. Luck had been on their side for the most part of the battle.The defenders belligerently made their stand from the only entrance to the medieval keep as the rest of the building was in lock-down. No one could enter and no-one could leave- other than the main entrance. This created a bottle-neck and so the enemy were easy to pick off one by one. However, as ants are able to overcome creatures many times their size, the hours of fighting were taking their toll and the defenders were making basic mistakes. Ones that came back to bite them in the ass.A cutting curse half an inch lower caused a fatal injury but enough for the opponent to come back with a blood-boiling curse in the back before he, she or it expired indefinitely.
As he had managed to clear some breathing space around him, he was able to get a quick glance around the hall before he was set upon again. They were down to three people, including himself. The rest were either dead or severely injured as their emergency port-key had evacuated them before their corpses or otherwise could be desecrated further.
'Mooney is holding his own against those five there... Albus has a broken arm but he is fine against those amateur 10... let's see... five grunts in full costume and two vamps, barely one century judging from the colour of their sclera. Thank Merlin the Ancients and Elders don't interfere with human affairs, otherwise this war would be a whole other basket of eggs.'
Gathering himself, pushing the various aches and pains to the back of his mind he moved. To an outsider it would have looked like poetry in action. No movement wasted, every move calculated to deliver maximum damage for every drop of energy put in. Wands and spells were useless for the close quarter combat he was currently engaging in. Instead a burst of tightly controlled magic with every blow of the open palm to the body multiplied the punishment delivered. And if that wasn't enough, knives, that slid out of holsters in the lower arm, flung at lightning speed into the skull definitely put a stop on advances. The brief burst of movement ended with the death of the five masked men, leaving the two un-dead.
"Bravo Death-dealer. That was most impressive. Not many can match your excellence on the art of delivering death... but we are no-" He keeled over and started aging before the eyes leaving only dust. A single bullet wound to the head.
"Michael! You..." the second vampire glared.
"He talked too much! I find my time is so short nowadays!" he quipped. To be honest that was the last of his specially formulated Magical Creature bullet. 'Too bad there is no such automatic refill/conjuration for such an item... I could sure use it.'
That thought was followed by nothing else except for survival. He was hard pressed to do anything but defend. Now, normally he could fight such a young vampire easily- it wasn't until after about 200 years after turning that they became somewhat more than a trained human opponent to handle, but he was labouring under the stress of several hours of battle, a thigh wound that was leaking blood and a nearly dead-to-the-point-of-no-feeling left arm. And add to the fact that the vampire was fighting under the influence of a blood-lust instigated by the loss of her mate.
'Note to self: nothing is more hazardous than a woman scorned... well an anger-muddled vamp is better than a cold, calculating vamp- more likely to make mistakes... Oh shit! That could have been my head... second note to self: if I get out of this alive, think such actions through before execution.'
His exhaustion-addled mind nearly cost him his life when a familiar cry of pain caused him to pause in the act of plunging his knife through his opponent's heart and turn towards the sound. That was all it took.
He was flipped onto his front and the knife wrenched away. His arms were nearly yanked from their sockets as he was locked in a submission hold. He could feel the tongue of his opponent not his neck by his jugular. He could feel the graze of the vampire's signature arsenal. It took all the rest of his mind control to not fall into the thrall of a vampire's feeding arousal. He focused on the pain of his injuries to make him feel alive and grounded.
"Oh, how I should make you suffer. Do you know what it is like to have the emptiness in your heart, to have that life bond disappear before your eyes? "
"You don't have a heart. You had to give that up when you were turned." He commented sardonically. As predicated the vampire re-slammed him into the floor causing him to grunt in pain.
"Either you're dumb or a masochist. I never figured you to be the former Death-dealer, so maybe it's the latter... well maybe I can fulfil that desire? Did you know we can alter the feeling received by the donor when we feed? From the extremes of pleasure to the pits of the greatest pain you have ever felt on this world?"
"I don't think I'll have the pleasure of experiencing either."
"Oh! And why's that Mr-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Vampire-Blood-Bag?"
"Because of this..." And in slammed a mass of brown fur. The force of the blow tore the vampire off him, flipping him over in the process. Without giving her time to recover he pulled another small but sharp knife concealed in his belt and severed the head.
There was silence. No sounds of fighting or robes shifting. Only the laboured breathing of the only alive occupants of the hall.
Roughly cleaning his knife and putting it away he moved cautiously towards the mass of brown fur. On close inspection the mass of brown fur was more like a quivering mass of scalded flesh with patches of blood-matted silver-streaked brown fur.
Hurrying over he knelt and placed the great head of the wolf of his lap. The wolf whimpered and his limbs twitched. Looking over to the area where Mooney was fighting he saw the remains of the last opponent. His cowardly mouse-like face forever frozen in shock with his entrails spilling out. Beside him was a broken flask of silvery liquid.
He snarled at the scene. 'Bastard! Hell is too good for you!' His snarl caused the wolf to flinch. In apology he resumed smoothing the fur on his head.
"Sorry Remus, Mooney. We need you to turn back. Turn back then you can be healed. I can't lose you Remus."
At the sound of his voice the wolf's eyes opened, revealing a surprisingly warm and human eye. But one also filled with sadness.
"No, no, no! You have to try! Please!"
His eyes slid shut, and the wolf stopped breathing. The man's own breathing hitched. In a matter of seconds, but what felt like hours the wolf began to change into a man. The man was in terrible shape. Now human the injuries looked far worse than when he was a wolf. Skin was hanging off him revealing muscle and bone underneath. Traces of the liquid silver that remained on the bare skin smoked and sizzled as if it were a burning hot poker. But still he was a human again and so healing was possible.
In relief he grabbed him the wolf-turned-man in a hug and started to rock him, tears leaking from his eyes. Twitching out his wand he started casting around his brain for all the healing spells he knew.
A feathery touch stopped him in mid-thought.
"Don't bother cub." He rasped. Remus coughed and reached shakily into his now-shredded robe. Using his other hand he grabbed a hand of the person that he thought of as a son and placed the something he had removed from his neck. "It is too late for me. Save your strength. This wasn't one of the ways I thought I would go you know... Padfoot- the silly man, always did want to go out with a bang... your father, James, said he wanted to die defending his family... that he did. I... I never thought I would be in the forefront of the war... more of a researcher myself... hehe. I guess at least I can say when I meet Padfoot, Prongs and Lily again that they won the bet..." His eyes were going distant.
"No! No! No! I won't let you die! You can't... I need you!" He whispered. Tears flowing in earnest now.
"There, there cub... Know that I and all that are looking down on you are proud of you... you don't need me. You're a big, bad, Royal Marine Sergeant now... " he paused, a rattling cough emerged from his chest. A dribble of blood flowed down his chin. His voice was not even a whisper now, nearly just mouthing the words. "If... if you ever need any of us, we will always be by your heart... in the locke..." and with that he stopped.
The man stilled. Shocked. The last immediate link to his family was dead, lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids. Unable to compute this he jerkily but gently laid his friend, uncle, brother down on the stone floor and stood. Tears mingling with the blood and grime.
The tired, old man behind him placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The verdant eyes that looked up were not the eyes of a 18 year old decorated war veteran but of a vulnerable child realising only moments before the last vestiges of his childhood, no matter how un-childhood-like it was, was over.
The old man didn't say anything. There was nothing that could be said. But he stepped closer and with a gently but insistent hand pulled him into his chest where the newly-realised adult clung onto the oddly lemon-scented robes like a lifeline and sobbed silent, but no less heart-wrenching, tears. For the first time since this war began, some 4 years previously, the man cried for the loss of his parents, godfather, Remus, his fellow school mates and his own innocence. He also railed at the injustice of war and the unfairness of it all that he had to be the one who ended it.
The old man just stood conveying the silent message that he would be there, for as long as it was necessary and as long as he was able. 'That is a promise.'
'That was the last time I cried so hard.' The man had paused just behind a large patch of brown stain on the stone, flecked with silver spots. In that spot the man put down his bags and saluted. He stood for a moment and reflected on the life he had left and the job he was going to do.
'Tom Marvolo Riddle... for all the things you have done to my world and its people, I will be your judge and executioner.' The thought of the once-man made his blood boil. 'Get a grip on yourself, Man! We have a job to do!'
With that self admonishment he put a damper on his anger for use later and his mind became eerily calm. His moment of loss of control over, the man resumed his relentless journey out of the castle.
As soon as he stepped out the scarred but intact great wooden double doors, evidence of a fierce battle was more apparent. There were large gashes on the grass, huge craters where spells or large creatures had impacted in the ground, swathes of grass withered from the extreme cold in the presence of dementors, even years after, and areas covered in a black substance that neither dissolves nor disintegrated resulting in the death of all wildlife in the patch and its surroundings. The Black Lake now really resembled its name, with water so polluted that no life-form could be supported- even bacteria that fed on dead flesh in the most inhospitable conditions, hence the corpses of the giant squid and Merpeople colony floating under the surface, forever frozen in the murky depths. In the distance was a charred piece of ground where Hagrid's hut and garden used to stand. Fortunately neither half-giant nor pets were in the home when it was demolished by enemy fire.
All in all it was a very sorry sight. '2 years... and even the innate magic of Hogwarts castle cannot restore the grounds to its former health.' The man continued to cross the grounds of his former school, walking in a straight line towards the dark tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, taking care to skirt around the patches of black substance.
In contrast the forest was teeming with life. The darker nature of the forest had not been as severely affected by the dark aura of the enemy troops and so had quickly recovered back to its former self. In fact, the boundary of the forest was starting to encroach into the fields of the Hogwarts grounds, extending the area the trees covered.
Making his way through the undergrowth the man's sharp eyes spotted flashes of silver in the distance. For the first time in a long time the man gave a true smile. 'The unicorns have come back. That is good news indeed. Hogwarts grounds are on the slow but steady path to recovery... too bad I will not be of this world to see it.'
As abruptly as the tree began, the forest canopy opened up into a clearing. There was a small but noticeable difference in the organisation of the flora on the other side of the clearing, away from the castle. The growth was denser and more wild- it was a much more natural forest than the one within the Hogwarts ground wards.
'I need to be outside of the wards but close enough to draw on that power to travel. Then when I land, I will not be within the wards and trigger any alarms.' The man in black took a deep breath and released it and crossed the clearing. No sooner was he half-way across did he feel the tell-tale tingling of the powerful but tingling ward that surrounded the grounds. Pushing through the slight resistive pressure he made it to the other side.
Setting down his bags he started his preparations. Using his knife he made a deep enough cut for a good flow of blood and marked out a circle large enough for all his belongings and himself to fit inside comfortably, then sat down. He had gone through the process of grounding himself so many times that he let his mind wonder. The ritual he was about to attempt had never been achieved practically and all he had were pages and pages of theory stored in his head but most of this process was the same, at least to him, as what was done when dismantling wards- something he had a lot of practice in.
It was the turning of another year. All in the room had a cup of warm spiced wine and a special new year's cake baked by Mrs Weasley stood proudly on the table aiting to be cut. Everyone had their ears on the wizarding radio, like nearly everybody in the nation whether magical or not, listening to the count-down.
"... seven... six... it's been a great year everyone... four... may Merlin bless you with good fortune... two... one. Happy New Year Everyone! I and everyone in the studio wish you all a wonderful and prosperous year 2010!" and in the background could be heard the classic tune of Auld Lang Syne along with the bangs, whizzes, and roars of magical of fireworks.
Inside the Weasley dining room was a bustle of activity.
"Here you go there, dear. Have some cake." Said Mrs Weasley, handing over a large slice of delicious chocolate brownie fudge cake.
He accepted gratefully giving a small but sincere smile, "thank you Mrs We-"
"How many times dear! Call me Molly or Mum. You have been like a 7th son to me since the day that Ronald wrote back to be in your first year."
"Alright then. Thanks. Thanks for everything mum."
There was a suspicious wetness in her eyes as she smoothed back his hair. "There's a good son."
Molly and Arthur shared a smile and he hugged his wife. "Happy new year, Mollywobbles."
The atmosphere was warm and cosy. Everyone was chatting happily or just soaking up the ambience in the room, taking a rare moment to relax.
Beside him Ron was munching happily on his cake. "You know mate. 'Mione would have loved this cake- for all her teeth doctor parent up-bringing. It's so chocolaty. I could die now and be content."
His comment came as a surprise for a lot of people in the room. It was common knowledge that Ronal Weasley and Hermione Granger were sweethearts and was destined for marriage. When they were ambushed by Death Eaters Hermione covered Ron's back for a retreat but they got separated. When both were portkeyed back unconscious Ron had suffered multiple scarring injuries and was not to wake up until a week later and Hermione had died. Upon inspecting the area where they had been fighting, Ron had taken out 6 DEs and Hermione 8. Ron had attempted to kill himself in grief on suicide runs. Taking on all and any of Voldemort's supporters no matter who or how many- and gained many more scars for it. To mention the first of the Golden Trio to go in front of Ron was a big taboo- unless you wanted to have a fist in the face and an icy glare to match.
"What?" He glanced around, mouth open with contents visible to all. No-one answered but gave relieved looks. Ron turned to his best mate, "what?"
He looked at the scarred visage of his best friend and saw a sadness, but it was an accepting grief of one starting to heal. The hole and hurt would always be there but it was not raw and bleeding. He gave an exasperated smile, clapped him on the back and slung his arm over his shoulders. "Nothing mate, nothing. Don't ever change."
Tears started leaking as he remembered what happened next.
It was nearing one o'clock on January 1st 2010 when the first cracks sounded. The atmosphere was still very lively when Bill's head jerked up. Everyone silenced. William Weasley had unfortunately been bitten by a werewolf several years earlier but as a result of his turning had gained superior senses like all of his kin, one of which was sensitive hearing. Straining their ears everyone also hear the cracks that followed.
From his view Albus started describing the situation and barking out orders. "Nearly 20 hostiles on the east side. More can be seen surrounding the house. Molly! I want every piece of confidential information collected and shrunk. Choose 2 other to help you."
"Yes Albus!"
"Arthur! Start making 10 portkeys each capable of transporting 4 people for those without emergency portkeys."
"Albus!"
"Sergeant start grounding. You have to tear down those wards."
"Roger that Commander!"
"The rest of you with emergency protkeys need to stall for as much time as possible. Everyone else make your way down to the basement. Arabella please escort them. Arthur When you're done bring those portkeys down to them and follow them out. Molly, you as well. Along with the two helpers. We Must save the children and the enemy must not get their hands on the things upstairs."
Before Dumbledore could leave the room he was caught.
"Commander. They have anti-apparation and portkey wards around the area. There are 300 out there along with Riddle himself, but... they aren't advancing..."
"They are waiting Sergeant . They know we cannot get out. Tome always did like his games..." he muttered in a low tone. "Good work Sergeant but get those wards down. Only then do we have a chance of survival."
"Yes sir."
The man started siphoning power from the wards. Pulling the power to incorporate with his core. It was the one thing he regretted like no other. As a trained magical military Sergeant he had the best magical sensitivity other than the Headmaster himself due to the awareness he needed to have of his own magic. With this skill-set he should have been one of the first to notice something was wrong.
As he was centering himself he was one with the earth and so could feel the signatures of all living things within his sensing radius which was a 200 meter radius from where he sat. Within that circle he could feel the magic pulsating in the core of every person as well as the extent of the wards in the area. Even as experienced as he was with pulling down wards, the intricacy of the wards that had been laid meant that anything less than a perfect job would cause everything inside the ward boundary to implode, killing everyone inside it.
'DAMN IT! They had to have been around for at least 30 minutes to be able to set up such a ward. What the hell was I thinking? This is War. I should have been able to sense them- even if I had relaxed my guard a bit.
OK... Let's just remove that there... then that- shit! I need to be out there! They are getting slaughtered! Calm down! Ok. I know it is possible to move whilst deconstructing... now where is the key-stone weave?... there!'
The man rose and quickly left the house, all the while glowing with power as the ward slowly disintegrated. With all the power in hand he began casting. Constantly moving and backing up the Order Members.
Just as he was then, then man in black was glowing with power. His magical core was expanding at a phenomenal rate with pain to match the growth. Even with this pain he could still remember the exact moment when he realised that all of that night was a setup.
There was no adequate way to describe the moment when he realised, midway through a reducto, that there was no way more than two of the original 60 in the Weasley Burrow would be alive to see the dawn of the January 1st 2010. Tome Marvolo Riddle, a boy who had shown from his earliest days to be a consummate organiser, had conducted the battle like a baton-wielding conductor of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra during the Classical Proms.
For all his hate for the once-human, in the farthest corner of his mind he could appreciate the brilliance of this plan: to strike at a group of people when their guard is probably down, in an open property. Place layered wards with two obvious interwoven ones that prevented magical travel and an inconspicuous ward that would be overlooked at times of stress which caused a cascade of demolitions when the former wards had been collapsed to a critical point.
Now he could understand why the majority of the army including Voldemort himself was outside the wards, only sending in wave after wave of troops to wear the defenders down.
Time seemed to still for am moment as he was required to make the most agonising decision of his life.
'Forgive me, everyone. May Merlin have mercy on my soul for what I am about to do.'
Time sped up and seemed to be going impossible fast. Yet he managed to make a path towards his intended target, ducking and weaving between curses. He slammed into a purple-with-silver-starred robe just as the shrapnel from the blast reached them and line-of-sight-apparated out, using the remaining power from the wards to smash a hole through the mostly intact anti-disapparation wards.
They landed at the top of the next hill over from The Burrow only to see a huge mushroom of flames and smoke erupt from where the Weasley ancestral home used to stand- and now was a large ash filled crater in the middle of the Devon rolling moors.
"Dear Merlin! I'm so sorry! I did what I had to do." he gasped.
However, when they managed to get back to a safehouse- an abandoned abattoir hidden the Fidelius Spell, he found a large laceration that went clean through the torso, out through the other side, which had most likely passed through a major vessel as the heavy robes were soaked with blood. Knowing he didn't have much time remaining he woke the rapidly weakening headmaster.
"I'm sorry Commander. There is nothing I can do."
"I know my boy, I know... but I also know that I have information... information that can be used for good and for evil... but as with many things such perceptions depend-"
"Commander... Albus."
Blue eyes focused once again. "Ah yes... One tends to ramble as one gets older... the build up of stories cause an inev-"
Giving him a fond look he repeated in a chiding but gentle tone, "Albus."
The cheeks of leader of the Order of the Phoenix pinked a bit in embarrassment. "Ahem... sorry m'boy." He proceeded to try to reach into his deep robe pocket but found himself unable to. "Ah... it
seems I am not as spring as I used to be... Be a good boy and take out a small silver key from my pocket please."
"This one?"
"Yes. That's the one. It will open the small oak chest in my desk drawer full of the most sensitive information in my collection of sensitive information."
"But a muggle key...?"
"We wizards are the most illogical creatures. This chest is untouchable to all magical means of unlocking and yet can be opened by the twisting of a woman's bent hair-pin- which means, of course, that 9 in 10 magical beings in Britain will never be able to open it."
The younger of the two had to smile at the ingenuity of his eccentric yet brilliant former-headmaster. He placed the small-to-the-point-of-insignificant key securely in his breast pocket. The headmaster's breath hitched. He knew that time was running out fast. In a desperate lunge Albus grabbed the young wizard's hand, holding it in a death grip.
"Remember these words. They are not written down anywhere on the parchments but they will make sense to you when you go through my notes. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach."
He could feel the magic pulsating in his veins. He knew he would not be able to take anymore lest he damage his magic channels irreversibly and loose any chance of complete the spell with his life intact. He started chanting, quietly at first but soon rising to a shout.
"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"
"But remember my boy-"
"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"
"... the most important component is-"
He focused on the image he wanted, on the image he needed in order to make all the sacrifices at least somewhat meaningful- to have a reason for being other than the casualties of a mad-man's desire for power.
"- intent... magic knows... she is sentient... she will help those with... the power and most importantly... the will... to harness her power... Intent is key-"
The image of a teen. Handsome, definitely a person who could charm the socks off most females- even some males for that matter, but his eyes told a different story. Cold and calculating. He wore Hogwarts uniform. A crest of the green snake on the left breast of his robe. Looking beaten but defiant in front of his peers who laughed at his rough attire.
"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach-"
The corner of a blue book peeked out of his school bag with the word 'Tom' visible in silver cursive handwriting. A newspaper lay on the table. The headlines read: Grindlewald Gathering Goons, and at the top right-hand corner of the page was the date- Thurs 17th June 1943.
"... remember my boy... Intent is the key... Good luck my boy... Good luck... and may the fair hand of magic guide you..."
"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach!" His voice had risen to a roar, enhanced by grief, fuelled by the desire of revenge and powered by the magic of most of the wards surrounding Hogwarts grounds. Then for a split second there was silence. Complete and utter silence, as if magic herself had paused time and listened for the desperate plea from a resolute but desperate man. Then as soon as the moment came, it vanished.
"...Lord Harry James Potter-Black..."
There was a great flash of light; the smell of ozone permeated the air and the sound of an enormous fabric being torn; the sound loud enough to be heard miles away. This was followed by a deep, ground shaking rumble and a huge plume of dust rising high into the heavy air from behind the Forbidden Forest in the direction of Hogwarts castle.
By the time the sun came up from behind the mountains the castle, which had stood for millennia, on the morning of January 3rd 2010, having witnessed and survived countless the battles and conflicts, was no more. Barely more than a pile of large boulders made from the finest sandstone between the spines of mountains in the north of Scotland.
AN: Please give your opinions on this story. Just to inform readers that I have only recently gotten hooked on the NCIS series and have not caught up yet, so details will probably be wrong... but hey, it is a fanfic
Are the flashback/memories are to follow? If they are too confusing please don't hesitate to comment and a key will appear!
Please give your comments, good and bad.
Also, due to work and studying constraints I will not be able to update too often. I will try to update as quickly as possible but I am not like those treasured few writers who can churn out extremely good chapters every week on the dot... BUT please don't let that fact put off reading my story.
Translation: Gaelic - English
Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach : Better a good retreat than a bad stand.