Intro
A soul spell, the last and most desperate piece of magic one can use. It requires a being: the memories, the hopes and the very memory of life to be consumed to a spell to work. Once such a spell has completed, only those with a strong connection to the mage may recall some memories about them. Everything else is consumed, leaving but a whisper in the pages of history.
Lily Potter neé Evans was aware of the payment for stepping into the realm of the gods, and if there was anything that existed of her soul, she would have been happy with the immediate outcome. Alas, there was none left in existence- there would be no great adventure for her. For death could not claim what has not, does not and will no longer exist. The only reminder of her life, was the unconscious child, lying within the charred crib.
The child's ashen skin- caused by its' life slowly dripping away, was to be spared Death's visit- the magic causing the open wound to heal- at a price. It's mind was being filtered of a mother's laughter, of the memories, the sounds, and the feel of it's mother; but not the love. That would linger on.
The child lay facing the doorway to the nursery- the aftermath of a battle, of the victory- but not for the family.
The father of this once family, grew evermore cold downstairs, eyes unseeing faced towards the staircase. His hair was blowing from the breeze trickling in from what remained of the door- if charred wood can be called a door. A sparkle surrounded the body. The magic of the Potter's was at work. The body was lifted, cleaned and a silver rapier was thrust into the hand. The Potters were the protectors and defenders of the people- and their dead were not forgotten in this task.
Black robes were fitted to the body and decorated with the paintings of the constellations- as the soul went onto the halls of the forefathers. The body and soul were at peace.
*pop*
The body of James Linfred Potter was transported to the house of the Potter dead, in the catacombs of Potter castle and would await eternity. All that remained of him, of any potter, was a small, delicate pot. Decorated upon were scenes of saving a man from a werewolf, fighting a snake three times before falling. It was such a small, unassuming pot that was found by a distraught man. Sirius Black.
Sirius knew something was amiss when on his latest rendezvous he was able to say the words 174 Godrics Hollow- the home of the potters. A secret enshrined within a soul and within the ward stones. There was only one way to say them, the stones must have been destroyed. The scene he came upon was what nightmares are made of.
A medicine wheel was painted on the floor in the blood of a body no longer there. The wheel, native to the cultures of the native Americans, was inverted and perverted. It's meaning was to consume those who stood against the caster and grant him power- for some unknown reason. Next to this was the pot.
Sirius's entire identity was built upon his friendship to James. Without James, he came to realise, he is nothing. Such a shift fractured the already delicate sanity of the Blacks.
"James, J—james, J", he whimpered. "James, please O' goddess, please." The crying became softer and more desperate. "Please no". It was just a whisper. Tears trickled down the face of the broken man, seeing everything around him but taking nothing in. A cry erupted from upstairs- but the broken man did not hear anything but his own suffering. Time ticked on, each second lasting an eternity. The cry increasing in volume and wavering. The man, long fallen to his knees, was cradling a small pot, as it if held the meaning of life, staring into the scenes showing the lift lost.
The clock struck 9.
Sirius placed the pot onto the floor and thought about the man who lived here alone with his child. A man whose child was gifted to him by magic- but always wore a wedding ring for some reason. A child that was now screaming for his attention, and who's call he must answer.
He creeped up the stairs, checking for any other sign of life. There was none. He came across the child's emerald green eyes- familiar somehow- and saw a plea for help and comfort. It would remain unanswered.
"Cysgwch".
The babe fell into an deep sleep immediately. He did not care that it was an unnatural sleep, nor did he care that this act would be remembered by the child- for there is a reason why Latin is the main language for magic in modern times.
Nor did he care, bundling the babe into a hamper (not noting the cat crawl inside with him). However, his exit was blocked by a giant in his way. Small black beady eyes, blocked with a large, unkept wire beard stared down at him. The body, much too large for a normal person, blocked the stairwell and the light- causing an unseen fire to glow from his eyes.
"What we have here?", his voice boomed across the silent house, "More importantly, where are y'goin'?". His voice demanded answers, demanded attention but the response was not as expected.
"Good Hagrid, you are hear". He smiled to the salvation of himself in front of him. Without but a response, the basket was thrust in the giant's arms. "I've got things to do", he giggled. Without another word, Hagrid was left with a basket cradled in his arms. Sirius had run past him into the garden, turning on foot and disappeared with a crack.
"Well", Hagrid responded, "That makes things easier". He strode to a large moto cycle with sidecar, parked on the lawn, secured the basket and with two kicks, bringing the bike to life, road down the road- leaving not a trace.
The house stood there empty, for a few moments. A small group of children, walked up the garden path, cutting its way through the immaculate lawn and flower beds. A small child, wearing a witch's had and cloak, banged twice on the door stating:
"trick or Treat"
With this sight that met them, well there was nay a treat to behold.
I am sorry about the hiatus for several years. I lot has happened. I am to actually finish a story. But, there will be plenty of updates (at least once a week). I can only apologize. The German fic, will not be added upon.
