Albus was crouching wearily over the cold corpse of Grindewald, the dark wizard of the age. It had been a ruthless, bloody, and fateful battle. The large, previously peaceful, underbrush was now nothing more than craters and burning trees. Albus wiped the blood and sweat from his face, worn from the tremendously physically taxing duel. He was fighting just to maintain consciousness, and there was a bit of smoldering tree ash on his robes. The duel had claimed the lives of many of the forest animals; several hundred squirrels, snakes, wolves, and unicorn bodies lay lifeless in the artificial clearing. Trees upon trees were uprooted and burning, toppling over from their own weight.
The fight was worth the sacrifice of the animals; once again, the magical world was free from the clutches of another dark lord. Albus Dumbledore had finally killed the evil saturated Grindewald. Peace would surely befall upon the wizarding world once again.
Albus' mind was riddled with fond memories of his old friend. It shouldn't have been that way. He should be growing older with his old friends, not killing them. He remembered going to school with Miles, Nicholas, Mary, and others that were killed. He had lost so many in the magician war, but now he could finally rest easy and mourn the loss of his friends. Albus hated having to kill his own friend, but it needed to be done in order to prevent the apocalypse. Grindewald had gone through hell; he needed to be calmed.
Worn, gloomy Albus slowly lowered his wand from his old friend's shell. …. It was finally over. "You were a worthy adversary, my friend," said Albus, turning his head to the remnants of Grindewald, "your power and evil ambitions betrayed you. I was foolish to revive you… to try to change you. The lives of many paid for my mistake. It was unfair and wicked of you to suffer others." A tear rolled down Albus' face; he made a terrible, regretful mistake, resurrecting Miles from death. "But no more…No other shall suffer the pain you've gone through…No more shall you lay awake at night from the nightmares…You shall have peace everlasting…finally." Grindewald's gray flour hair rustled in the dry, ancient wind as though there was some sort of unspoken comprehension. Albus could finally move on with his life.
The forest's air was stale. He could tell that hardly anyone had been in the deep forest. He longed to go home again. All the while, he was thinking about what he would do when he finally got home. He had to see what was left of his family, his friends. He wiped another tear from his swollen eyes. He was finally going home.
Albus was climbing out of the house-sized hole, with his undamaged wand arm. It seemed to take ages to crawl out of the pit. His left ankle was sprained and very painful, even while limping. His entire wand arm was covered in blisters and burns from the curses he deflected or he himself cast, so he had to climb out with an arm and a leg. A few times, he lost his grip or footing and caused additional pain to himself, rolling, back into the pit. After finally clambering out of the hole in the ground, Albus rewarded himself with a well-deserved, short rest. It was one of his favorite things, lazily slumping out a patch of springy grass; he had missed doing it.
In a short while, Albus was ready to leave. It was time that the world knew of their new freedom—first he would need proof.
Albus withdrew his wand, and re-pointed the tip back to Grindewald. He was idle shell lay dormant in the crater.
"Accio Wand"
Nothing happened.
He was scared, but not foolish. He knew to never unarm himself after a duel. Strangely, the forest was silent. To afraid to stay, and yet brave enough to leave, Albus decided that he needed to investigate the strange singing. He sighed at the prolonging of his own happiness. Albus' was carefully drawn as he inched further back into the crater. Small sparks began to flicker from the end of his wand, displaying his uneasiness as he approached the body. The wand—It was giving off a strange aura of black light and a low unearthly chant filled Albus' ears.
What did it mean?
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Aaron, that was your seat number that was called out," said Amy as she playfully shoved him on his shoulder trying to cheer him up. "Come on, you won."
"I don't care," said Aaron miserably "you can get the prize if you want."
"What? You don't want a free gift?" said Amy teasingly. "You must need some coffee, or something."
"Maybe…"
Amy looked at Aaron, sadly. " She wouldn't want you sad, would she?" Aaron looked down to the floor, to shield his watering eyes from her.
"No, I suppose she wouldn't, " said Aaron slowly. "She would be happy, especially going here."
"Then don't be sad, either. The world isn't completely gone," said Amy, " I'm still here for you"—Amy brushed the bangs from Aaron' s face—" there must be some reason why I am."
"Amy…"
" They're waiting for you at the stage." said Amy softly, contorting her face back into her beautiful smile.
"Okay, alright," said Aaron "I'll go." He flashed a quick smile back at Amy, "but I'm buying the coffee."
Aaron was at an average height for a 15 and a half-year-old. His dark, brownish black hair clashed horribly with the black outfit that he was wearing that night. It was his first…semi-date with Amy, which was fine just the same with them. Amy had taken them both to one of the strangest places to go for a date-- a magic convention. Amy was Aaron' s best friend ever since they were young. Now, more than ever, they were close. All they had was each other.
Aaron walked the long mile to the center stage in the dimly lit auditorium. About halfway up, a bright spotlight shone into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. The onlookers were cheering and applauding like Aaron had stopped world hunger. He nervously wiped the salty sweat from his brow.
"Congratulations, young man. May I ask your name?" asked the tree of a man.
"Aaron."
"Well, Mr. Aur—"
"Aaron."
"Yes, well…this lucky boy is about to receive our grand prize—excuse me—prizes!" A beautiful woman rolled a small wooden cart from behind a curtain, pausing only to give a wave or blow a kiss to any man who whistled or catcalled.
"Thank you, Rouge." Said tree-man, "and now without any further due; the moment you've all been waiting for. Lets just see what's in those boxes.
Without hesitation, Aaron grabbed the nearest gift a shredded it's wrapping. Inside it was a smaller leather satchel that jingled as he shook it.
"Well, go ahead, open it!" Aaron untied the string that bound the ends of the bag together, revealing something magical.
"Golden Galleons?" asked Aaron
"Yep, but that's not the entire prize." He handed Aaron yet another package. This one was longer and red.
"No…it couldn't be!" said Aaron disbeilievingly as he popped open the box. It was a beautiful, handcrafted, specially made, red broomstick.
"That one took long to get. It's a test prop; they didn't use it for the movie." Aaron looked at the handle of the broom. It read it bold, silver letters:
HighWind
"Now, before you get all overexcited and whatnot, lets open the last box—yes, it's hard to believe, isn't it?" Before Aaron had a heart attack, he lifted the hinges off the final box. Aaron had never had such a mix of emotions in his life before; he had never felt sick, happy, confused and thankful in his life before. "That was the most expensive of the three; it's another test —and might I say, the best one that I have ever seen."
Aaron was face to face with his first ever wand. It was strange, though; he had never thought a wand to be this long. It was a least fifty-five inches long, black with patterns of a large, wispy bird embedded onto its staff. He wanted to stare at it for hours, and he almost completely forgot about the other two gifts. It was his, entire nobody else's; his precious, his power… his life…he wanted to use it. --
"Mr. Adr," said the man loudly. Aaron jumped slightly, leaving his transfixed state. " Are you okay?" he asked in a concerned voice. His eyes made Aaron feel very nervous.
"I'm fine," said Aaron, "I guess I got caught up in the moment." The tree-man smiled back at Aaron. "Who wouldn't be?"
"Aaron, are you feeling alright? Asked Amy as they were walking home after the convention. They were on Amy's cold, gray street. "You seemed kinda'…distracted on stage."
"Oh, about me dozing off for a minute—"
"Five—"
"What?
"You were staring at the thing for at least five minutes" she said "to be honest, five minutes is probably an understatement. We thought you had gone crazy."
"Come on, Amy, I really wasn't up there for five minutes" she gave him the familiar 'stop lying to yourself' look. " I'm fine, really! I'm not going to fall dead right now."
"I believe you…but with all that's gone one last year…" Aaron's smile reversed to a frown and Amy broke off into silence as she saw it vanish. They silently walked home together not daring to say another word to each other. Cool breezes licked the back of their necks, tasting their dark feelings before wafting to the sky of the fruitless moon.
After Aaron dropped Amy off at her house and refusing to accept a well-deserved car ride to his house, he was walking home. His house was some blocks away from Amy's. Finding it uncomfortable to carry both the broom and wand in hand, he strung the extra long wand through one of his belt loops and carried the broom on his shoulders. The satchel of galleons was strung to o belt loop opposite the wand.
The air that night was unnaturally cold and tasteless. A stagnant smell sizzled the hairs of his eyebrows. Probably a dead cat or something…
Aaron was just a few streets away from his house now, and was walking pass the old abandoned library. Its windows were broken and stained gray from the lack of care. Moss had overtaken the bricks and iron of the entrance fence.
There were many stories about that library. So many, in fact, that most people believed it to be haunted. One thing was for sure, though; every story ended with someone entering and not coming out. Aaron shivered as he passed the place. It was freezing cold outside, to say that it was late spring.
Then he heard footsteps and then…singing.
The singing was so unnerving, that Aaron didn't think twice about hurrying his pace.
I can't run.
However strange it seemed, Aaron didn't run. Though he was growing more and more uneasy with each horrifying note, he thought it better not to run until he reached the corner. It was the idea of not being able to flee that freighted him most. He could be attacked there and none would know about it until morning when his body was discovered. But if he ran now, he would have to stop at the street, and he would surely get killed. No, he was going to use his head.
The singing stopped, as did the footsteps; Aaron still didn't turn around. To keep from thinking scary thoughts, he thought of the crowd that cheered for him at the convention; he was the center of attention. This helped him a little until the footsteps started to continue.
Ten more steps till the corner.
The pace of the steps increased, he was catching up to Aaron.
Five more.
The attacker broke into a slow trot.
NOW, RUN!
Aaron ran fast as he could, not darning to look back… The attacker laughed. Aaron only caught a glimpse of the smooth, snake-like face of his attacker before complete darkness overwhelmed his very thoughts. Then, he saw a ghastly green light…
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Harry jumped from his cold nightmare and rubbed his burning scar for the fifth time that week. He had been having dreams of last year's horror since school let out. He was breathing harder than he had for a very long time. Harry pressed his fingers over the swollen scar, trying to remember the highlights of the dream…a kid named Aaron died last might.
Harry hadn't even bothered to put on his glasses; his dreams now were so reoccurring, that it was as if it waking up in pain were a new daily routine. Voldemort's attacks had begun.
That had been the story with Harry, since his godfather was murdered before his very eyes. Since the beginning of the summer holidays, he had been having reoccurring nightmares of a boy being traced down and killed by a dark shadow. What was even worse was that he no longer had someone to talk about his dreams to. Sure Hermione and Ron were great friends, but now more than ever, he needed an older figure to talk to… he needed Sirius.
Dawn was rising over number four Privet Drive and Harry Potter was now 16 years old now, and nearly in his sixth year of school. Harry was not a normal sixth year by any means, however. He was a wizard- but even stranger so, he was expected to become the strongest who ever lived; he was to be the one strong enough to kill the most evil sorcerer who ever walked the face of the Earth- Voldemort. Last year Harry had been given a sample of the kinds of powers that Voldemort, possessed.
Over the summer, away from his beloved Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had grown in many directions. With nothing better to do with his time, Harry had been training his body almost as much as he trained his magic. He had resorted to stealing himself into his older cousin Dudley's room to use his weights, although with his intrusions came punishment. Vernon and Petunia Dursley would time after time give Harry backbreaking work that ended up aiding Harry's growth more than hurting him. Now that he was leaner, he could at least defend himself and his bullying friends even if he didn't have his wand on him.
Harry's owl, Hedwig, was still out on her nightly hunting, so her cage was empty, making the room look boring and void. Several of Harry's magical books and belongings were lined on the surface of Harry's shabby dresser, but Harry always carried his wand in his pocket.
Harry lied on his back on his rinky-dink bed, nearly out growing it. It would be a while before his Aunt Petunia came barging into his room with the daily chores but before then, he would answer all the owls and the single red Phoenix that were now flying into his now cluttered room.