This is my first story. Please review, and if it seems confusing, it will
make sense later.
The two wizards walked along the path. They had been through so much together, that they could have a whole conversation without speaking. They were both feeling the same things. Anger. Regret. Sorrow. As the tower of Cellus the Historian rose before them, they felt strange to be one of the last three people alive on Earth. The wizard wearing stained magenta robes gave two loud knocks on the heavy oak door. The door spoke to them in a wheezing voice. "Name and business? Though I suppose it doesn't really matter in these times." It gave sigh. "Come in, come in." The tower of Cellus was tall, musty, and silent, except for the gentle snoozing of past historians of the World in their gilded frames. A spiral staircase rose into the gloom, and the men began climbing the stairs. As the wizards reached the fifth landing, a portly man with a blue suit woke up abruptly. "News from the front? Progress?" he bellowed. The second wizard, wearing black robes only shook his head. The man in the painting began to walk with them. "It's a pity it has to end this way you know" he said quietly, stepping delicately over a witch with flaming red hair. "I wonder what will happen to me." I guess I'll just remain here forever." He stopped talking as the men reached a small door made of teak. The glanced at each other, and knocked.
Cellus was rapidly taking notes when he heard the knock. Since all wands had been destroyed in the Seventh Decree, he grabbed the poker from the fireplace. The door opened. He saw two men standing there. Young men. He chuckled and threw the weapon to the floor. "We are the last three people alive on this Earth." The man in the magenta robes nodded. "We have traveled far to get here. Cellus, these are the last of our moments here. You took accurate notes on everything that happened since Voldemort's return, correct?" Cellus smiled, the first time in months. "Of course. Is it not a historian's vow, to take down everything? Let us review the events that brought us here. Pumpkin juice anyone? The last bottle in existence." The men grinned, and accepted goblets filled to the brim. Cellus turned pages rapidly, coming to the right page in the book that told all. He began.
There is a room in the Ministry of Magic that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force more powerful than anything we can imagine. That is the power of life. In the room, there is a strand of Life for every human being on the planet. Damaging the strings can twist the person's mind, damaging it forever. When Dumbledore vanquished Voldemort, through an unfortunate error he was sent to that room. And so begins our story.
The two wizards walked along the path. They had been through so much together, that they could have a whole conversation without speaking. They were both feeling the same things. Anger. Regret. Sorrow. As the tower of Cellus the Historian rose before them, they felt strange to be one of the last three people alive on Earth. The wizard wearing stained magenta robes gave two loud knocks on the heavy oak door. The door spoke to them in a wheezing voice. "Name and business? Though I suppose it doesn't really matter in these times." It gave sigh. "Come in, come in." The tower of Cellus was tall, musty, and silent, except for the gentle snoozing of past historians of the World in their gilded frames. A spiral staircase rose into the gloom, and the men began climbing the stairs. As the wizards reached the fifth landing, a portly man with a blue suit woke up abruptly. "News from the front? Progress?" he bellowed. The second wizard, wearing black robes only shook his head. The man in the painting began to walk with them. "It's a pity it has to end this way you know" he said quietly, stepping delicately over a witch with flaming red hair. "I wonder what will happen to me." I guess I'll just remain here forever." He stopped talking as the men reached a small door made of teak. The glanced at each other, and knocked.
Cellus was rapidly taking notes when he heard the knock. Since all wands had been destroyed in the Seventh Decree, he grabbed the poker from the fireplace. The door opened. He saw two men standing there. Young men. He chuckled and threw the weapon to the floor. "We are the last three people alive on this Earth." The man in the magenta robes nodded. "We have traveled far to get here. Cellus, these are the last of our moments here. You took accurate notes on everything that happened since Voldemort's return, correct?" Cellus smiled, the first time in months. "Of course. Is it not a historian's vow, to take down everything? Let us review the events that brought us here. Pumpkin juice anyone? The last bottle in existence." The men grinned, and accepted goblets filled to the brim. Cellus turned pages rapidly, coming to the right page in the book that told all. He began.
There is a room in the Ministry of Magic that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force more powerful than anything we can imagine. That is the power of life. In the room, there is a strand of Life for every human being on the planet. Damaging the strings can twist the person's mind, damaging it forever. When Dumbledore vanquished Voldemort, through an unfortunate error he was sent to that room. And so begins our story.
