:Harry Potter and the Dance of the Thestral:
:Chapter One:
:The White Veil:
(A/N): This story has been a baby of mine for quite a while. I've tried to keep a steady writing pace for it even though I'm busy with college and work. I'll try as hard as I can to keep it going. And for anyone who has read what I've done so far with Rectitude and Recrudescence, they are officially on hiatus. I'm crying inside.
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The snow fell heavily onto the charred ground, masking the blackness. The gusts of wind sent waves of snow to and fro, chilling anyone who would step out into the blizzard to the bone. The wind's relentless whistle continued as the snow engulfed the trees. The effervescent glow made the landscape a surrealistic tableau.
A lone figure could be seen trudging through the knee deep snow drifts. The figure was holding a dark cloak tightly around his body, presumably to keep warm. The figure stopped, crouched, and stared at an aged ruin, possibly a temple or castle. The figure stood there, letting loose of the cloak, letting it whip and snap in the wind. The figure took something out of one of the cloak's pockets, and threw it into the main section of the ruin. The figure then stood up, tightened his cloak, and began the laborious snow trudging once again.
After twenty minutes of steady travel, the figure stopped at a peculiar tree. The figure stood there for a moment, then instigated his journey again. The figure went straight toward a white wall, clearly a low cliff. As if by magic, the figure walked straight through the wall, and disappeared.
What at first glance looked like a low cliff was truly a forest. The trees were covered in a thick blanket of pure white, concealing the paths. The mystery figure continued his march, going faster than before, thanks to the cover of thick trees. The forest floor was still covered in snow, making it nearly impossible to navigate; but the figure kept a steady pace, making turns where he felt necessary, as if he knew the forest inside and out.
The figure came into a clearing. Walking straight into the middle, he collapsed.
Footprints began forming in the snow, headed in a straight path to the unconscious figure. The footprints were shaped like horse hooves, but the horse was not visible. Something was amiss.
The footprints stopped within five feet of the figure. Hours passed as the white maelstrom continued. Eventually, the snow dissipated and the clouds rolled by, revealing a clear, starlit night. The moon was full, and the stars glistened, sharing their light with the snow covered ground. The snow looked like shining diamond dust, sitting still in the cold night.
The footprints were all covered by the snow now, except for the last four. Except now, the snow was covering whatever invisible animal was standing there. The seemingly levitating snow piles gave shape to a strange sight.
The snow clung to the animal, showing its slender body, its ethereal legs, and bony hind quarters. But the most peculiar aspect of the invisible creature was the narrow wings protruding from right before the creature's ribcage. If it was visible, it would be a sight to behold.
Suddenly, the figure stirred. While the snow had fallen, it had covered the figure with nearly two feet of snow. The figure continued to break from the thick snow, rolling his body as much as possible, to loosen the snow. Finally, the figure broke through, first with his arms, then his hood-covered head appeared from the pure white mound.
After freeing himself from the white prison nature had provided him, the figure turned his head to the invisible creature. For ten minutes, the figure stood there, lifelessly staring straight at where the creature's face should be. Then, as suddenly as a flash of lightning, the figure whispered something to the creature.
The creature responded by flapping its wings, shaking itself from anymore snow. Once again invisible, except for the trail of footprints, it proceeded to walk toward the figure. Standing like a statue, the figure waited for the approaching being.
The figure spoke to the invisible creature with a soft voice, which garnered a snort from the animal; its warm breath showed itself in the frigid air. The figure knelt down in front of the creature, as if begging it for some sort of service.
The creature snorted again, and, by the sound, one could tell it started stomping its feet. The animal then let out an echoing neigh that reverberated through the forest and hills. The snow seemed to glimmer brighter than ever, while the moon kept its barrage of moonlight on the ground. The stars seemed to flicker as the creature could be heard flying about the clearing; its wings pushing the air while disturbing the fine powder mounds that the blizzard had formed.
The figure stood up, then looked to the moon. The figure cried out and cursed. The creature continued its circular flight pattern, neighing periodically. The figure collapsed again, but this time he was not unconscious, but sobbing. The cries could be heard for miles.
Suddenly, a light shown about the clearing, casting a chilling glow. The light came from the invisible creature as it furiously flapped its wings. The figure stopped sobbing and looked directly at the light. The figure stood there, following the creature's circular motion as if entranced. The figure didn't notice the strange light coming from the sky off yonder. It was the same chilling light that emanated from the invisible creature.
The other lights steadily approached the creature and the entranced figure. Finally, they arrived at the clearing. In lightning quick fashion, they integrated themselves into the circular path that the original creature was using. Now, by counting the light sources, there were fifteen creatures in all. The figure, however, only paid attention to the first creature.
The circular dance continued for hours, with the figure in the center constantly keeping focus on the first creature. Abruptly, all the creatures except for the first, changed the color of their light. All the creatures that changed the color changed it to dark red, reminiscent of lifeblood.
As soon as it had happened, the light disappeared. All that one could see was the lone figure, standing out in the barren clearing. The creatures had seemingly disappeared. The stars were still flickering furiously as if an astral light switch was being flicked off and on. The moon... The moon was blood red. The light from it showed on the snow, now like powdered blood.
Then the sky went dark.
There was no light. No stars, no moon, no lamps, no lighthouses, no cars, no flashlights, not even the mischievous sparkle in a person's eyes. There was only darkness.
The figure could be heard removing his cloak. He was muttering to himself as he fumbled with his coat.
Then they appeared.
The fifteen creatures, now fully visible. All fifteen of them were on fire of the most tenuous kind. They were alight with black fire. Their blazing eyes were as white as pure heat. They all gazed intently at the figure in the center. The fire gave no light the the surrounding, only illuminating themselves and the figure. They were cut off from prying eyes, so that their secret would forever be hidden.
The creatures, which were like spindly horses with wings, stood on their hind legs and flapped their wings. Then, in unison, they neighed toward the figure, and shot out a gray light from their cores. They all hit the figure in the chest, vaporizing him. All that was left was billowing smoke and a dark scorch mark that melted the snow. The light returned, and the creatures once again were invisible. They could be heard flying away one by one off into the night. After the fourteen extra creatures left, the initial creature took flight. It passed over the forest, flew over a large, frozen lake, soared over the ruin, and glided over a desolate village.
During its chilling flight, it thought to itself in its divine voice, 'Good luck, my friend.'
'This will be interesting,' thought Father Time as he heard the familiar ring of the bell hanging from the fireplace. Getting up from his old oak chair, he looked at the cloaked figure sprawled out on the floor.
"Another young one," he sighed to himself.
Father Time dug into his pocket and pulled out his gold pocket watch. He opened up the watch and checked the time. Once again sighing, he walked over to a bookshelf that was set in the wall opposite the fireplace. Taking his finger and attempting to pinpoint the book he was looking for, he squinted and scanned the thousands of titles neatly nestled on the shelves. Finding the book, he took it, went back to his desk, and sat back down in his chair.
Grasping a pen, Father Time opened the book and searched the pages for something. He could be heard mumbling under his breath. The book, titled Time Volume H, was over seven thousand pages, and, as far as one could tell, not structured in any definable way. Finding the entry he wanted, Father Time took the pen he was still grasping and scribbled something inside it.
Setting his pen down, he slammed the book closed and went back to the bookshelf to return it. He then went to a door that was hidden behind an intricate white veil, and went inside. The veil, held above the door frame by a gold and silver pole, was made of an otherworldly material, its edges bordered with beautiful gold patterns, and a regal crest in the center.
The crest was a gold clock, surrounded by silver vines. The hands on the clock were embossed with a blue-silver color, making them seem mystical. The face was colored like wizened ivory, and the numbers were of the Roman numeral set, colored in a dull slate-grey. The hands were at midnight. Above the clock was a silver banner that read: Tempus edax rerum.
It was Latin for "Time, the devourer of all things."
Clanging could be heard behind the door. Minutes later, a faint smell of fresh bread permeated the door and its veil. The smell aroused the figure out of unconsciousness and he stood up, taking in his surroundings.
He noticed the infinite number of clocks covering the walls. There were grandfather clocks, wall clocks, wristwatches, pocket watches, and even a few quaint cuckoo clocks. All of them were set to different times. An entire wall of clocks seemed to be dedicated to the twenty-four timezones, while another wall was dedicated to the month, and yet another to the day. There was also a very large clock that made up the ceiling. It, however, was not a normal clock.
On it, there were billions upon billions of small specs, each with their own hand. If one could magnify the hands, you would see faces. The faces of all the human population since the beginning of time until the present. Hands with faces were being added constantly. It was a marvel to see.
The figure dragged his gaze away from the immense clock and walked up to an old wooden desk. On the desk were books and pens and stray papers. More noticeably, however, was a very peculiar book. It was one a person could never find in a library. The cover was emerald green, the title of the book was enclosed by an intricate golden frame. The title was The Life Twice Lived. It was set into the cover, giving it unique shadows when held at different angles.
The figure slowly traced his fingers over the title, feeling the warmth radiating from the book. Opening the cover, the figure took a seat in an old oak chair in front of the desk. As the figure read the book, the clocks about the room continued in a rhythmic ticking, clanging and cuckooing at every hour. What seemed like days of reading finally ended, and the figure closed the book.
The figure sat up from the chair and turned toward the veil. He sighed to himself and straightened his cloak. Walking slowly toward the elaborate crest, the figure pulled something long and slender out of his cloak. Stopping face to face with the white veil, the figure pointed the thin object at the crest, and spoke in a low baritone, "I'm going home."
The figure disappeared in a flash of blue light. The veil flailed about as a rapid gush of wind whirled through the room. After a few moments, the room settled down and the veil ceased to flap about. Just as strangely as he had left, Father Time came out of the door behind the veil. Strolling back to the old oak table, he sat down. Lifting his eyes to the magnificent clock above him, he said in a whisper, "Good luck, my friend."