I am the eyes inside staring back at you…
(September 19, 2067)
The night wind whispered through the purple-colored curtains in the library of the large mansion. There was nothing unusual about this particular night; really, it was a night like any other. There was no moonlight on this night, as it was a new moon, and the breeze that blew was the same as any other that swept through this dusty town. Not even the people here were extraordinary. There were people that gossiped, spied on law-abiding neighbors through the shutters that covered their windows, and generally went about their daily lives, feeding off what others told them, or what they had seen. That was their entertainment, it was their life. And so that was this little town of Baed, as called in the Old Norse Tongue.
Unfortunately, this town also held a secret. It was a secret beyond the shallow mediocrities that the place had to offer. The townspeople regarded it as a taboo to speak of, and they did not even speak of it to their children, as harsh was the taboo. The elder's locked their doors in the deepest of nights to discuss it with others as old as they were, and only then, it was still spoken in such whispered terms. Mothers and Fathers got very stiff when they heard anything remotely associated with the secret, and they scolded their children and any other adult that brought it up.
As was the way of this town.
Now, there so happened that one former hero, the one formerly called Harry Potter, resided in this very town. He was probably the one that was the least normal. Maybe even abnormal, but no one talked about it. Rather, they would just avoid him, but when it came around to it, there was no one that would be able to avoid him. Even at his now age of eighty-seven, he had an aura of command that would make even the superficial townspeople stand up to attention.
Chase Darken, as was now called the former Harry Potter, was an unusual character indeed. At least that is how the townspeople referred to him: the abnormal. He lived in a beaten-down house on Victoria Lane on top of a stubby knoll near the edge of the town where the schools were. Every day, school or not, he would walk over to his weather-beaten chair on his lawn and sit and watch. No one really knows what he was watching for; they believed it just habit, and they were probably right.
The kids loved him, in their own weird way, and those closest to the windows during the school day would stare out up to the house on top of the hill in sheer delight when he hobbled across the lawn, his cane swinging around at the weeds that adorned his green lawn, his lips muttering obscenities. Then he would reach the chair and pat it firmly, as if it was an old friend, then ease his old and battered body into it. He would scratch his long white beard, looking around, watching for something, until his deep green eyes framed by wrinkles and age would catch some youngsters.
The children would laugh, saying it just a game when their teachers caught them staring out the window at old Chase Darken, but they knew more than what they were letting on. The teachers would frown in disapproval, because they knew the secret and go back to teaching, thoughtful looks on their face, staring in mystery at the children. Nevertheless, the children would look back at the figure that sat on top of the hill in his rickety old chair, a brooding look in his strange green eyes.
It happened gradually. While walking home, students would stop by the cracked wood fence that surrounded Harry's estate. Peering at the old man, they would call out to him, just wanting him to do something other than stare beyond what they could see. However, he never did anything else. Day in and day out they would come though, even if the old man would not talk to them. Small numbers of children would come first, those of the fearless kind usually grade three through five, and eventually when the older students found out what they were doing, they came too. Elementary, Middle, and High School students came and called out to him, unbeknownst to any grown-up.
After a while, Harry would do something. First, it was small things: leaving the gate open, having cookies waiting on the cracked patio table; all which the children accepted. They would gather around him, sitting down and wasting half their day just to look at him and marvel. Others would try to follow his line of vision to see what he was looking at, but they never saw anything of interest. Soon, it was other things: old Chase talking to the ones that wanted help with their homework, making cookies and other sorts of treats, stringing popcorn onto a string for the tree at Christmas time.
Soon enough, everyday, without fail, more would come just to hear him speak and teach them things. Moreover, always they would look into his deep green eyes and at the secrecy that ran deep; and so they wanted more. So, Harry told them more. He told them about his exploits as a child and about his friends. He would always get a faraway look in his eyes when he spoke of this in his low calm voice, and then the children would leave to go back to their houses for the night. They always wondered, and now they wondered more, during the day time, and even as they dreamt.
Initially, the teachers first noticed something strange. The staff had always known that they students had a fascination with the old man on top of the hill, yet lately; they seemed to notice a more frenzied lure from the students. As always, the students did their class work and homework, yet these days, it seemed to be more drone-like. It also had become quieter. Many notes seemed to be passed around from one person to the next, however, when the teachers read them, they made no sense at all.
The written notes seemed to be in a certain language that no grown-up could understand. Squiggly lines ran vertical across the page in no language that no one knew. During lunch and whenever the teachers had a break, they would laze around the teachers lounge, laughing uncertainly amongst themselves, unsure how to proceed with all of the notes and none of them being able to read it. In addition, the seemingly fascination with Chase Darken.
After a while, they deemed to let it go until something more serious happened. Unfortunately, that would destroy a bridge between the teachers and the parents, leaving the kids standing in the middle with Harry.
The afternoons with Chase got progressively longer, as they learned about the past, how to cook and clean, how to use their imagination fully, and even beyond that. The teenagers would paint or clean, smiling and nodding at the younger ones that made cookies and cakes, while all of them listened to Harry. Everyone was happy.
Until one day, Chase got sick. It had started with one person noticing that he was not outside, and then in a matter of minutes, everyone knew that he was not out. Younger students called their older ones, and almost an hour, every teen and pre-teen was watching for Harry. Bells rang different periods, lunch, recess, and then periods again, but Chase never came out. By the end of the day, everyone was agitated. As soon as the last bell of the day rang, every student was gone and rushing up the hill at great speeds. The teachers stared after their retreating students backs and shook their heads. However, they had not a single idea that they were headed toward the old man Chase's house.
The fastest, littlest girl got their first, and rang the doorbell. Her sky blue eyes shone with worry as did those of a hundred or so more students that ran up after her. Soon every student that was not sick at home that day, were there at Harry's manor. Five, then ten minutes passed before they head scuffling on the wooden floor inside the house and the door was opened.
Chase looked ill from the first moment that they all saw him. His tanned skin was a milky, transparent white that made his skin seem paper-thin; his wrinkles seemed more pronounced than before, and dark shadows hung like bags under his dull gray eyes. Glancing at all of them, his eyes falling on each face, he motioned them to follow him. The students followed him through the maze of corridors that made up his manor to the library. It was the grandest room in all of the house and Harry shuffled across the hardwood floor with his cane smacking against the floor and lowered himself onto a beaten leather chair.
The students all dropped their bags to settle down on the floor, staring expectantly at the old man. Chase sighed deeply and he sagged in his chair. Several people glanced worriedly at one another and at their matron. He might be an old man, but Harry did not do anything less than commanding and that was certainly weaker than he normally was.
Chase took a large volume from the lamp table next to his chair and brushed it off, opening its stiff, fluttering pages to the beginning. Then he started to read. Harry read about dragons and the stuff made from fairy tales. The words that flowed from his mouth were like magic, describing every place as if it was real until they reached the end. Chase did not say anything, but got up and trudged back to his room, the children walking out into the night. All came home late that night.
The next few days, he read all sorts of books all along that same theme that he did the first night. Repeatedly, they heard about a wizard and his adventures in a magical school. The magical words that poured from Chase's mouth left no doubt in their minds that this was real, yet logic told them it could not. To every question, Harry answered as truthfully as he could and the children started to believe.
The belief that entered their mind was small at first: a seed of light that shone in their dark, uncomprehending minds, but then it grew. It was a candle of flickering flame and it blossomed. Its once flickering flame grew strong and steady, until it burned the candle down. It did not stop there though. The flame caught onto other things: useless prejudices in the children's minds, different things that they would never need to know or want to remember anyway. In all, it helped them in some way or another. The imagination grew as the flame burned away everything it deemed useless, and they forgot memories of darker times. They believed more until, one day, it clicked. It was real.
It was around this time that the parents started noticing something was amiss. Their children would come home every night, weary and tired, yet joyful and sad at the same time. From some they would hear their children cry themselves to bed; some would watch as their children separated themselves from their parents; and even more, they would lock themselves in their rooms, trying to get away from their family. Or at least their so-called family.
Soon enough, some of the older ones just stopped coming home. Of course, their parents were astounded. Every child in Baed was perfectly born and bred to be the perfect citizen. Thoughts of what their children might be doing sent shivers through them. Drugs and sex came for most in their minds, and shock descended upon them like vultures. This, of course, was not what they were doing, but their parents thought the worst just the same. They had a right too though as no child or teenager, had ever not come home.
The older ones had stopped coming home, not because of drugs or sex, or anything else that their parents had managed to conceive, but because Chase was becoming more sick by the day. They had stayed to help him, confining him to bed-rest, and making him drink lots of soup. They were his worst nightmare, confining him to his room, and yet, they were his saviors. They made sure that he got whatever he needed to feel better. Harry was sure that they would get into trouble and eventually, someone would come looking for them, but he was grateful all the same. Anyone, let alone children, risking their lives for him was beyond him giving thanks.
More left their broken family and broken homes to come and live with Chase. The girl that rang the doorbell when Harry had first gotten sick was the first small one to leave her family to come live with her mentor. Everyone's mentor. After a couple of weeks, the schools and homes were devoid of children. Even the younger toddlers that had not even learned to walk yet came and stayed with the children and the old man. The town rang empty almost, and no one knew where the kids had gone.
It came to be the last day. Chase was ragged and pale, his eyes, once green and full of life and truth became a milky white, still filled with hope, yet dead almost. His body would not be moved by itself, and he had settled, after much arguing, to sit in a wheelchair while the other children pushed him around. Blue veins could be seen under his tissue-thin skin, and it hung off his person like loose, baggy clothing. Harry was truly old, and he knew that he was going to die.
The day was dark and cold, the silver clouds blocking out the sunlight so that a cold seemed to permeate through your skin to your bones. It was humid too, and no matter how dry you were, you always seemed wet. Chase shivered and pulled his blanket up more over his legs. He was sitting in his wheel chair next to the fire in the huge, echoic library surrounded by hundreds of pulsing, warm magic-filled bodies. He had passed down his magic to them.
That was the secret.
The children, his children, were staring expectantly at him. It was quiet except for the crackle of the huge bonfire behind him and Chase coughed lightly. "My children," he called out in his creaky, scratchy voice. He coughed again and he was handed a glass of water. He thanked the person, and continued, his voice fading by the minute. "My children," he began again, "Tomorrow, I shall not be here." Cries of outrage and sadness echoed though the room at this, and he shook his head, smiling slightly. "You do not need me anymore, my children." He motioned to all of the books that covered the wall from floor to ceiling. "Everything that you will ever need is in those books."
Harry coughed again, his voice becoming hoarse. "You all have the power now, it flows through your veins like none others in the world." He stopped, catching his breath, tears coming to his eyes. "You are powerful, and you will now control your own destiny." His voice became quiet and they strained to hear him. "I am very proud of you, my children." A single tear spilled from his eye and he smiled brightly through his pain. "I love you all."
Then he collapsed into fits of coughs, before falling into a deep a coma.
End Prologue
(AN: Okay. This is the stupid chapter, but I really need this chapter so that some of the other chapters make sense. Otherwise… It does not make sense. Heh. Yeah… so maybe just review and go to the next chapter. The next chapter is better I promise.)