DISCLAIMER;
We do not own Harry Potter, or Sailor Moon, or Inuyasha, or whatever else Tris decides to use in this story! Some things are hers but there is so much in this story it's a little hard to tell at first what is hers and what isn't (Just think about it & you'll what's hers & what's not!).
SUMMARY;
Intro by the 1rst author (which by the way I am not. I am just the 2nd author/ 1rst Editor/publisher!);
"Sailor Moon and Harry Potter fans everywhere; someone was actually crazy enough to combine the two along with a little Inuyasha added in; so enjoy!"
FLAMES WELCOME!!!!!!!!
Prologue
Doorstep delivery
There was nothing strange about the night sky on that cold, late,
autumn evening in early November; at least not to the sleepy residents
of that small, suburban town near London (the precise name of it is of
no importance). There were very few people who were restless enough to
look out of there windows at the moon, a thin, crescent, which seemed
odd for that time of night, and gave an eerie feeling when a cloud
passed by it. Even fewer people were awake enough on Floral Street to
see that the mysterious fog that was seeping out of the nearby forest.
In fact, the only living things to witness these peculiar happenings
were a strange owl (that in itself was strange, as owls were not
common in that area) who decided to perch on the street sign to clean
his feathers. As well as a black cat that was sitting near a gardening
shed.
Then, near midnight, there was a rustling of leaves coming from
the forest. It wasn't like being blown by a slight breeze, but like
that of a person's clothing, maybe a long cloak (or something along
those lines) dragging along the ground. To an onlooker, that would be
considered one of the most unusual things to happen in a place like
that.
Ever sense the founding of Crescent Park, a small area that used to be
a part of the forest before a little section of it was developed. No
one dared to go into the woodland area, especially at night. Almost
everyone was afraid of it. Some thought that spirits haunted it, while
others believed that it was a portal to another dimension. A few
children said that it was a landing site for space aliens, but most
people believed it to be cursed. Some of the townsfolk, particularly
politicians, tried time and time again to get the rest of that land
developed. However, every time they tried, the machinery broke down,
parts and tools went missing, or great storms would blow through and
many other mysterious fatal accidents and happenings would prevent the
workers from harming a single tree. On rare occasions, someone would
go in there and come out minutes later, screaming as if they had seen
death and ranting of dreadful things that sounded like nonsense. After
the tenth victim, eleven years before the house at number thirteen was
purchased, no one had dared to try to destroy the rest of the forest.
At the sound of the forest stirring, the owl turned his head, as if to
see what made that sound, then flew off like he was bored with the
night's events in that vicinity. Then, a tall and mysterious old man
appeared out of the heavy mist, a man who was the strangest visitor to
come to Floral Street, or to that town for that matter. His choice in
clothing was most contrary to what people of that community believed
to be proper. He wore long roes of deep maroon with a matching,
pointed hat that was embroidered with golden stars. His feet had a
pair of sandals over them, and he carried a small, drawstring bag tied
to his belt, which was violet coloured with a red, yellow, blue and
green crest on the buckle. This strange traveler carried a staff with
a large piece of purple quarts tied to it. The rod was about the same
height as the stranger, but looked a great deal older then him. When
it came to his face, he had a long nose, and a long silver beard and
hair. His light indigo eyes gave him that look of great wisdom on his
ancient face, but also gave a presence of youthful energy and
tremendous power. He looked as if he could have been Father Time, or
The Old Man of the Universe, but his name was Prospero Dumbledore. [If
a character has the same name, or a part of it is the same if not
similar to the original that means that the character in question
doesn't need to be tampered with to accommodate the other changes I
made, or, (like in this case) I couldn't think up a better one. I am
opened to suggestions with names in bold]
Calmly, he walked out of the forest and stood in the middle of the
road. He looked left, then he looked right. There wasn't a single
living being in the street that could be seen. He opened the
drawstring bag and pulled out a small, glass cube. Then, Dumbledore
put it in the palm of his outstretched hand. What happened next would
have been considered by the people of that town or by most of the
modern world, nothing short of impossible. The cube stood upon one of
its points, and started rotating in Dumbledore's hand. Next, it rose
slowly into the air until it was even with the lampposts.
Dumbledore then pointed his crystal-toped staff at the lamppost on his
right, and the cube zoomed toward the light. It was approaching the
lantern so fast that looked as if both the cube and the light would
collide and shatter. But, instead of breaking, the cube went right
through the street lamp without a scratch or a sound. The glass that
was holding the light bulb wasn't damaged either. However, as the cube
flew through the fixture, the light in the bulb went out while a light
in the same colour appeared in the center cube itself.
Dumbledore pointed his great stick at another light, this time aiming
at a porch light. It too went out as soon as the cube passed through
it, with the light at its center shining a little brighter. The
process repeated itself again and again as the Light-Taker got
steadily brighter, and the street getting darker, until the only light
was that of the moon, the stars, and the porch light of number
thirteen. At this house, Dumbledore took a few steps forward and
stretched his hand out again, and the Light-Taker flew back into it,
looking more like a geometric star then a flying lantern.
After he slipped it back in it's drawstring bag, Dumbledore heard a
sound that came from the nearby garden shed. The sound startled him a
bit, but he just calmly turned his head toward its source. It was
coming from the black cat that had sat in front of the shed for the
majority of the night. At the sight of the cat, he smiled.
"I should have known that you would be here," said Dumbledore,
"Professor McGonagall"
The cat took a few steps forward, and transformed into a woman. She
was middle aged, and wore robes of a deep emerald and black velvet
with a red belt and buckle that had a gold crest with a lion. A silver
and amber brooch held up her matching cloak, and on her head, just
above the bun at the base of her neck, was a black pointed hat with a
wide brim. Professor McGonagall also had an air of great strictness
about her. Indeed, her eyes were just as piercing in her human form as
when she was a cat. Even her voice was curt with regulation.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," responded McGonagall. She
walked briskly toward the old man, then slowed to her steady pace down
the street.
"Are the rumors true, Prospero?" asked McGonagall. She was always
right to the point on important matters with a lot of the people she
was familiar with, Dumbledore being no exception, but the crispness
that was usually in her voice had a bit of worry in it.
"I am afraid so," said Dumbledore somberly. "Both the good, and the
bad."
"And They were so young too; they had there whole before them,"
McGonagall whispered, with more emotion in it then usual, and more to
herself then her companion.
"Indeed they were and did," replied Dumbledore sadly.
"And, the girl?," Inquired McGonagall, in her normally professional
tone.
"Caliban's bringing her," answered Dumbledore.
McGonagall's eyes widened a bit, as if in shock, and she tried to
continue in her usual fashion, although she had great difficulty
hiding her concern.
"You don't really thing it wise to trust Caliban with something as
important as this, do you?" she asked, hoping that Dumbledore wasn't
being serious. They came to a stop in front of the only house on the
street that still had its porch lit.
"I would trust Caliban with my own life," said Dumbledore with a bit
of a laugh in his voice. Then he fell silent and gave McGonagall's
question an actual thought.
"Then again-"he started.
Suddenly a great noise, like that of a motor, split the silence of the
night and was followed by a bright light. As the light got brighter,
the noise got louder, then a huge Harley-Davidson chopper fell out of
the sky, and landed with a loud thud, and stopping at only a few
centimeters away from them.
The motorcycle was very large, but the man riding it was about two to
three meters tall, and was wide enough to take up a whole love seat,
if not an entire sofa. He had a large helmet the size of a large
bucket, as well as a wild black beard and hair. Even his face was
black, until he removed the goggles from his eyes. He also had some
sort of brown satchel over his shoulder.
"Good evenin', professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall," said
the large man as he got of the motorbike gingerly.
"Oh, my goodness!" said McGonagall. She was still shaken from the
overwhelmingly large and loud contraption that looked as if it was
going to crash into her and Dumbledore. Dumbledore, however, wasn't at
all perturbed, and just took a few steps toward the mammoth of a man.
"There weren't any problems, were there, Caliban?" asked Dumbledore.
"No, sir, other then the rubble," said Caliban, pulling a silver-white
bundle out of his bag carefully and walked over to Dumbledore. "Little
angel fell asleep just as we wen' flyin' over Liverpool. She always
seemed to like thunderstorms," Caliban chuckled. McGonagall had calmed
down a bit, and when Dumbledore handed her his amethyst- toped rod and
took the bundle from Caliban
"Try not to wake her," whispered Caliban as he handed the old man the
bundle. "There you go."
Dumbledore parted the blankets slightly to see the contains of the
blankets more clearly; McGonagall also moved in closer to see its only
occupant closely.
Inside the silvery blankets, fast asleep, was a beautiful baby girl.
What an unusual child she was, though! Her hair was, not a colour that
was considered normal for a child, like blonde, brown, or black, but a
lovely shade of Aquarius-rose-pink, and it was put up in two curly
ponytails with white ribbons. Her bangs curled a bit and formed a
heart-shaped gap in the middle of her forehead that revealed a golden
birthmark in the exact shape of an upwards pointing crescent. A
twelve pointed nova that started with the points stretched with the
top point touching the hair line and the lowest point reaching between
her eye brows. (Or, at least, it kind of looked like one) that
slightly glowed a violent shade of Green.
"Is that where-?" began Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "She will have that scar for the rest of
her life."
"But, can't you-?" started McGonagall.
"All I can do is ease it a little," replied Dumbledore, pulling out a
wand that was 39 ½ centimeters long from his pocket. "And even if I
could, I wouldn't. Scars like this can be very useful at times, and,
unless I am mistaken, this particular one may prove to be very
helpful."
He then walked over to McGonagall and touched the purple crystal on
his staff with the tip of the wand, and touched the radiant mark on
the infant's forehead; it instantly stopped shining, and went from
green to the same purple colour as the stone on Dumbledore rod.
"What about that crescent mark?" she questioned. "Doesn't it mean-"
"Maybe," he replied. "I'm not too sure, either."
They all starred at the child for a moment, and then McGonagall
brought up another point she wanted clarity about.
"You don't really thing that it's safe, leaving her with these
people?" queried McGonagall as the party advanced to number 13. "I
have been watching this family ever sense you considered to give her
to them. They are possibly the worst sort of muggles imaginable, for
raising a child like her. They really are-"
"All the family she has left," said Dumbledore, walking up the steps
to the door.
"But, all the same, I do believe that she would be better off with
someone else," McGonagall persisted.
"I mean, this girl will be famous! There won't be a person in our
world who won't know her name!"
"All the more reason that she should stay here," answered Dumbledore.
"She would be better of, growing up away from all that..." He paused to
look at the sleeping child. "Until she is ready."
He laid the baby on the front doorstep gently, and pulled out a letter
from his drawstring bag. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. W. Fiore in
purple ink. Caliban then let out a soft, but audible sob.
"There, there, Caliban," said Dumbledore comfortingly, turning to the
large man. "It's not really good-bye, after all."
He then took his staff back from McGonagall, then placed the letter on
top of the bundle. Then he straightened up, and prepared to leave. But
before he removed the Light-Taker to re-light Floral Street, he took
one last glance at the pink-haired child, and whispered to the night,
"Good Luck, Serina Moon."
Thus begins the story of The Moon Chronicles; Serina's Beginning.
TIME TO VOTE!
We can't decide on a name for the school so we want you to:
Zodiac Academy of Sorcery (ME)
OR
Avolon Academy of Sorcery (Tris)
Send in your vote with your review!
FLAMES WELCOME!!!!!!!!