Broken Promises
When all is lost, what does one do to regain the security that one had in the beginning of time? Serenity now must play out the rest of destiny that is if she can survive the war she's in. A HP/SM story.
It was a hot day. No, not just a 'hot' day. To say it was a 'hot' day would be the worst understatement of all times ever heard. The ground was steaming from the pressure of heat covering it like a blanket. All inanimate objects groaned from the stifling blaze of the sun. No person in their sane mind would stir from the inner reaches of their air-conditioned room, let alone take one step outside. Well, no one except four females out in the backyard of their house. Okay, it was a mansion that looked entirely too big for the petite girls to live in, but be assured the mansion fit their needs perfectly. Spread out across part of the dry, brittle grass was a training mat. On one edge of the mat a not-yet woman and a young child were settled under the eves of a tree watching the other two dance around the training mat.
The child looked to be around the age of ten. Her black-violent tinted hair was done up into two French braids on either side of her head, the tips barely touching her shoulders; the hair doe a courtesy from one of her adoptive mothers. Her purple AZ tank top and black shorts reaching down to her black ankle high training boots created an appearance of comfort, but the tension in her muscles and the sickeningly sharp glaive resting beside her contradicted her innocent demeanor mood. The child's violet eyes, alive with knowledge beyond her years, held expectation.
The girl sitting beside her, a lady that was between the age of a full grown woman and a teenager had long, wavy ocean-colored hair. Even pulled into a ponytail with a black bow, the curls at the end of her hair tickled the skin below the nape of her neck. Her white blouse moved during her uncomfortable shifting, while her black skirt billowed about her legs. A simple book sat open and forgotten in her lap. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and tucked beside her. Upon her feet were intricately designed high- heels. Her aquamarine eyes were unfocused and had a distant look in them, while her right-hand unconsciously tinkered with the three-spire triton sitting on the grass beside her. Her left thumb was rubbing the circle of metal on her ring finger, the only outward action that displayed her uneasiness.
The two fighters continued to prance about the mat, occasionally landing a small hit on the other. The sandy haired female towered over her counterpart. A head band held back her sweat-soaked short-cropped hair that sometimes caused people to mistake her for a boy. Her gray-green eyes watched with amusement as her opponent, while her mouth curved into a small sidewise smirk. Standing at 5'11", her body was completely trained for fighting, being long and lean with muscles earned from years of hard life. The Nike tank and shorts were covered with sweat, while her skin had a nice sheen of liquid on it. Her heavy combat boots were having a hard time finding sure footing on the wet mat. They had been constantly jabbing at each other since mid-morning and she was beginning to tire. The tall warrior looked at her *much* smaller opponent and broke into a full tilt smirk. Heck, if she was tired, the younger girl must be on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.
The younger fighter saw the smirk that was drawn upon the warriors face and mentally growled. She would prove that she could fight and defend for herself, and she had the stubborn capacity to achieve this goal. With a height of 5'5", many people thought her to be frail and delicate, unable to fight with the strength of those taller than her. Her Silver streaked gold hair was stuck up on a quick bun on top of her head with wisps of hair, freed during movement, plastered to her face. Her red lips were parted in order to suck in the much needed oxygen. Silver flecked crystal blue eyes were devoid of any emotion, signifying her concentration she had on the fight. Upon her wrists, ankles, and chest were circlets that were weights, weighing down her body to help strengthen her muscles. Her tank top and shorts were also drenched with sweat, while her feet inside her combat boots felt like they were on fire. The teenager's body felt like just crawling somewhere and dying, yet, to give up meant to break the final promise she gave her four best friends. As the thoughts drifted over to the last moments with the girls, a small frown appeared on her face. As quickly as it came, it disappeared.
The older fighter saw the exchange though and silently asked it they should stop. Shaking her head 'no', the golden blonde teen threw herself vigorously into the fight. As she sidestepped a block and sent a kick back in that direction, she mentally berated herself for thinking such thoughts about her lost friends. They were gone, end of story. It just meant that she had to become stronger. That way she would be more capable of protecting the ones she loved next time trouble arrived.
No sooner than such thoughts flitted through her mind, then a flash of light near the house interrupted all activities. Four heads turned toward the source to find two newcomers. The first was a tall woman standing about 5'8" dressed in a short black skirt and leotard like outfit complete with bows on the front and back, and black knee-high boots. In the middle of the bow in the front of her outfit there was a blood red jewel. Her long deep green hair was half-up in a bun while the rest hung freely down her back. Her garnet eyes, which held wisdom from the ages, surveyed the scene before her. In her hand, she held a staff that looked remarkably like a key. Since she was expected by the quartet in the backyard, they paid her no heed. Instead their attention was intent upon the man standing beside her.
The old man was not one who was unfamiliar to them, but someone that they could have gone without seeing for a very long time. His hair was white and held traces of silver in them, more so than they remembered. The beard seemed to have grown longer as well. The same twinkling midnight eyes behind the spectacles and the crooked nose that they rested on were the same. The only true notable difference between the live copy before them and their memory image was the way his blue robes hung loosely around his meek body. He seemed to slouch, like a defeated man given up on all hope not as one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Not a breath of wind stirred, all remained still since the arrival the person. It was as if everything had been turned to stone. The heat pounded more ferociously at the occupants of the yard. And through the dead air came a small, silvery whisper.
"Uncle Dumbledore.."
When all is lost, what does one do to regain the security that one had in the beginning of time? Serenity now must play out the rest of destiny that is if she can survive the war she's in. A HP/SM story.
It was a hot day. No, not just a 'hot' day. To say it was a 'hot' day would be the worst understatement of all times ever heard. The ground was steaming from the pressure of heat covering it like a blanket. All inanimate objects groaned from the stifling blaze of the sun. No person in their sane mind would stir from the inner reaches of their air-conditioned room, let alone take one step outside. Well, no one except four females out in the backyard of their house. Okay, it was a mansion that looked entirely too big for the petite girls to live in, but be assured the mansion fit their needs perfectly. Spread out across part of the dry, brittle grass was a training mat. On one edge of the mat a not-yet woman and a young child were settled under the eves of a tree watching the other two dance around the training mat.
The child looked to be around the age of ten. Her black-violent tinted hair was done up into two French braids on either side of her head, the tips barely touching her shoulders; the hair doe a courtesy from one of her adoptive mothers. Her purple AZ tank top and black shorts reaching down to her black ankle high training boots created an appearance of comfort, but the tension in her muscles and the sickeningly sharp glaive resting beside her contradicted her innocent demeanor mood. The child's violet eyes, alive with knowledge beyond her years, held expectation.
The girl sitting beside her, a lady that was between the age of a full grown woman and a teenager had long, wavy ocean-colored hair. Even pulled into a ponytail with a black bow, the curls at the end of her hair tickled the skin below the nape of her neck. Her white blouse moved during her uncomfortable shifting, while her black skirt billowed about her legs. A simple book sat open and forgotten in her lap. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and tucked beside her. Upon her feet were intricately designed high- heels. Her aquamarine eyes were unfocused and had a distant look in them, while her right-hand unconsciously tinkered with the three-spire triton sitting on the grass beside her. Her left thumb was rubbing the circle of metal on her ring finger, the only outward action that displayed her uneasiness.
The two fighters continued to prance about the mat, occasionally landing a small hit on the other. The sandy haired female towered over her counterpart. A head band held back her sweat-soaked short-cropped hair that sometimes caused people to mistake her for a boy. Her gray-green eyes watched with amusement as her opponent, while her mouth curved into a small sidewise smirk. Standing at 5'11", her body was completely trained for fighting, being long and lean with muscles earned from years of hard life. The Nike tank and shorts were covered with sweat, while her skin had a nice sheen of liquid on it. Her heavy combat boots were having a hard time finding sure footing on the wet mat. They had been constantly jabbing at each other since mid-morning and she was beginning to tire. The tall warrior looked at her *much* smaller opponent and broke into a full tilt smirk. Heck, if she was tired, the younger girl must be on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.
The younger fighter saw the smirk that was drawn upon the warriors face and mentally growled. She would prove that she could fight and defend for herself, and she had the stubborn capacity to achieve this goal. With a height of 5'5", many people thought her to be frail and delicate, unable to fight with the strength of those taller than her. Her Silver streaked gold hair was stuck up on a quick bun on top of her head with wisps of hair, freed during movement, plastered to her face. Her red lips were parted in order to suck in the much needed oxygen. Silver flecked crystal blue eyes were devoid of any emotion, signifying her concentration she had on the fight. Upon her wrists, ankles, and chest were circlets that were weights, weighing down her body to help strengthen her muscles. Her tank top and shorts were also drenched with sweat, while her feet inside her combat boots felt like they were on fire. The teenager's body felt like just crawling somewhere and dying, yet, to give up meant to break the final promise she gave her four best friends. As the thoughts drifted over to the last moments with the girls, a small frown appeared on her face. As quickly as it came, it disappeared.
The older fighter saw the exchange though and silently asked it they should stop. Shaking her head 'no', the golden blonde teen threw herself vigorously into the fight. As she sidestepped a block and sent a kick back in that direction, she mentally berated herself for thinking such thoughts about her lost friends. They were gone, end of story. It just meant that she had to become stronger. That way she would be more capable of protecting the ones she loved next time trouble arrived.
No sooner than such thoughts flitted through her mind, then a flash of light near the house interrupted all activities. Four heads turned toward the source to find two newcomers. The first was a tall woman standing about 5'8" dressed in a short black skirt and leotard like outfit complete with bows on the front and back, and black knee-high boots. In the middle of the bow in the front of her outfit there was a blood red jewel. Her long deep green hair was half-up in a bun while the rest hung freely down her back. Her garnet eyes, which held wisdom from the ages, surveyed the scene before her. In her hand, she held a staff that looked remarkably like a key. Since she was expected by the quartet in the backyard, they paid her no heed. Instead their attention was intent upon the man standing beside her.
The old man was not one who was unfamiliar to them, but someone that they could have gone without seeing for a very long time. His hair was white and held traces of silver in them, more so than they remembered. The beard seemed to have grown longer as well. The same twinkling midnight eyes behind the spectacles and the crooked nose that they rested on were the same. The only true notable difference between the live copy before them and their memory image was the way his blue robes hung loosely around his meek body. He seemed to slouch, like a defeated man given up on all hope not as one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Not a breath of wind stirred, all remained still since the arrival the person. It was as if everything had been turned to stone. The heat pounded more ferociously at the occupants of the yard. And through the dead air came a small, silvery whisper.
"Uncle Dumbledore.."