Hey, this is Merklin. My partner doesn't know I've posted this which…could make me a jerk, I dunno. Anyhow, here's the beginning of Time Out of Time. The title may change. This was originally supposed to be the sequel to another story that will probably be written eventually, but I'm in charge of most of the writing, and this storyline grabbed my attention with an iron fist. I cannot, and will not, promise regular updates. I write as my time allows and as inspiration strikes me. If I don't feel like writing then there is no point whatsoever in my trying to write, it just won't work. I'll hate whatever I come up with.
Anyhow, this isn't so much the beginning as it is a kind of forward. I'll put a sneak peek of the actual beginning at the end, but for now think of this as a kind of disclaimer, to see if we can catch anyone's eye with this.
Now, the unpleasant necessities.
Harry Potter and all related characters, places, and items are the property of J.K. Rowling. (Speaking of which, Deathly Hallows was brilliant.) If you've seen it in any one of the seven Harry Potter books, or in any of the associated books, (Tales of Beedle the Bard, The Lexicon, etc.) It belongs to her, not us. Any original characters, as well as the plot, belong to us.
Now that that's done, here it is, without further ado.
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It began, as so many tales of sorrow have began, with a kiss.
That is not to say that a kiss is an instrument of sorrow in and of itself, but a kiss can mean many things. It can be a casual gesture of friendship, or a demonstration of deep and abiding love, or any number of things in between. It can be cold and callous, or it can be gentle and passionate. It can be harsh, needy, empty, hungry, or tender. It is when the meaning of a kiss is misunderstood that the seeds of sorrow sprout, and tragedy ensues.
This is not a story about that kiss, it shall be a great deal of time before we even learn the truth of the kiss, for this story is about the aftermath of the kiss, of consequences reaching from the far past. It is a story of hardship and of desperation, and of friendship and joy, of the never-ending struggle between good and evil.
This is the story of a young, but clever witch who must stand against the greatest sorcerer of all time; it is the story of the last and greatest of an ancient, near-forgotten people. It is a tale of broken hearts, of terrible wrath, full of violence and cruelty and murder and death and idealism corrupted.
This is the legend of Hermione Granger and Chaos.
And all of it began with a kiss.
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And there you have it, the prelude. Now, since I'm inclined to keep my word, a sneak peek of the prologue/chapter one, whichever.
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The first time Neville heard The Voice, it was less of a voice and more of a feeling; a kind of half-trail of cold that crept up his spine the first time he set foot in Hogwarts Castle, as though something were staring straight through him and measuring what they found there, and then there was a tingle of excitement that was not his own. It was gone quickly, though, and he promptly forgot about it.
The second time was during his first potions class. He had been utterly petrified of Professor Snape, and so he had been hastily attempting to follow the instructions, avoid the professor's gaze, and control his fear all at once. Being only eleven, and not terribly confident to begin with he was, of course, failing. His eyes on Snape, he reached unthinkingly for the porcupine quills and heard, quite distinctly, a faint whisper of 'No," accompanied by the sensation of someone shaking their head.
Startled, he hesitated for a moment, then dismissed his concerns when he caught sight of Snape and grabbed the quills, dropping them into the boiling cauldron.
The severe pain of the boils granted to him by his exploding cauldron convinced him that, perhaps, he should have listened to The Voice.
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And that's all you get for now. That chapter is currently being written, and with any luck I should have it done soon. I can't promise anything, though. I have homework, work, and two tests coming up. I'll try though.