Author's Note & Anti-Litigation Charm
I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lord Voldemort, or any other aspect of JK Rowling's creation. I am happier this way, because, really, who wants to be the wealthiest woman in Britain? Geez.
This is a bit of something that I was thinking about, that may or may not tie into a two- or three-part series that I plan on beginning to post as soon as I have enough of it written. What follows in this one-shot is simply two stories about OCCs. This little one-shot might find its way into the prologue of a later posting, but I wanted to make sure it was out there, just in case it didn't find its way. My thoughts of Apparition, while they start with JK Rowling's world, also borrow ideas from Anne McCaffrey, who has written the extraordinary Dragonriders of Pern series. In it, dragons go between, vanishing from one place and reappearing in another. I've borrowed that mechanism for Apparition, and though it doesn't factor heavily into this little bit, it'll factor heavily into a later posting. Cheers!
The wizarding world has grown used to the process of Apparition as a convenient and reliable form of transportation. Despite accidents, such as splinching (leaving part of oneself behind when trying to Apparate to a new location), it has enjoyed stable popularity among wizards since its discovery in the earliest records of wizards in Europe. For most wizards, the autonomy of it – rather than relying on a broom or a carpet, which could be tampered with or damaged – is appealing. As a rule, then, the wizarding community looks gently over the occasional problems and occurrences that crop up.
The world was dark for Erlend. It was 1350 – the Black Death had rampaged its way through Europe, reaching his remote village in the northern mountains of Norway, killing his family and friends, taking his little girl last. As he held her, Erlend felt a massive grief consume him, heard a roaring in his ears as his vision clouded over with unthinking sorrow. What good was magic, he thought, if it couldn't save my little Lene? All the potions that he knew had been unable to turn back the disease that had crept over the bodies of his loved ones. The wasted, sore-riddled frame was too light in his hands, her death too heavy on his soul. With a sob of utmost sorrow, Erlend spun, turning on his heel as if to run away from the scene, wishing for nothing but oblivion.
With a loud crack, Erlend disappeared.
Ingrid urged more speed out of her failing broomstick, wondering how far she could fly before the fire in the bristles of her broom would force her to land. She could hear the air groan behind her, pounded under the sweeping wings of the Short-snout that was chasing her.
So you want to study dragons, huh? she asked herself mockingly. Her trip to the lake-riddled tip of southern Sweden had been nothing if not successful – that is, she'd found the dragons that people were starting to think had become extinct. The European Congress of Wizards and Warlocks – which would, though Ingrid and her contemporaries didn't know it yet, become the International Confederation of Wizards – had funded several foolhardy explorers such as herself to hunt down traces of dragons, their numbers and species, their strengths and weaknesses, so that they could be contained. Europe was in the middle of its High Renaissance, and while there was still enough of the Old World to account for rumors of dragons, the wizarding community had its ear to the ground and knew that if they didn't wish to be exposed and used, they had better start hiding themselves and the world they lived in.
At present, Ingrid was wishing that she'd never heard of the European Congress of Wizards and Warlocks, never understood the need for wizarding secrecy, and most certainly never wished to see dragons.
The uncontrollable bucking of her broomstick brought Ingrid's mind forcefully into the present as she began her plummeting descent. A blast of brilliant blue flame scorched the very tip of the trees near her, and a second warmed her back even as it reduced the pathetic remains of the brush of her broom to ashes. With a curse, Ingrid fell.
Branches that caught her on her sudden journey saved her life by cushioning the fall – although, faced with the threat of death by fire, Ingrid was sure she wasn't grateful. She could see a glint of sunlight catch the dragon's startlingly blue hide as it descended, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the dragon caught up with her, likely burning most of the surrounding forest down in the attempt. Running madly, Ingrid reached into herself, to that determination that she needed to Disapparate. Panicking, she couldn't picture where she wanted to be, all her concentration instead on the dragon that she could hear drawing near her. A wave of terror rose over her as she realized that she hadn't picked a location – but it was too late to stop, the dragon's thunderous steps coming ever closer behind her.
A strangled cry escaped Ingrid, followed by a pop that was swallowed in the roar of another bout of dragon's fire.
A/N. Yup, that's it. I'm working fervishly on getting the real story together. The first bit is SS/HG, the second bit isn't, and the third bit might be. I've never posted *anything* before, so this is all new and different. Cheers.