Series: The Game
Title: Year One
Category: Harry Potter series
Summary:AU The game, my friend, has just begun and Harry Potter is just one of many pawns. Part of the Game series. Features the usual players and a couple of OCs.
Major Character(s): Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore
Original Character(s): Amelia Pierce
Ships: friendship/enemies among all players
Genres: Adventure, Angst, Friendship
Author's Notes: This is my first long-length fanfiction, so please bear with me. Also, this is un-betaed. I'll try to catch my mistakes and correct them, but English is my second language. I see this story and others like this as a way to improve my writing. Till next time. :)
Disclaimer: I owned nothing.
Prologue: Before It All Begins
Christopher gazed upon the darken sky, the light from the stars battling against the fading sun streaks. The tombstones around him began to lose their shine and adopt a new ashen-like appearance as the glowing wheel sank below the horizon. The air was deathly still and the crackles of life were nowhere to be heard.
It was almost time.
A sudden hawk of a crow broke his train of thought. The wind played with his hair as he glanced around, making sure that none was following him. His black and silver robe rippled behind him in waves as he continued on in his journey. The barely green grass tickled the sole of his shoes as he felt the fading warmth part ways with his exposed skin. The passing headstones and buried bones marked his faithful path. Lives lost in this rubbish but foretold war. A seemingly endless war that all who participated, either by choice or by force, say will never end, unless the Earth stops revolving in its trajectory first.
He must not be late.
The brooding man pushed back a strand of hair that caught in his dark brown eyes as he took note of the time. The silent cemetery was behind him in yards, only empty gravel-filled trail before him. The sky above had finally turned black. The celestial bodies that came out barely illuminate his way and his figure. His shadow stretched beyond his six footed self and hidden itself within the blacken figures of the trees that populated the pathway. The luster of the moonbeams barely highlighted his shallowed, pale cheeks, his long crooked nose, his dull brunette hair that hang by his shoulders and his abnormally large stuck-out ears.
It was unnaturally dark, given the time and place, and he risked not to use magic. To use magic was to expose an artery. A quick slash and the life-giving blood will pool out, leaving the being dead and useless. It was as if to give an unchallenging task to a novice with the goal to extinguish all light in the darkness.
No, he must not use magic and make himself vulnerable in the dark of night. Be part of the darkness or against it.
Christopher shook away thoughts of what to fore come and huffed a sign of annoyance, the cold air beginning to play daggers against his skin. Must they meet once every five hundred years? And, must it be when the world sleep and dream? When monsters underneath beds and in closets come out and play? He cursed himself for letting Edith choose the location and time for their rendezvous. She never take in practicality nor connivence into consideration. He blamed her impulsive blood from her father, the good for nothing git.
He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to gather warmth as his feet made contact with gravel again and again, filling the air with never-ending grinds. The site in which they will meet came nearer with each and every heavy step. Humanity and all living bodies will soon get their collective sigh of relief. The war was about to hit its intermission.
However, like a bee that never stops buzzing, his mind never stop churning. Had he made the right choice? To choose that child above all to be the savior of the magical world? And the child's lover to be the sacrificial lamb to give to the hungry wolf? The hungry wolf that will only stop chewing if given his eternal rest?
Yes, he had made the right choice. He believed in his chosen two, not for what they will become, but for what they will be, if that made any sense. These two will be the light at the end of a very long dark tunnel, the light to each other and the light to this pitiful world. Besides, even if he haven't chosen them, they would still play a part in this matter, no matter the outcome of this impending meeting.
It was faith.
How he detest that word. It reminded him too much of his place in the world. Of what was needed from him, regarding how he felt about the matters.
Like he cared.
Given tradition, the brat Edith will again act as gamekeeper and the wretched Matthew will make his choice to go against Christopher's two. The boy and girl will become two sides of the same coin, and, hopefully, Matthew's incompetent selection will not divide the coin into two, like two sides of a shell broken from its nut to be laid out and eaten by vultures.
Ahh, finally. The end of his journey.
The path gave way to a gate and from the gate to a door. Christopher frowned as he saw two silhouettes against the flickering flames beyond the window.
True, Edith and Matthew were closer to each other than them to him. He once had another to call a friend, a companion in which he would confide and be intimate with, but she was no longer here. Her part in the game had long become obsolete and, thus, she was extinguished.
The game did not allow spares, nor should it be entitled to them. Too many unforeseen consequences and too many unchecked miracles.
However, that did not mean he couldn't miss her, an uncharacteristic nature coming from him of all people, him who knows a thing or two about a path that must be traveled and must not be diverged. Her time had come to an end, her path became filled with pebbles, rather than stones, then nothing at all. She was to be forgotten, like all those before him, before Edith, before Matthew.
Nevertheless, his fleeting thoughts always returned to her.
No.
He must not think of her before his meeting with the two lions, both whom wants claim to be king. He must again win this round to prolong his version of peace.
Or, at least, get to gloat like a little child in front of Edith and Matthew.
As Christopher was about to turn the knob and enter the room, he heard an explosion in the distance. The sounds of tears and tragedies suddenly fill the once silent air. The smell of death slowly began to permeate his nose. He smiled in anticipation. This war will soon be given a rest, to be allow to fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
Wait to what they'll witness in eighteen years. It'll make this bloodshed seem like nothing, just the tip of an oversized iceberg, and they'll have to beg for a savior, for everlasting tranquility.
He couldn't wait.
If he had chosen right, the cold winter ice that penetrated all cracks and fractures will begin to melt. The glowing warmth of the sun will grow brighter by day. The flowers and grass will flourish out of the now fertile soil.
He cared not if the pathetic beings finally know some peace. His only goal in his participation was to know the feeling of triumph, of being victorious, as he did last time and the time before that.
Because, by gods, he hates it when he lose. He also don't get to dangle the lollipop in front of the two babies either. Now that will be a crime against humanity.
Turning his attention back to the situation at hand, he finally twisted the knob open and entered the room. This time it was he who is the vulture eyeing his prey.
"Brother, sister. Missed me?"