Title: Sphaera Proditionis Ultimae
Author: Apollyon Angel
Warnings: UNPOLISHED, UNFINISHED, though I intent to remedy those eventually. I don't think that there will be any pairings, but there's gonna be some good ol' angst!
Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter or anything that looks familiar. This is for fun, no profit is made. See more notes at the bottom!
****************
He held the ball in the palm of his hand. His face was frozen in the same curious, awed, and sadden look that had always come of this one little item.
It reminded him of the Golden Snitch, the small golden ball that had been the only goal of his choosing. He chose to learn Quiditch, chose to work hard at perfecting his natural abilities, chose to take the beatings, the cheers and the 'boo's. Just like the rest of his team mates, just like a normal boy.
Perhaps that was why the Headmaster and Professors broke their own rules for him. Not just for love of the game or loyalty of House, but to give him a way out. Out of his life, his name, and his destiny. If only for one simple game.
Harry Potter was awed. The Boy Who Lived was loved and feared, but he was not known. People whom he had never and would never meet placed countless hopes and dangers upon his shoulders without a moment's second guessing, but that didn't mean *he* couldn't second guess himself.
He did doubt, it was an almost constant gnawing in his stomach as he grew older and season by season the ever-present evil would grow in his mind. It was mingled with the old spells that had tried to take his life and it's counter to save him. The horrifying connection between himself and his parent's murderer only grew stronger as his knowledge and powers grew.
Knowledge was power, as they said. He rolled the ball into the valley of his cupped hands, cradling it like a delicate bubble. It didn't look like a bubble, however, and though it was the size and approximate shape of the snitch, that was the only real resemblance. It was a hideous shade, a putrid combination of Avocado green and dull orange, like Arabella Figg's 70's décor kitchen. The surface wasn't smooth, nor was it systematically indented; like someone had taken a ball peen hammer to it to see what was inside and had gotten carried away.
Harry knew, though. It was a dangerous magical item that had been displayed for one of their latest N.E.W.T.s tests. No student had dared breathe around the glass enclave that held the item, not wanting to even think of the consequences behind the thing's existence other than to scare students and add to their already stressful testing.
The first time Harry had seen it, it was the morning after a particularly bad nightmare/premonition. He went to class with the feeling that Death clung to his back and Voldemort was egging it on. The feeling grew a hundred fold as he found his mentor, Headmaster Dumbledore, standing before the glass case.
Harry had suddenly realized he was alone; Hermoine and Ron had vanished without notice. He struggled valiantly for the courage he was so well known for. All he could think was, 'Is this the time? Has the Professor come to say I'm to challenge Voldemort? Am I ready? Couldn't I have said good bye to my friends?'
And then Dumbledore turned to him, smiling in that way that Harry knew had nothing to do with happiness. It was the smile he had tried to give Harry when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the Headmaster knew who was responsible. It was the smile that Harry had seen time and again, growing to dread more than raiding bands of Death Eaters.
They talked. A veiled conversation with low, somber tones that Harry could finally master, having physically matured to match the weight of duty that had clung to his thoughts in his years at Hogwarts. Dumbledore looked aged, too, that day, as they both gazed at the hideous ball propped on a red satin pillow.
There was remorse in the light talk of weather and seasons, tests and classes, historical and future events. Harry replied with well-worn determination and a hint of fatalism that he couldn't keep away, even for the sake of his dear Professor.
The little ugly ball would save the world. Professor Dumbledore hadn't said it, hadn't honestly known of the ideas he was placing in the young Gryffindor's head, but that wouldn't stop Harry. Nothing could, now.
To save the world, both muggle and magic, from this evil that clawed inside his head, he would give up anything. His life, he had discovered-though coveted and hero-worshipped by so many-was already forfeit. It had been when he was one year old. Time and again he had struggled again life's cruelest punches, but it never stopped. And frankly, he was tired.
In his years with the Dursleys, his only hope and dream was to stay sane and alive long enough to graduate high school and move out. To have his own life, free of his despised and despising relatives.
When Hagrid had told him he was to go to Hogwarts, he thought maybe his dreams had come true far beyond what he had ever imagined. The wizarding world, in that moment, was utopia; perfect, untouched by all that he hated in the muggle one. Unfortunately, dreams cannot exist in the real world, magic or otherwise. Hogwarts held its own pains and hatred, some reserved only for him.
Still, it also held joy, friendship, excitement, and wonders that outweighed the dark, at least, at first. As time progressed it seemed that the benevolence that Hogwarts extended slowly slipped away from him. Each year brought more pain, as if heating and tempering his soul like metal. Like a tool to be used for the will of others-like the little ball.
He had begun to imagine his way out of Hogwarts. Defeating Voldemort was at the top of the likely list. Death wasn't too pleasant an option, but one he knew, none the less. Hiding, fighting, turning coat, going insane. They were all options-new choices for him to make. Him and him alone. He had an army of shadowy friends and allies by his side, but they were happy to leave the burden on his shoulders and had been since he was a baby.
That was fine for a while, until that day, actually. Harry had only truly thought about two possible outcomes for his battle up till then: winning and accepting a place amongst his fellow wizards, or dying in battle- hopefully taking Voldemort with him-and after that, he didn't know. Heaven, maybe? Now however, some many other choices clambered for his attention. Now he was scared, he almost half-entertained the idea of jumping on his broomstick and finding a nice place to watch the wizarding version of the Apocalypse come to life.
He had in his hand a way of defeating Voldemort and it sickened his stomach to think of the consequences. Harry knew he was being selfish, but this truly was a fate worse than death-held delicately in his hands.
What a cruel world was his. ***************
TBC...
Note: Huge thanks to David305 for help with my horrible Latin. I swear I'll never play with a foreign language without a proper dictionary and instruction again. I just needed a quick title for this teaser-fic-wannabe so I consulted Webster. ^_^ And just a note, I truly know how you feel. I've taken about 3 years of Japanese and reading stuff online just makes me grind my teeth. Thank you!
Warnings: UNPOLISHED, UNFINISHED, though I intent to remedy those eventually. I don't think that there will be any pairings, but there's gonna be some good ol' angst!
Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter or anything that looks familiar. This is for fun, no profit is made. See more notes at the bottom!
****************
He held the ball in the palm of his hand. His face was frozen in the same curious, awed, and sadden look that had always come of this one little item.
It reminded him of the Golden Snitch, the small golden ball that had been the only goal of his choosing. He chose to learn Quiditch, chose to work hard at perfecting his natural abilities, chose to take the beatings, the cheers and the 'boo's. Just like the rest of his team mates, just like a normal boy.
Perhaps that was why the Headmaster and Professors broke their own rules for him. Not just for love of the game or loyalty of House, but to give him a way out. Out of his life, his name, and his destiny. If only for one simple game.
Harry Potter was awed. The Boy Who Lived was loved and feared, but he was not known. People whom he had never and would never meet placed countless hopes and dangers upon his shoulders without a moment's second guessing, but that didn't mean *he* couldn't second guess himself.
He did doubt, it was an almost constant gnawing in his stomach as he grew older and season by season the ever-present evil would grow in his mind. It was mingled with the old spells that had tried to take his life and it's counter to save him. The horrifying connection between himself and his parent's murderer only grew stronger as his knowledge and powers grew.
Knowledge was power, as they said. He rolled the ball into the valley of his cupped hands, cradling it like a delicate bubble. It didn't look like a bubble, however, and though it was the size and approximate shape of the snitch, that was the only real resemblance. It was a hideous shade, a putrid combination of Avocado green and dull orange, like Arabella Figg's 70's décor kitchen. The surface wasn't smooth, nor was it systematically indented; like someone had taken a ball peen hammer to it to see what was inside and had gotten carried away.
Harry knew, though. It was a dangerous magical item that had been displayed for one of their latest N.E.W.T.s tests. No student had dared breathe around the glass enclave that held the item, not wanting to even think of the consequences behind the thing's existence other than to scare students and add to their already stressful testing.
The first time Harry had seen it, it was the morning after a particularly bad nightmare/premonition. He went to class with the feeling that Death clung to his back and Voldemort was egging it on. The feeling grew a hundred fold as he found his mentor, Headmaster Dumbledore, standing before the glass case.
Harry had suddenly realized he was alone; Hermoine and Ron had vanished without notice. He struggled valiantly for the courage he was so well known for. All he could think was, 'Is this the time? Has the Professor come to say I'm to challenge Voldemort? Am I ready? Couldn't I have said good bye to my friends?'
And then Dumbledore turned to him, smiling in that way that Harry knew had nothing to do with happiness. It was the smile he had tried to give Harry when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and the Headmaster knew who was responsible. It was the smile that Harry had seen time and again, growing to dread more than raiding bands of Death Eaters.
They talked. A veiled conversation with low, somber tones that Harry could finally master, having physically matured to match the weight of duty that had clung to his thoughts in his years at Hogwarts. Dumbledore looked aged, too, that day, as they both gazed at the hideous ball propped on a red satin pillow.
There was remorse in the light talk of weather and seasons, tests and classes, historical and future events. Harry replied with well-worn determination and a hint of fatalism that he couldn't keep away, even for the sake of his dear Professor.
The little ugly ball would save the world. Professor Dumbledore hadn't said it, hadn't honestly known of the ideas he was placing in the young Gryffindor's head, but that wouldn't stop Harry. Nothing could, now.
To save the world, both muggle and magic, from this evil that clawed inside his head, he would give up anything. His life, he had discovered-though coveted and hero-worshipped by so many-was already forfeit. It had been when he was one year old. Time and again he had struggled again life's cruelest punches, but it never stopped. And frankly, he was tired.
In his years with the Dursleys, his only hope and dream was to stay sane and alive long enough to graduate high school and move out. To have his own life, free of his despised and despising relatives.
When Hagrid had told him he was to go to Hogwarts, he thought maybe his dreams had come true far beyond what he had ever imagined. The wizarding world, in that moment, was utopia; perfect, untouched by all that he hated in the muggle one. Unfortunately, dreams cannot exist in the real world, magic or otherwise. Hogwarts held its own pains and hatred, some reserved only for him.
Still, it also held joy, friendship, excitement, and wonders that outweighed the dark, at least, at first. As time progressed it seemed that the benevolence that Hogwarts extended slowly slipped away from him. Each year brought more pain, as if heating and tempering his soul like metal. Like a tool to be used for the will of others-like the little ball.
He had begun to imagine his way out of Hogwarts. Defeating Voldemort was at the top of the likely list. Death wasn't too pleasant an option, but one he knew, none the less. Hiding, fighting, turning coat, going insane. They were all options-new choices for him to make. Him and him alone. He had an army of shadowy friends and allies by his side, but they were happy to leave the burden on his shoulders and had been since he was a baby.
That was fine for a while, until that day, actually. Harry had only truly thought about two possible outcomes for his battle up till then: winning and accepting a place amongst his fellow wizards, or dying in battle- hopefully taking Voldemort with him-and after that, he didn't know. Heaven, maybe? Now however, some many other choices clambered for his attention. Now he was scared, he almost half-entertained the idea of jumping on his broomstick and finding a nice place to watch the wizarding version of the Apocalypse come to life.
He had in his hand a way of defeating Voldemort and it sickened his stomach to think of the consequences. Harry knew he was being selfish, but this truly was a fate worse than death-held delicately in his hands.
What a cruel world was his. ***************
TBC...
Note: Huge thanks to David305 for help with my horrible Latin. I swear I'll never play with a foreign language without a proper dictionary and instruction again. I just needed a quick title for this teaser-fic-wannabe so I consulted Webster. ^_^ And just a note, I truly know how you feel. I've taken about 3 years of Japanese and reading stuff online just makes me grind my teeth. Thank you!