Twist of Fate
Was it really fate that the flock ended up in Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or the magical world at all? Had it been pure coincidence that Scorpius Malfoy had met the flock in that fated hospital on that day? But… what was Scorpius Malfoy, a pure blood, doing in a Muggle hospital in the first place?
And what does Dumbledore have to do with this, when he is already dead? How is it that the flock is able to see Hogwarts when no other Muggle can? So many questions.. yet so little time to answer. Max has learned the many meanings to the word "absurd". But now? Absurd doesn't even cover it all.
Time is running out, and you, reader, are just about to jump into the most absurd tale of all.
I decided to take a break from RAC for awhile, as I honestly don't really have the feel for it anymore right now. I kind of felt like writing this after I read Invictus, which is this amazingly awesome Harry Potter fanfic by opalish. Check it out if you haven't already; it's under my favourites. I'm really sad that it has been abandoned, though. It really has loads of potential. Okay anyway, yeah. I hope you enjoy this, 'cause I haven't really seen a Harry Potter/Maximum Ride fanfiction that is something like what I have in mind right now.
Yup… Okay, so this shall be a little pet project of mine to satiate my craving for some adventure-y kind of story. Pardon the weird title. Reviews are really loved. :D
Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, Harry Potter, or any characters associated with the story. I would also like to credit Harry Potter Puppet Pals -Wizard Swears for one of the terms used below.
Claimer: The poem below is written by me. And I own that.. pencil over there..
Prologue: Again
What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?
-Logan Pearsall Smith
"History shall repeat itself
Prejudices have not been lost
The heroes must band together
And have to fight at all cost
Last time we have lost treasured ones;
People that brought the world good
And now for the same cause we must fight
Like all heroes should and would
They left us a lasting legacy
One that we must not forget
They risked their lives again and again
Each time with enemies they met
A Dark Lord will once rise again
Nothing at all has Harry Potter done
But to make the lord stronger, younger, smarter
The new era has just begun
Life is all about choices
Yet now, diversity is not okay
History will certainly repeat itself
And the price this generation must pay."
Aberforth Dumbledore's bright blue eyes stared at the old, wrinkled form of Sybil Trelawney, bolted upright on the bed in a trance-like state. She relaxed and suddenly fell limply back onto the bed before shaking her head vigorously. She looked at her fellow companion, a confused expression plastered on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Aberforth beat her to it.
"Turned from making prophecies to becoming a poet, eh?" Aberforth said lightly.
"What are you talking about?" Trelawney sniffed. "Is that sherry I see?" she demanded and grabbed the bottle from him and poured into an empty glass.
She patted the spot next to her, gesturing for Aberforth to sit there. He politely obliged, the recent event fresh in his mind.
They were in a room in the Hog's Head, and until she recited that poem, they had been talking and reminiscing about their golden years. Sybil had, for some weird reason or so, taken a liking to the pub recently. Aberforth had decided that it had to be the old age getting to her.
"You were harping on about something regarding history repeating itself," he remarked, and downed a mouthful of sherry. Sybil followed suit, finishing the glass in a go.
"Was I?" she asked, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. "Weren't we just talking about something about Albus when the boy believed that the tooth fairy was real?"
Aberforth sat back, thinking deeply. It had been years since she had made another prophecy. In fact, the last one she had made was regarding Harry Potter and Voldemort. There had only been two. But now?
"What are you thinking about, so distant?" she asked, and fixed her beady eyes on him. "Thinking isn't good for old brains, Abe. They may just rot, you know," she sniffed dismally.
He didn't respond, as he looked back on her words. Thank Merlin his memory hadn't been deteriorating; in fact, it was as good as ever.
"History shall repeat itself, prejudices have not been lost," he muttered to himself quietly.
"What was that again?" Sybil asked, putting a hand behind her ear and downing another full glass of sherry. Aberforth ignored her.
"The heroes must band together, and fight at all cost," he said to himself.
He was positively sure it was another prophecy. Twenty-one years, it had been, since she made the last one. And he knew that when Sybil made a prophecy like that, there was a very, very, very high chance that it was bound to be true.
But still, what was it supposed to mean? Something was itching in his mind – what was it that made him feel so uncomfortable?
"Aberforth, are you going to continue ignoring me like this?" Sybil asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. He shook his head distractedly.
"Good. Well, I'm going down to get more sherry – it seems to finish really fast," she told him. Aberforth nodded – he did not bother to mention that she could save herself the trouble by summoning it here; she needed the exercise anyway.
Then, just as the door creaked shut, he realized what it was.
He finally recognised the thing that caused him to worry so much, and now that he knew it, he worried even more. Creases formed on his face as he furrowed his eyebrows, tapping a finger against his lap.
"History will certainly repeat itself…A Dark Lord will once rise again…" his voice trailed off. No… No. Sybil was playing a joke on him, that was all.
Who the hell was he kidding?
"Voldemort's nipple," he cursed, and hurried to his feet, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the pouch on the bedside table on the way and rushed as fast as he could to the fireplace immediately.