Title: Golem
Summary: A different take on the remains of a diary and a war.
Disclaimer: don't own anything but a deranged imagination. Also this is my first Harry Potter drabble, so be kind.
Thanks: I'd like thank Kales and Lexi for Beta-ing and providing general corrections for this fic. I apologize to all those had to read it without the corrections- I fully admit my own reading lacks the skills necessary.
The first thought he had when he took his first breath on his first day in the world as something else than a man had been How? He had no body to resurrect…only ink for blood and pages for mortal flesh. He then wondered how he had gotten here--Basilisk venom was a powerful acid and he had been bathed in it. His death had been quick, but not painless. How had the permanency of death escape him again?
He smelled of mud and mossy stone, of dry leaves and a faint smell of ink. His eyes came into focus sharply, but bright and vibrant colors escaped his range of sight. His sense of touch was dull and numbing, much like his mind felt. But his hearing was sharp and caught the sound of two mortal men speaking in hushed tones as he sat up. Mortal, unlike himself, as the knowledge of the three Hebrew symbols on his forehead told him what he was. He was the Golem.
"Rise Golem," said a voice beside him, belonging to his master. His name was Godric Lebowitz, a second generation wizard. A wizard; he was young and barely trained. Little bits of his life trickled by the Golem's inner eye, but he ignored most but the basics. This, he knew, was caused by the improper way he was created--the creature known as the Golem had been made many times before, or so the symbols whispered. He knew what should have been done, to properly make the non-mortal he was. But he had been created with the stone and the soil that he had been laid to rest in, unceremoniously, in the Chamber many years before. He was consciousness of the Golem now. Not that it mattered. Master made him move; Master made the rules.
The inner eye of the Golem ran like a news ticker in his mind, telling him the reasons why they had dared to create the creature. He saw an army surround the castle he had died under. He had been raised to fight. To protect. To serve the followers of the children he had once fought against. But he did not care. For Golems have no feelings; they spoke the symbols; Golems have no hearts.
God is truth. God is Dead. So begins and ends the life of a Golem.
--------
Please tell me if you want this continued. I never can gauge the end of a
story.
The workings of the Golem are taken from various Jewish folklore I have studied- most don't give the exact details or ingredients, and the symbols used to create the creature often change from story to story- so I used the most popular- and the most Nietzsche.
And I do hope everyone got who the Golem was.
Summary: A different take on the remains of a diary and a war.
Disclaimer: don't own anything but a deranged imagination. Also this is my first Harry Potter drabble, so be kind.
Thanks: I'd like thank Kales and Lexi for Beta-ing and providing general corrections for this fic. I apologize to all those had to read it without the corrections- I fully admit my own reading lacks the skills necessary.
The first thought he had when he took his first breath on his first day in the world as something else than a man had been How? He had no body to resurrect…only ink for blood and pages for mortal flesh. He then wondered how he had gotten here--Basilisk venom was a powerful acid and he had been bathed in it. His death had been quick, but not painless. How had the permanency of death escape him again?
He smelled of mud and mossy stone, of dry leaves and a faint smell of ink. His eyes came into focus sharply, but bright and vibrant colors escaped his range of sight. His sense of touch was dull and numbing, much like his mind felt. But his hearing was sharp and caught the sound of two mortal men speaking in hushed tones as he sat up. Mortal, unlike himself, as the knowledge of the three Hebrew symbols on his forehead told him what he was. He was the Golem.
"Rise Golem," said a voice beside him, belonging to his master. His name was Godric Lebowitz, a second generation wizard. A wizard; he was young and barely trained. Little bits of his life trickled by the Golem's inner eye, but he ignored most but the basics. This, he knew, was caused by the improper way he was created--the creature known as the Golem had been made many times before, or so the symbols whispered. He knew what should have been done, to properly make the non-mortal he was. But he had been created with the stone and the soil that he had been laid to rest in, unceremoniously, in the Chamber many years before. He was consciousness of the Golem now. Not that it mattered. Master made him move; Master made the rules.
The inner eye of the Golem ran like a news ticker in his mind, telling him the reasons why they had dared to create the creature. He saw an army surround the castle he had died under. He had been raised to fight. To protect. To serve the followers of the children he had once fought against. But he did not care. For Golems have no feelings; they spoke the symbols; Golems have no hearts.
God is truth. God is Dead. So begins and ends the life of a Golem.
--------
Please tell me if you want this continued. I never can gauge the end of a
story.
The workings of the Golem are taken from various Jewish folklore I have studied- most don't give the exact details or ingredients, and the symbols used to create the creature often change from story to story- so I used the most popular- and the most Nietzsche.
And I do hope everyone got who the Golem was.