This work might look familiar to some of you; if so, you probably read this in my drabble series, "Harry's Chosen One". As such, you might be a little disappointed in this chapter; not much has changed, save for this intro and the ending notes.
Still, that is because this is merely the basis for the entire fic. This is the present; for the next few chapters I will show you how the world reached the point it is at now, and then I will add the conclusion. Only then will this story be finished.
Still, I have this chapter for you, my loyal and loving readers. As the quote, title, and chapter title probably reveal, I was inspired by the poem "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats, and though this story doesn't stay completely true to the poem, it is influenced by it a bit.
One last thing to note; this chapter, and the following two, are written utilizing the Stream of Consciousness. For those who have read "Harry's Chosen One," you should be intimately familiar with this technique. If you are not though, there is a detailed explanation of it in chapter thirty-five. For those who want an immediate definition though, then it is something basically written as if it was the way a person was thinking.
Got that? Good! Now...
Enjoy~
The Falcon Cannot Hear
Chapter 1: The Falcon
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
-William Butler Yeats
He stood before life and death.
Harry's eyes slowly trailed over the frothing masses of people before him, dull green eyes pausing as he saw a shadow of a familiar face. It had been so long since he had seen those he had called his friends, those he had called his family, that it seemed as if they were almost a dream. He hesitated briefly as his eyes met Remus', who was standing proud and tall for the first time in his life beside the Weasleys, who seemed equally as happy. Remus had been through so much, seen so much…Harry hardened his heart. No doubts, no fears, no regrets; the first rules he had learned on the battlefield.
War was his master and his slave, his obsession that drew him away from the world around him. So much had been sacrificed to reach this point, but what point had they reached from their sacrifices? Was it all worth it? Was it worth it to continue on?
Harry sat, back ramrod straight, as Kingsley spoke to the war-ravaged crowd, assuring them of a time full of peace that was no longer far off in the horizon, but here before them. Kingsley, who had placed his trust and his life and his heart in Harry's hands. Another moment of weakness. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
Peace had fallen upon the Wizarding World thanks in no small part due to his own efforts; this peace was therefore a creation of his own. Therefore, wasn't it right to take back what he had created, to end what he had brought into the world if he so wished?
He wondered if this is what God felt as he watched the ticking of seconds pass by, unbearably slow and yet reassuringly inexorable.
His hands were sweating. Nervousness? Where had his resolve gone?
Many had tried to teach him what the difference between light and dark, good and evil, was in this world. Just as many others had tried to teach him about the grey areas in life, where morals were shaded, and the time and the place and the event all affected what was 'good.'
Harry did not believe in morals.
One teacher though had pierced his willful ignorance over the workings of the world, and taught him truth. Power, power enough to change and alter and shape to your design.
Tommy-boy had been such an inspiration. Perhaps he would cite him as a role model some day, the cynic in his mind whispered.
So. Power. He had created. The peace around his was his masterpiece, but it was the pinnacle of amateurs. So much more could be done, could? So much more was to be done. That was why he was here - to change and alter and shape…
God grant him strength. He was weak-hearted and he did not know if he could stand before his chosen fate. Chosen, by him, for the first time.
Kingsley was calling him up to the podium, to stand before the masses and preach the good news. Kingsley, brave and loyal and lion-hearted and as blinded as all the rest (though with better vision still - behind a blindfold though, vision meant nothing), had the thoughts that crossed my mind ever crossed yours?, the child whispered, locked away in the depths of his mind.
His wand was in his hand, the Elder Wand, and a growing sense of dread crossed the eyes of those who knew what he held. An anticipatory breath was drawn, and all watched as their Creator and their Destroyer judged them and decided their fates.
He stood before them, life and death.
So, how was it? As you can see, this is a partial stream of consciousness fic, much like the Voldemort/Harry drabble in "Harry's Chosen One," which explains why Harry's thoughts are so fragmented.
Do you think Harry went with his plan (and who thinks they know what the plan is?) or do you think Harry chickened out? What do you think Harry wants from the world, and why would go to lengths such as these to gets what he wants? How do you think the people close to him will react to whatever his actions might be? Who just wants me to stop talking?
Review, and tell me! I can not improve without your feedback, and as many of you know by now, I am ready, willing, and able to give out gift fics in order to win your love! So, for all you know, the two minutes it takes you to write a review might end with you getting a fic of your choosing (pairing, plot, et cetera) written in your name!
Until the next chapter (which will probably be posted tomorrow in fact!),
Ariaeris~
