Disclaimer:- I do not, will not, shall not own Harry Potter or any of it's affiliates...J.K Rowling will do, shall and does like to rub it in doesn't she?
A/N:- Umm...I have no idea how this came about...It was only after I read it through again that I realised how random it was :) I'd just like to point out that this story resulted in my 'a' key becoming temperamental and not working half the time. It's very sad I know :'(
Dedication:- OutCold again, because I still feel guilty about making you wait :(
"Nature answers only when she is questioned." -Jacob Henle
There are millions of stories in the world. So many are spawned from myth and legend, a shred of truth becoming the tale it is today, for that is how legends are created, through exaggeration and the exchange of words.
There are those stories which have never changed however, stories which remain unchanged by the passage of time for reasons no person would ever truly find out. They can be about anything, a war, a friendship perhaps.
Or a field, standing forever in time, unaltered by the relentless flow of nature...
It is said there was a great field, any who grew their crops on it would find it provided a perfect yield, Muggles would say it was magical, wizards would agree. The field brought great wealth to people everywhere, news of the field spread and people travelled miles to reach it. Over time however, the field was forgotten about, it's unnaturally fertile soils had become dry, cracked and barren and as the years rolled on by it refused to grow anything more, for it had been the source of many quarrels and deaths. That area of land had been the recipient of many spells and wards, people wanting the field and it's magic to themselves. But soon the magic became corrupted and the land tainted and slowly, the field grew its own conscience.
Many years passed before a war broke out, a great war which reduced the wizarding populace to less than half of its original number. The war ravaged the land and a great era of peace came to an abrupt halt, the field however, became patient.
As the years of the war drew to a close and people lost sight of what they were fighting for, a last, desperate plan to fight on no man's land for the sake of victory was thought up and set into motion.
The battle raged for weeks, a battle which filled the land with fires and waters and winds and dusts. The surrounding towns were flattened, the last remaining inhabitants fleeing in terror as spells flew all around them, their lights turning the dark, smoke filled sky suddenly bright, as if day had opened its eyes early.
The battle brought the two factions to the field, which, as the battle wore on, became cracked and white-hot, its magic reacting with the pure magic whose presence it could sense. So fierce was the battle, and so bravely the soldiers fought, they noticed nothing of the haze that was slowly descending upon the field, the tiny particles that gave it structure and form absorbing the magic that hung in the air, causing the haze to grow larger and larger.
All of a sudden, great rains lashed down from the sky, drenching witches and wizards alike. The haze became a mist, tiny droplets of water and magic became one. But still no one noticed it.
And then the winds soared through the field, pushing soldiers over, relentlessly casting man and woman aside like grains of sand. The mist scattered, clinging to every fighting human like parasite. But still no one noticed it.
A great earthquake surged through the lands, great fissures appearing in the ground, swallowing people up, its hunger endless. Patiently the mist waited, encasing tiny particles of dust within each droplet of water. But still the mist was not noticed.
The fires that raged across the field suddenly grew out of control. Great, fierce beasts were seen to rise and fall from within the dancing flames, their eyes burning with Fire's rage. As the four elements suddenly converged in the one area, the mist suddenly turned a blood coloured red, the magic within each droplet amplifying one hundredfold. Suddenly, as one, every battling witch and wizard dropped to the ground in pain, clutching their bodies in unendurable agony. Finally, the mist was noticed.
As if in answer to the cries of thousands, a great shot of lightning echoed through the night sky, it's many prongs striking the ground, a white hot burst of pure energy barrelling against the element of earth.
And for a fraction of a second, as the pure energy met the pure, elemental magic of the mist, magic and nature collided into infinite power.
And in a flash, everything was gone.
In a scream, thousands had fallen from existence.
In a heartbeat, the souls of thousands fizzled into nothingness, no bodies to cling to.
And then there was just silence.
...
But that's just a story isn't it?