I dangled my legs over the bank, the bottoms of my shoes just barely touching the lake. Five hundred feet in front of me, tentacles thrashed, cutting through the water like thick knives. This might not have been such an unusual sight had I been experiencing this in summer, but it was January thirteenth, midnight, and a Friday. Large and small blocks of ice drifted across the lake, occasionally one of them would bump into my shoes. The night was so still, not even a small whispering of a distant animal in a bush; not the slightest breath of wind caressed the trees. Tonight was the new moon, but that did not matter, there were so many stars out tonight anyway. They were scattered across the blue-black heavens as if a small child had haphazardly thrown them right and left. Too many clustered in one place, to few in another. Bright, dim, all so far away, you couldn't even imagine it.
The silence wasn't the only thing that made tonight stand out. The cold was so intense; it penetrated into the marrow of your bones. The frigid, windless air wrapped itself around me, below freezing, biting into my unprotected skin. I did not mind the cold. I have never minded the cold. The more it chilled me, the more exhilarated I felt. I stood up, throwing my arms wide, and the frigid night responded.
Where as not a single breath of wind had been present before; it now circled around me, ruffling my hair. I closed my eyes, and slowly turned, letting the wind wrap around me, winding its way into my soul. I let it. A picture began to form in my mind. It was so realistic, so perfect; it was as though I was looking straight at it with my eyes. A sword appeared in my mind. It was made of a silvery substance that seemed to reflect the moonlight. The blood channel looked-or rather thought-as if it were made of diamond. The hilt was amazing; two jade snakes were coiled around it, providing hand grips for one or two-handed use. The snake's heads reared up facing each other at the pommel. Each snake's eyes were made of topaz with obsidian pupils. Diamond fangs were barred, on one snakes left fang, a dark amethyst hung, as if to represent dripping poison. On the other snake's right tooth, a small ruby dangled, to represent blood. The entire effect was rather macabre, but it was a breathtaking one.
I kept my eyes closed as the vision slowly vanished, and gently dropped my arms to my sides. I tilted my head up to the sky and inhaled the sweet night air. A gentle breeze ruffled my silvery hair. I let myself be lost in the dark, the dark and the cold…
The dragon has woken…
~*~*~
I was leaning over the fifth year girl's dormitory balcony watching him. I had for these last few nights. He was so obviously human in the day, so coarse and arrogant. At night though, at night he seemed to be lost in the wonder of it all. The wonder of the shining sky, the wonder of the rippling water, the wonder of the softly swaying trees. I wanted to climb down from the balcony, to experience whatever supernatural feeling he was that was coursing through him as I watched.
Oh, I hated him for those constant insults. The times he's knocked me over in the hallways, not even bothering to turn his head in my direction. That's the problem, you know. It's not so much the teasing. Hell, I could put up with teasing. It's the total indifference. And it's not just him either, not just the Slytherins. Nobody seems to care that I exist. My grades are excellent; I'm always polite, and never pushy. But no one even bothers to tell me my faults. They just ignore me. They see me every day. Brush past me, knocking me over with the hordes of them with their heavy book bags. I'm lost, alone, friendless in this world that so constantly dwells on friends and popularity. But how can you be popular if no one even knows you name?
The warmth of the fire from the dormitories spread over me; wrapped around me. I turned and looked into the depths of the fire, watching as the flames leaped and swelled, reaching as if they wished to touch the sky. As if in a trance, I extended a hand toward the building inferno. Two inches away and it was pleasantly warm. A spark crackled as it leapt and planted itself on the back of my hand. It glowed dimly at first, burrowed into my skin. Then, ever so slowly, the small spark began to shine. I watched as it grew from an insignificant speck to a radiant and blinding flame on the back of my hand. I should have been experiencing pain in its most extreme, but all I felt was a slight tickling sensation as the flame consumed my arm, shoulder, and entire torso. I closed my eyes as fire raced over them; I felt it catch on my hair and spread down it as if I had washed it in oil. My entire body was consumed by flame, and I felt the need to do only one thing. This thing was probably the most absurd thing to do in the situation, but at the time it seemed the most reasonable. I flung my burning body into the fireplace.
I stood in the middle of the inferno, letting it wrap itself around me. My eyes still closed; an image began to form in my brain. It was a sword, a rapier. It's slender blade smooth and clear and nondescript. The hilt was another matter. It was a basket hilt, as rapier's usually are. It was made of pure gold, and where it joined the blade a brilliant garnet shimmered. Alongside it lay a spear. It was long, thin, and made of mahogany, its blade was steel. The only eye-catching thing about it was the flame etched onto the wood and inlaid with garnets and gold. I began to think that the make of these weapons liked these two as decorations.
Slowly, the vision melted from my mind, seeping out like liquid through a drain. I opened my eyes to find myself standing in the fireplace, with long disused ashes swirling around my slippered feet. Was the fire all a dream? I glanced down at the hand that had first caught flame. A tiny white starburst-shaped mark told me no. Though the actual fire had gone out, my hair still burned with the light of it. I reached down to touch the gray ashes. Though they appeared to be quite cool, their warmth flowed through me, and I drowned myself in it. I let myself me lost, lost in the heat and the light…
The phoenix has risen…
~*~*~
(In) Famous Harry Potter. Friends fondly, enemies sarcastically, and thanks to the recent activities of Rita Skeeter, PHD in evil lying reporter studies, some are frightened by it. I hear my name tossed through the hall like a popular ball. At first, it seemed as if everyone but the Slytherins wanted to be my friend. Boys from first to seventh years ran up to me in the halls and began to chat. Girls fluttered their mascara-ed eyelashes at me and tossed their hair. So I made friends. They all turned their backs on me though. The boys would get a picture in the paper, making up some story. HARRY POTTER'S BEST FRIEND SAVES HIS LIFE! And, MURDER PREVENTED! BEST FRIEND OF HP SAVES LIFE! And above all, my most favorite, THE BOY WHO LIVED ALMOST IS THE BOY WHO DIED! You'd think I encountered Death Eaters every other Wednesday.
The girls were even worse. As soon as the newspapers did an article on them, they were gone. They used me to get their glamour shots into the media. At the bottom of every such article, the girl would say something like "Harry and I have been going out Soooo long, we're going to see other people. I hope it doesn't break-up our WONDERFUL relationship!" That's me. The scissors. The nail. The pliers. The tool.
I turned angrily, lost in thought and found myself looking at the tree outside. It's a very tall specimen of plant life, and the leaves brush against the window. I listened to the gentle scratch of the branch against the glass. Slowly, hesitantly, I reached out and brushed my fingers against the barrier between nature and myself. There was no crack, no warning, the glass simply exploded outward, slicing into my shoulder as it shot across the room. I pressed my hand against the wound, and felt the blood trickle in between my fingers. My other hand, my right hand, was gripping the leaf of the formally out-of-reach-tree. I closed my eyes from the pain and an image fought its way to the surface of my mind.
The sword needs no description, for it was just as it had been deep inside the chamber of secrets, just as it had been piercing the Basilisk's skull, just as it had been in the hands of Professor Dumbledore. I once again took in every detail of the thousand-year-old sword, committing it to memory before I let if slowly fade from my mind like a badly connected muggle television station.
I opened my eyes and took my hand from my shoulder. There was no blood, not a trace of glass. I ran my fingers along where it should have been weeping blood, and the robe was not even torn. No glass existed in the room, anywhere. The only fact that proved the event real was the fact that there was no glass in the windowpane either. I reached out through the absence of glass and wrapped my fingers around a stem. As leaves flew inside from the wind and swirled around my feet I let myself drift away. Away, into the Life and the Earth…
The manticore is done with his slumber…
~*~*~
I looked at the three of them, satisfied. They had realized-or at least had a glimpse of-the destiny that lay ahead of them and me. I am not a seer; -far from it-but I knew what lie in front of me. I had known since my first year, but had kept it a secret. I don't know what will happen to us, but I know who we are. I remember that night, only six years ago, when I saw the bronze longbow with the spun silver string and sapphire-tipped arrow, so clear in my mind.
I gave an absent-minded wave of my hand, and my Power relaxed. I knew I had to be responsible with the Power, but this was one of the rare occasions when I had to use it. I waved again, and it disappeared completely.
The wind stopped it's gentle caressing of Draco's silvery hair…
The wind-blown ashes stirring at Ginny's feet calmed and settled back into the rest of the burnt wood and charcoal.
The swirling leaves came to a rest, around Harry's feet, as nondescript as any other ones.
Hermione smiled to herself as she tilted her head up to the sky and let herself be lost in the Wind and the Air…
But the Griffin was already in flight…
~*~*~
The dragon screamed it's triumphant roar
As the Phoenix began to soar
The Griffin explained to the mage
As the Manticore wept in rage.
The path is marked with Death and Blood
A trail of loneliness, despair and mud.
But Joy resides in the darkest lands,
And water is found in the driest sands.