Gravity.
It's an unusual concept, when you really think about it. There's this force that pulls everything down. Everything. Not just the birds, or the trees, or people, everything.
And it isn't just some random force that pulls random things at a random speed, no, this mysterious force pulls everything at a constant rate, always, from way before you were just a babe, to way beyond your final breath.
Just seems a bit unfair, really.
It doesn't matter what happens, whether a great leader falls to the throes of his own mortal coil, or the entire forests of Zanzibar collapse, completely unexpectedly, due to a series of increasingly coincidental and unexplainable circumstances.
Things just keep getting pulled down, at the same constant rate.
It is only natural that we try to imitate the great constants of nature, really.
"On the other part are two rocks, whereof the one reaches with sharp peak to the wide heaven, and a dark cloud encompasses it; this never streams away, and there is no clear air about the peak neither in sum-"
Thump
"…this never streams away, and there is no ai-"
Thump
"…and there is no clear air abou-"
Thump
"…"
"…there is no clea-"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
No matter how enthralling Lady Circe was, with her tales of her incessant beauty beguiling men and women far and wide, Harry James Potter failed to drown out the sounds of a rather raucous party leaking through the cold floorboards of his sparse bedroom on the second level of Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, West Country. You would be forgiven to think that this party was for someone of perhaps little importance, simply an excuse for friends, young and old, to relive past and present adventures, no place for a small child, Harry Potter himself, was
You would, of course, be wrong.
Born to Lily and James Potter on the 31st of July 1977, at 11:32 pm at the Wizarding Hospital Saint Mungo's, eight-year-old Harry Potter was currently wondering why he was in fact cursed by whatever gods happened to populate the sky above. You see, Harry was not the only Potter to have been born on the waning of the seventh month. No, Harry's younger brother, Charlus Fleamont Potter, was, quite remarkably, born almost exactly 3 years after Harry, on the 31st of July 1980, at 11:48 pm. That was, however, not the only, nor most notable, difference to be held between the two children.
No, the rather large cult following by much of the wizarding (and most certainly witching) population was quite a major difference in its own right.
Charlus, was, in fact, an incredibly popular 5-year-old, being hailed as 'The Saviour of the Wizarding World', or 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'.
The story goes that Voldemort, the scary wizarding terrorist, who also happens to be the second coming of Lucifer, hunts for Charlus Potter, and his two incredibly brave parents, Lily and James. Their dim-witted friend, Peter Pettigrew, gave them up to this 'Dark Lord' in the hope of eternal glory and on the 31st of October 1981, Voldemort ripped open the door to Potter Cottage, where James Potter nobly defended his family from the seemingly unwinnable power that was the Dark Lord. He was stunned, after holding him off for several excruciatingly impressive minutes, where Voldemort barged his was into the nursery, containing Lily Potter begging for her son's life, in the ultimate act of sacrifice. Her love was seemingly overpowered by a large amount of pure magical energy, and was knocked unconscious. Charlus, seeing his doting mother harmed, stood up to Voldemort, who cast the darkest curse known to witch and wizard kind; Avada Kadavra! Alas, the love of both of his parents, and the sacrifice of his mother, allowed Charlus to defeat the Dark Lord singlehandedly, thereby saving the world as we know it, and becoming the only known survivor of the Killing Curse.
With, of course, a few embellishments around the edges, to keep it entertaining.
Which brings us back to Harry, who was presently trying to convince himself that his parents had not forgotten him yet again, that they in fact loved him as much as they loved 'The-Boy-Who-Lived', and there was someone that was thinking of him at the current time.
If it's any consolation, the rather large dust mite that was working its way up and over the cover of his bed was thinking, with its rather primitive and micro brain, about the familiar muskiness that its antennae were picking up at the time.
Harry seemed quite content to ignore the rather large tear that glade down his cheek and rested upon his book with a rather large pat.
"Sigh"
"On the other part are two rocks…"