Magic
Disclaimer: Whatever elements of J.K. Rowling's appear in this storey is hers. I own only the plot and anything else you don't recognize.
- SJ
Prologue
A Lone figure walked along the rocky path; shoulders hunched and his face turned down trying to protect him from the rain pelting down upon him from the dark sky. A flash of lightening seared through the grey clouds and for a split second you could see the figures emerald eyes sparkling dangerously, but it was gone as soon as it had come and everything darkened once again.
The figure stopped in front of a house. It was an ordinary house, looking the same as the other five or six houses in the area. All were made of brick and had straw lining the roofs, a few had smoke rising up out of the roofs, indicating a fire inside.
His hand curled tightly around the handle of the long sword, which was currently sheathed at his side. He called upon his nemesis; he would cleanse the earth of this abomination.
"Come out, heathen!" The figure roared. His voice did not quiver as many others would when they were dealing with the unknown, a perceptive person would have noticed his hands slightly shaking and his white knuckles though.
Nothing happened and the swordsman's anxiety grew. He called once again, "Come out, heathen!" Once again he received no response from whatever was inside the house. This was the only house that did not have smoke puffing out of the roof.
There comes a time in everyone's life where they have to make difficult decisions, this was one of those times for the figure standing outside of the house. He could just leave and tell his master that there was no one home, or he could be courageous and rush into the home to complete his task, this man would learn the fine line between bravery and folly first hand as he decided on the second option. Metal grinded on metal as he drew his sword and walked up to the wooden door, he brought his foot up and swung down towards the door. He never connected. A mysterious force threw him back a good twenty feet; he hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled a few feet. The swordsman scrambled up and he looked toward the house, his eyes betrayed his fear. There standing in the door way was a dark haired woman, behind her was a boy. She stood with one arm straight out, palm outward and an angry glint in her stormy grey eyes.
No words were said, but both knew what was going to happen next. With a grunt the swordsman positioned himself in a fighting stance; he was fuelled by desperation and fear. The woman muttered something to the boy behind her, obviously her son by the physical attributes they shared. He nodded and stepped back, a look of extreme fear in his eyes. The dark haired woman stood still with her arms resting at her sides. On the outside she looked calm and tranquil, but inside she felt completely different.
Wasting no time, the black robed swordsman rushed forward, sword pointing straight out. The woman brought her hands up and started muttering complicated phrases in a language not known to anyone else. Just before than man had succeeded in separating her head from her shoulders her eyes flickered open and he was thrown back once again, this time not as far as before. She was getting tired, he noticed.
"You're demonic powers are wearing you out, Heathen!" The mad said this triumphantly, his voice laced with laughter. He was sure he would escape unscathed, and collect his reward too. Paying no heed to his jibes, the woman started focusing once again, beads of sweat pouring down her face. An unearthly glow appeared in between her hands, it was small and barely visible, but her opponent noticed it none the less. It grew larger and he knew he wouldn't be able to reach her before she released her power. He gritted his teeth, dug his back foot into the ground and waited for the blast to come. It never did, he glanced up and grinned like a fool. She had passed out from using too much of her power. With a triumphant smile stretching across his face, he walked up to her still body. She wasn't dead, but he'd soon change that. Lifting his sword high above his head, he prepared to swing down, just as the woman's eyes opened a little bit. She stared at him defiantly, but he could sense the fear behind the mask. Just as he was about to swing down, he hard a scream, and all was black. He would never know what had happened to him.
The dark haired boy who had been behind his mother ran up to her still from, and stared into her face through watery eyes.
"Mother!" He said breathily with no small amount of desperation in his voice. The woman could not speak, and she just smiled softly before she closed her eyes and set off on the next adventure, as a wise man would one day say.
The boy rose up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He would have his revenge. With a fierce light in his sky blue eyes he picked up his mothers body as best he could and set her upon her bed in the house. Next, he filled a sack with what little food they had in the house. He opened the hidden box of money that they kept and emptied that into the bag as well. The last thing he took, and the thing that would help him the most was his mother's book. It was a large dusty volume that she had been writing in for a long time. There was only one word written in elegant scrawl across the leather cover it read: "Magic."