Disclaimer: Rise of the Guardians and Harry Potter belong to their respective owners.
Quote: "Life is a roller coaster, and I'm not strapped in."
Chapter 1: To Remember… and To Forget
No one knew it existed (It didn't care). It tumbled and twirled in the sky, never stopping, never tiring. It was a wild spirit. It remembered being grounded. It remembered that its friends had taught it to fly. It remembered a cage of Destiny formed with chains of expectations, duty, and friendship. It remembered moments of stolen freedom. It remembered a lot.
It remembered existence in a dark box and existence in a round room in a stone fortress (a house of stone that had somehow become home). It remembered danger and lies and friendship- hurt-excitement-fun-trust-anger-fear-loyalty-truth -forgiveness-and-being loved. It remembered that freedom was important, but that truth and forgiveness and love permeated its being right down to its very center.
It remembered the first time it felt right. It had been clever, but preoccupation with monsters and friends and people had kept it from knowing the nature of its own magic(but maybe it had always known, somehow). The first time it had been given a glimpse of what was inside its spirit and what it would ultimately become. It remembered a pale pointed face, insults, and a ball of red smoke. There had been a tiny, flimsy twig which had the power to give wingless beings an imitation of flight.
That had been so long ago.
That had been the beginning.
It had been happy, but not innocent. Darkness had quickly changed that. Danger and mystery and Fate (or was it Destiny, it could never remember the difference) had grabbed it and held it down to fight against a monster which wore the flimsy skin of a man. It had held on to the knowledge that all wars must end eventually.
It had been right of course, the war ended, the monster was slain, and the chains crumbled to dust; even the chains of friendship. It had loved and adored the friends (family) it had made and it stayed as long as it could tolerate. But soon the call became too strong to ignore and it had had to leave. Wanderlust, the humans called it. Only that wasn't quite right.
It remembered saying a good-bye that wasn't. It hadn't decided to leave that day, but somehow she had known. It remembered leaving for a flight, a pastime that had been increasing more and more as the days wore on. She had smiled at it, a bittersweet smile of knowing and peace and loss and overwhelming love. She had always had a way of knowing things no one had the right to know; the blonde girl with eyes of the moon. She had known that she wouldn't see it again (not like it had been, not in the girl's lifetime). But they were both okay, because they both understood.
It remembered that the day had been perfect for flying. There had been few clouds and the wind felt playful (only wind wasn't playful… couldn't be, not yet). It danced with the clouds, magic escaping its body to thread through the wind. Its essence unraveled and wove itself into its surroundings, blending until it couldn't tell where it started and the wind ended. Weaving and weaving until it didn't matter where it began or ended because it and the wind were one and the same and there was wonderful freedom and truth of this is how it should have been.
Later that day, its friends (family) found that twig on the grounds of the stone fortress it had sometimes called home. The girl told them what had occurred. They mourned, but knew they couldn't. They had loved it (her – once it had been a human girl, a magic user, it remembered), but it had always been a wild spirit. They had it for a little while, for as long as they could keep hold of it. But they had been unable to tame its spirit and so were unable to keep it in their grasp (it would have been cruel). It was a creature of the sky, and to the sky it would return. Wind was in its blood, and it was the wind. It had always been the wind.
The first things to go were names until only the faces of its friends (family) remained, and soon even those were forgotten. It remembered very little now. At one point, in a fit of longing and despair, it had taken all its magic and buried its crystal clear memories. It couldn't recall warm embraces, dog piles, or snow ball fights. It didn't want to (that was a lie). The memories were there, buried, buried deep in its mind. But it couldn't recall any of them. And until it could, it was less than it could be and not what it should be.
It couldn't recall a cage of Destiny formed with chains of expectations, duty, and friendship. It couldn't recall moments of stolen freedom. It could no longer recall that once; it had been grounded but that its friends had taught it to fly. It could no longer recall a lot. But the wind was a wild, untamable spirit and it twisted and twirled in the sky, never stopping, never tiring. No one knew that it existed. No one knew that the wind was alive. It didn't care.
Only that was a lie. It did care. And at its very center were truth and forgiveness and love that had been forgotten. Freedom was all that it remembered and freedom was all that it could recall (along with a home of stones and eyes of moon and freckles and her first hug ever).
And no one knew that it existed.
And time passed.