~* Alright. I think I finally see what all the fuss is about with HP fanfiction. I've read a lot and I am proud to say that I have read some of the most amazing stories from simple people with wild imaginations. I hope to one-day fit in that category. So here's my chance, my first ever HP fanfic and I hope you enjoy it. -Risma*~
...Ditto. Except for the first HP fic bit, of course! Love ya -Weaver
Disclaimer: Harry Potter books and characters belong to J. K. Rowling. If you are planning on suing me for my sad attempt you're wasting your time. P.S. This disclaimer will be for the whole story.
Thanks: This goes to Weaver with her detailed beautiful description that gives essence to my plot. Hopefully she will continue to give this advice and expertise . . please . . . ?
The Sighted
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And there she was again, standing there, just staring at him. A girl about his own age, dark skin fading into the darkness around her, brilliantly white braid like a streak of light hanging over her shoulder, staring. Just staring.
He walked towards her slowly, watching for any change of expression. Nothing. She didn't move, didn't flinch when he waved his hand in front of her face, didn't sway when he pushed her gently. Nothing. She just stood there and stared, her hands hanging loosely behind her back, her gaze somehow looking through him at the darkness beyond.
She drew her hands from behind her back with a startlingly abrupt movement, holding out a glittering object in front of her. He jumped back, then leaned forward for a closer look. A bronze medallion on a slender leather band swung from her dark hand; etched into the bronze was a strangely familiar symbol. He stared at it, feeling as though he ought to know it - he'd seen it somewhere, he knew, he just couldn't recall where, and it was somehow terribly important that he remember.
She inclined her hand towards him, and he reached out to take the medallion. Before his fingers touched the gleaming bronze, an incredible force slammed him to the ground, and the girl and the medallion faded into a sudden mist together. He sat up, his head swimming. The mist closed in around him, becoming colder and thicker. He clutched his head in a desperate attempt to keep from seeing what he knew came next, flinging an arm across his tightly shut eyes -- to no avail. Eyes shut or open, he couldn't hide from this.
People, hundreds of them, running, pushing their way through a dense forest. All of them had the same dark skin and white hair as the mysterious girl. Screams of agony echoed through the forest, children wailing for their parents and adults shrieking as the bright fires consumed them. Crackling flame hissed and snapped, engulfing the paths even as the people fled along them.
He found himself pushing his way through the flames - flames that bent away on either side of him, almost as if there was something he was meant to see there. He had to do something; he was Harry Potter, and these people's lives depended on him.
Suddenly he was in a clearing, the flames and the trees both closing in behind him to prevent retreat. Before him lay the ruins of a destroyed village; thick, black smoke oozed from the ashes and the echoes of past screams mingled with the crackling of the fire behind him.
The girl stood in the middle of the village, both hands crunched into fists at her side, her cheeks shining with tears, glaring furiously at the sky. Harry looked around him wildly. Malfoy should be here - would be here in a second, he always was, this was the way it went. Sure enough, the blonde boy darted up beside him. "Don't just stand there, Potter, she needs us!" Always the same words. Malfoy sprinted towards the girl, Harry hot on his heels, both of them desperate to stop the inevitable. Faster - faster - they both sped up, knowing they would be too late anyway.
Only seconds away, the girl stretched her hands towards the sky and opened her mouth to scream. Harry and Malfoy shared a quick glance and dived at her - only to be smashed backwards by an invisible wall of power that seemed to be radiating out from her. Harry landed on his back a good fifty metres away from the girl and the growing evil. Gasping, he rolled onto his side, looking around for Malfoy - who wasn't there. He pulled himself to a sitting position and saw the blonde boy struggling to his feet and limping hastily towards the girl.
She was screaming, an eardrum-piercing, anguishing sound, and a throbbing ball of golden lightning was slowly growing around her. Harry watched her slight form became more and more hidden behind the flashes and forks that surrounded her. He pushed himself to his knees. A beam of jade light flashed down from the sky and struck the girl in the chest, adding coruscating green sparks to the growing ball of lightning around her.
Desperately, Harry forced his unwilling body upright and staggered towards her, groping in his pockets for his wand. It wasn't there -- he knew it wasn't going to be there -- he knew what was about to happen, it always happened, and he couldn't do anything about it.
The ball of lightning exploded in a shower of sparks, knocking Malfoy backwards and forcing Harry to his knees. When he looked up, the girl lay crumpled in a heap of dark clothes and silver-white hair, looking like a tossed-aside rag doll, and the fires in the forest were fading into darkness. Malfoy hurried to the girl's side and fell to his knees, his cry of pure rage echoing in the sudden emptiness. The only light came from above, an unearthly crimson glow. Unwillingly, helplessly, Harry looked up.
As always, the glowing green skull leered at him, grinning down at the destruction it had caused. It turned slowly and menacingly to frown at Harry, and then suddenly rushed down to earth, the mouth gaping wider and wider, closer and closer, about to swallow him up...
Harry sat bolt upright in bed, snatching his wand from under his pillow. "Lumos!"
The end of his wand glowed a pale yellow, lighting the area around his bed. He waved it around to search the far corners of the room and then lay on his stomach to check under his bed. Nothing. No smelly socks or mouldy brownies, not even a single dustball. The house-elves had obviously already cleaned the room.
Sighing relieved, he rolled over and lazily wrote his name in the air with the soft glowing tip of his wand. The letters shone for a moment in the air before dissolving into sparkling motes. This always relaxed him, the simplest thing in the world, watching the shining path he traced creep away and disappear.
"Hrmph...Harry?" a voice mumbled sleepily from the next bed.
"Yeah?" He shone the wand in the direction of Ron's pillow. A scrunched-up face turned away, hiding from the light behind a fist of sheets.
"Turn that bloody thing off and go to sleep!" Ron's voice degenerated into a yawn as he rolled over.
Harry smiled wryly, sticking the extinguished wand back under his pillow. Sleeping was easy. It was dreaming that he feared.
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~*So what do you think people? Should I continue? With the help of Mistress Weaver of course (if I can somehow bribe her without blowing my bank account). –R*~