A/N: Well my hope for a quicker third chapter didn't quite work out as I planned, however it is ready now so please accept my apologies and enjoy. This chapter is a little bit different than the rest and we are going to be a little bit jumpy in it. So buckle in for the ride and let's see what the future holds.
Disclaimer: I do not own harry potter, that is entirely J.K. Rowlings domain and a credit to her for its invention. I merely am extending the known boundaries and allowing my imagination to run wild.
Enjoy
The Eternium of Magic
Chapter Three: Magical Maladies and Vengeful Visits
A little village in the valley of north - 1000yrs Ago
The wind rattled through the valleys and around the hovels, winding in and out of the buildings and creating a eerie whistle. Some folks called them the voices of the ancestors others called them ghosts but this was not the case for those in the know. These were the denizens of the eighth plane, spirits of fire, water, earth, air and life, bound by inscription and power to serve the Sorcerer. The wind was whistling and blowing and the spirits were hunting, hunting high and low for their master, searching for the man, the man with the billowing robes and broad shoulders, the man with the staff of carven wood tipped in ivory and marked with runes, the man who for the last few days had been preying upon the villagers of Little Hollow.
From a hilltop a silent figure waited and watched, his face concealed by the darkness that had swept over the valley. The wind swirled and rushed around him, dissipating and re-materialising, thunder clapped the sky and lightning ripped the blackness of the night. In its silvery glow the man was illuminated, framed against the darkness. His helm was of a silvery material wrapped in a simple crown of gold, It was partially covered by a red silken wrap that trailed down his back. Its shape was elegant but practical and it shimmered with ancient runes flitting across its surface. The man was armoured in what seemed to be tiny plates of an ceramic material formed into a flowing armour that culminated in a skirt of tiny plates attached to a light gown of royal red rimmed in gold. His figure was broad and powerfully built, he stood silent and still like a cat waiting to pounce. The lightning cracked overhead, the voices of the spirits wailed in the night and the darkness hung over all like a shroud and then the triumphant wail came from the town, the cry of a spirit that had found its mark.
The figure moved, he raised his staff slowly a silvery blur sped off into the night and the sorcerer started to walk slow and confident, his form straight and determined. Down the hill he strode, carefully measured steps an elegant gliding walk that showed his power and control, the spirits parted as he moved through them their heads bowed in respect, their aura's shining in the dark. He continued his walk, approaching the centre of the town where the townsfolk would gather for the seasons festivities to dance around the fountain under the sun and the moonlight in worship of the gods. There were no townsfolk here now, no dancing, no happy children, the town stank of fear and terror, it's very essence corrupted towards the darkness of the abyss. It was not always this way once it had thrived with life, blossomed and glowed in the light, but that had all changed, when he came. The necromancer, ruler of the dead and seeker of the lost treasures. The fountain no longer bubbled and was empty and tied upon its stone was a man, surrounded by spirits of earth, air, fire and water.
As the mysterious figure approached the man looked up his face a contortion of anger and hate, his eyes screaming death. 'You will not bind me here, I shall rise once more and your lands and all the kingdom shall fall into ruin, I am the god of death, the bringer of pain, I am immortal and you cannot kill me'.
The man's voice was venomous and crackled, a hint of power but insanity ran through it. The figure stared at the man before him his eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts. With a slow deliberate movement the mysterious man leant closer to the tied mage and slowly removed the sword from the mages sheath, the sword was curved a long thin trail and the guard was of a strange metal that seemed to shimmer in the little moonlight that glanced off the fountain, the blade glowed with an eerie red light and seemed to wiggle out of the man's grasp, but his grasp held firm and the blade stilled. The man looked at the blade curiously and muttered an incantation under his breath, the blade glowed with a greenish light and mist rose from the blade attempting to envelope the sorcerer, but to no avail, with a ear piercing screech the blade glowed brighter and brighter, green turning to white and then it snapped the power gone. With a look of contempt the sorcerer dropped the blade on the floor. Turning to the man his face implacable he spoke, a voice deep and strong and yet soft in its essence.
'Gregoric, for crimes against the kingdom, your sovereign lord, the conclave of magi and the ancient powers you were called traitor and exiled. On pain of death were you to return and now you do so. You have practiced your foul blood magic long enough and have wielded power that few should ever invoke, for these crimes the penalty upon you will be the highest we can give. I invoke the power of carcereanimamsanguinis. Your soul shall be taken from your body and bound powerless in the void of the immaterium, there to languish for all eternity. So mote it be'
The man looked up his eyes glowing with fear, his hands wrenching to get free. The spirits surrounding him held him down, preventing his movement as the sorcerer slowly and deliberately drew a long straight sword from the sheath at his side, its handle glimmering with gold and silver, its blade long and straight with a blood channel a nails width wide down the middle. The sorcerer drew the sword upward into the guard position before bringing it down into the heart of the bound man chanting as he did so, his voice solemn and deep.
'Liga ea in anima perpetuo carcere cruciatus, et in sempiternum non dimisit in aeternum perferre dolorem quod fecit aliis. Per fortitudinem meam et sic fiat magica
As the man spoke a blue light slowly started to travel down the blade towards the bound mans heart its path direct and unyielding as it reached the man it wrapped around him swirling like a vortex till it glowed in a purple light and then it was gone a voice on the wind bore the last words of Gregoric Danteric 'Godriccccc!'. The Sorcerer removed his sword from the lifeless crumbling body, there was no blood for the man was no more bound body and soul into the void of the immaterium. Turning slowly he bowed to the spirits and one by one they departed, striding towards the hill once more Godric Gryffindor shook his head and muttered to himself, 'Bind this soul forever in tortured imprisonment, for it shall never be released and shall forever endure the pain that it has caused on others. By my might and magic so let it be'. The words echoed in the air until Sorcerer, spirits, village and hill were swallowed in the darkness of the night.
Hogwarts Infirmary - The Present
The night had not been kind to Severus Snape, he had fretted and worried, pondered and wracked his brain but he still could not get over the feeling that something was drastically wrong, it was almost as if something was missing, but what and why was more hard to fathom. The boy on the bed hadn't helped either, constantly twisting and turning and moaning, at one point during the night the boy had screamed, it had been a piercing hollow scream followed by whimpering and pleading 'please not that, I'll be good, not the cupboard again, sir please, no, no, nooo...' the boy had thrashed around and whimpered and then fallen into a fretful sleep. It was not the scream that had piqued his interest but the words, the silent begging. This boy had stood up to Voldemort had seen the death of many people through the eyes of the cruellest man alive and yet he was cowering at a dream of a cupboard, what kind of life had he lived and why had he lived it. It was this question and the never ending doubt and niggling feeling that plagued him all night and into the early hours of the morning, preventing sleep and giving Snape a headache the size of Hogwarts. It was at this point where Severus Snape was considering borrowing a calming potion from Madam Pomfrey that the boy started to stir, first a movement of the eyelids, then a shudder down the body, then coughing filled with a little blood and finally an attempt at sitting up, which promptly resulted in falling back down onto the low pillows of the infirmary bed. Standing up slowly Snape came over and placed a hand under Harry's back helping him to sit up, with the other hand Snape held a plastic bowl out for Harry to spit into.
Groggily Harry started to come round, he realised that his body was covered but not in his usual robes and that he was lying in a bed that had been tucked in around the sides but now was a cascade of sheets and covers thrown about by thrashing. The sun had just started to shine through the huge windows of the room he was in, but he couldn't quite place himself, the last thing he remembered is walking past the third floor landing that led to the library and then a light and a voice and that was it. He wondered who had brought him here and why he was here but more than that he wondered why it was that Severus Snape was helping to support him. Quietly, in little more than a mumble, Harry attempted to apologise for being a pain and a burden and taking up the professors time, even going as far as to say that he was sure he'd be fine if the Professor wished to leave, this was far from the truth but he didn't want to burden Snape particularly as the teacher had never shown him much care or kindness.
Snape was baffled for a moment and completely taken a back, here was a boy that could barely sit up, let alone stand up or take care of himself, who had hours earlier faced the darkest and possibly most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth in battle and survived, if barely, a boy who a short while before had been at deaths door owing to his injuries and now...now he was apologising for being a burden to Snape, the mind boggled.
'Potter, you must rest or else you will be no good to anyone, your body took massive damage and you have just had a...turbulent...night to say the least, Believe me boy I would not be here if I did not wish to be here.'
Harry looked up at Snape and noticed something strange in the eyes of the man looking down at him, a strange glimmer of something more, something that suggested that Snape may not always hate him. Deciding to leave the matter be for now, Harry started to look around properly, the curtains weren't drawn and by the looks of it he was the only patient in the infirmary, a thought that both annoyed him and brought him some relief, knowing that the others hadn't been badly injured. Thinking back on the night before he realised what a fool he was to fall for voldemorts trick and place those he loved in danger, and what had it got him, some damn prophecy that had been made about him and the loss of the only father figure he had ever known, it was his fault Sirius was dead, If it wasn't for him and his stupid childish actions Sirius would still be alive. He had no one else to blame but himself, as he berated himself tears started to trickle down his cheeks until he was curled up in a ball sobbing for the father figure he had lost.
'I shouldn't have gone, it's my fault, all my fault, why did I have to be so stupid, Oh Sirius why, why did you die, why could you not have lived, why did you not stay, why did you come to rescue me.'
Snape looked at Harry, his head told him to tell the boy to shut up and stop blaming himself, but his heart told him more than that, this boy had gone through so much, to lose the only father figure he had known would rip him apart and that could not happen. No matter how much Snapes distaste for James had been, a petty trick was no reason to hate the child. A part of Snape rebelled at this decision but it was quickly shattered and became as though it had never been, Snape felt lighter as if something had been constraining him, playing on his anger. Looking back at Potter he felt a stirring in his heart and mind, one that he never thought he would feel, he knew though how he did not know that somehow Potter was important not just to the light but to the essence of magic himself. It was a feeling, a connection, something unexplainable. Reaching out to the boy he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke his usual sarcastic drawl changed to a sympathetic silky tone.
'Because he loved you Potter, he cared for you, you were his reason for living, how could he turn his back on the child that he always wished he had fathered.'
'But why did he have to die, why could it not be me?'
Snape pondered for a moment then pulled on the only answer that came to mind and yet it felt the right answer.
'Because fate has its plans for all of us. Sirius was a good man, he gave much to others and now he has given you a chance, a chance to be what you are meant to be, what fate has decided for you. Do not throw his gift away, he would not wish you to grieve over him. Nor would he wish you to seek revenge, he saved you, now honour him'
Harry looked up at Snape, the tears drying slightly against his pale skin, his eyes showing a glimmer of hope.
'Thank you, Professor'
Snape nodded slowly and turned around to leave, turning back slightly as he left he spoke in his a tone not dissimilar to his usual drawl but filled with a little less hatred.
'Now stop moping around and get dressed Potter, I still expect that essay tomorrow'
Walking off towards the back of the infirmary and Poppy's quarters Snape smiled to himself. Snape's mind turned to the effect the nights activities had had on both himself and the boy. He doubted that the boy would be fully sound for a while, but there was little unusual about that, after all he was the chosen one. He also wondered just what had brought about his change in view of the boy, sure the voice had taken an interest but there was more to it, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't find that well of hatred and loathing that he had formerly held for Potter, it was almost as if a spell had been lifted but why would anyone do that, why make a boy that had suffered for a long time suffer more, it made little sense, as did all the other thoughts that went through his head. God he needed a drink, perhaps Poppy would have some of the firewhiskey left in her stash.
Across the ward, the boy who lived watched the potions master leave. Sitting up with his back against the raised pillows, he too was pondering the nights events, the vision, the nightmare, could he really carry on, perhaps it would be better to end it, maybe he should, but what if Snape was right, what if fate had a plan for him, did he really want to know what it was. How could he be a messiah, a hero of the light if he couldn't protect those he loved, after all what was he other than a broken, useless, childish boy. Slipping slowly out of bed he reached for his clothes and gingerly with a hint of pain started to dress, his jeans were torn as was his top and dried blood rimmed the top of the shirt but it wouldn't matter, for what he wanted to do, nothing mattered. Walking towards the hospital doors and freedom, glancing backwards he was almost there, almost free when the great doors opened and framed in the light that filtered through them was the last figure he wanted to see at that time.
A/N: Again I am sorry for the wait and what must be atrocious grammar. For those that may be confused by some of the happenings in this chapter, don't worry so am I, but they will all come together in the end I assure you. For now read and I hope you enjoy.
Pls Enjoy and any reviews will be gratefully acknowledged. I understand that my grammar may be awful so forgive a man for trying.
