Mirror
I look onto the other side
I feel I am a lie
Pretending I'm all tough inside
When I feel I want to cry
I just want someone to hold onto
Someone to hold me back
I just need those arms to embrace me
It's just the love that I lack
Powdered kegs fill my heart
Full high-powered load
I've held it in
Way too much
I think I may explode
I am beautiful, at least
That's what I thought
I was just always insecure
But that is what the mirror caught
I can't hide away
From my fears
I must stand and fight
T'was the mirror who reflected me
But I was the one to shine the light
--(written by my friend, Ember)
Cold dampness seeped through the stone of the ancient castle dungeons, trickling silently down the mortared stones as snakes would. The dead silence was broken only by the faint breathing of a small human curled in the corner, buried beneath the ragged remains of a robe and dignity. Emerald eyes had darkened to near blackness, standing out vividly from a face marred by streaks of blood and dirt.
The faint sounds of classical music drifted from somewhere near the end of the dark corridor, though it drew no reaction from Harry Potter. He simply lay still as a corpse, nearly as lifeless as one, and dreamed of nothing, yet everything. Inside his mind, there were no bruises or welts or wounds, no blood or screams, no pain. Only blessed darkness; a darkness with no sound, no sight, no hearing, no memory. Only relief.
He had wondered briefly why darkness had so long been considered evil if it brought such silent and painless refuge.
Pain no longer registered as an acute sensation. Instead, it seemed everything was in pain-the stupid scar he was famous for, his head, his torso, his abdomen, his legs and feet, his limbs. It was now just a blind haze, a fuzziness that hummed in the background through his spinal cord to his cerebral cortex yet didn't truly register in the rest of his brain.
Nerve damage, he mused.
Loud footsteps echoed throughout the corridor separated from his cell by a set of rusted iron bars that were enforced by magical wards and shields to prevent escape from any creature, Animagus or not. They grew ever clearer as they drew closer, yet Harry honestly could not find the will to care. So he lay, still and alone.
Hmm, sounds like Avery. Early thirties, somewhat tall and thin.
Harry had begun to recognize Deatheaters by their footsteps alone, learning that their height and weight affected the style and firmness of their steps, while age (or rather, intelligence and temperament) decided on the rhythm and pace. Lucius Malfoy had a measured, elegant stride, while Goyle, Sr., had a slow, heavily plodding step. Avery's was quicker and nearly lighter, sometimes irregular.
Wasn't like he had had anything better to do after being caught by Voldemort some time ago.
A coldness that had nothing to do with the atmosphere danced harshly against his bared pale skin, the small body tensed.
Now, only one thing could possibly frighten him, and Voldemort knew it.
His own mind.
Dementors.
"Wake up, you little bastard."
There was a harsh ringing against the bars, making Harry's head pound; Avery had thumped a delicate knife against them, his face twisted into an amused, smug expression.
Harry paid him no heed, instead having his attention drawn to the tall, silent shadow beside the man.
Screaming raged within his mind.
what did you come after me for, then? i thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin
i am!
aw...did you love him, little baby potter?
crucio!
never used an unforgivable curse before, have you, boy? you need to mean them, potter! you need to really want to cause pain-to enjoy it- righteous anger won't hurt me for long-i'll show you how it is done, shall i?
Harry barely registered the sound of the cell door creaking open, announcing the entrance of Avery. As the fighting in his head didn't get any worse, Harry had to assume, dimly, that the Dementor had stayed outside the door.
he was not ready to see their expression when he told them he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way...
"Come on, boy, move."
The softly spoken words barely broke through the rush of memories, but they were wasted. Even if he could move, he would not have.
Strange. Avery sounded...satisfied about something.
There was a murmured spell, and Harry found himself thrown upright against the wall, the manacles clinking loudly as they dug into his wrists and his head now throbbing worse than usual from the hearty thump it had received against the stone. He could feel the currents of magic pinning him steadfastly to the wall.
Harry's thin body arched slightly, his cracked lips parting in a silent cry, as a new remembrance struck with the force of an oncoming train.
too late, potter
a shrieked curse, and a green light he knew must have come straight from hell; there was a soft intake of breath, a whispered name across dry lips, a heavy thud of flesh against wood
no, remus
not you too, you're a part of my family
remus
"I wonder what the Boy-Who-Lived is seeing?" a voice purred from somewhere in front of him. Warm breath fanned across his face, and Harry resisted the urge to retch through the heavy blackness that tried desperately to unsurp his consciousness.
"Do you know what the Dark Lord granted to me, boy?" the unsettling voice continued. Harry breathed harshly, feeling as though his breath were being stolen from his lungs as a thief would to precious gold, his eyes half-open to reveal the Deatheater's smirking face.
"He granted me permission. You see, he is not at all satisfied that you haven't broken yet, despite the three weeks of constant...attention," he finished delicately. "So, he will allow me to do what I think should have been long ago. Though seeing you suffer is quite an enjoyment, so the time wasn't completely wasted." The last part sounded like an afterthought, though Harry had heard so many similar things that he longer felt the stirrings of rage at the comments as he did when he first was captured.
Three weeks' time?
Felt like an eternity.
When a warm hand trailed lightly down his left cheek, Harry tensed like a bowstring.
"You are quite beautiful, boy, did you know?"
Oh God, not that...
"When you were first dragged in here, your face flushed in rage, your eyes shining with defiance, you were quite a sight to behold. Such soft, dark hair, such creamy skin...had you been a woman, you wouldn't have been left alone for nearly as long as you have."
For the first time in a long while, true fear began to mercilessly squeeze his heart. He could not say he was really surprised; he had been forced to watch many torture sessions of captured prisoners, Muggle and magical alike.
He had to admit that Voldemort and his Deatheaters could certainly be creative when properly motivated.
"Even as you are now, you hold a certain...forbidden quality that is quite intriguing."
Harry tried to move, to do anything but just stay here, pinned helpless, but the magic currents increased the more he struggled. Avery smiled wider, shaking his head in mock sternness.
"Naughty boy; don't you know that you are not supposed to disobey what your betters say?"
Gathering as much strength as he could, Harry spat in Avery's face. The smile disappeared, mouth curling into a sneer and eyes narrowing furiously. There was the hiss of steel sliding against material, and the point of a knife was being pressed against his protruding collarbone. The resulting pain was hardly registered, instead blending with the rest of the dull background roar and merely adding to the cacophony of voices screaming in the confines of his mind.
"Do you like pain, boy? Do you like the mad pulsing of your heart, the rush of adrenaline, the loss of control?"
The knife slowly slid downwards, following his sternum, the cotton threads of the rags he was wearing parting with a soft whisper that jarred harshly with the burning trail left behind.
Harry's eyes closed in an attempt to block out what was being done. He knew very well what was going to happen; had known for a while, in fact, that it was only a matter of time until Voldemort grew tired of his silence and resistance and allowed his Deatheaters to do what they would.
But that did not stop the feeling of terrified fear and shrieking rage slowly consuming his heart until it grew hard to breathe.
"What's the matter, child? Not having fun? I am. I think red suits your body quite well. Hmm, who would have thought that blood could taste like wine?"
The sensual feeling of warm, slick tongue sliding over the wound the knife had left behind made his skin crawl in absolute disgust and revulsion.
"You've never been touched, have you? How sweetly innocent. Let me hear you scream as I take you, make you mine forever."
The knife disappeared, to be replaced by fingers that knew no gentleness or love. Only possessive lust and sadistic pleasure could they ever show.
Panic seemed to loosen his previously stuck vocal cords.
"No..." Harry murmured, his protest faint and breathy, his skinny body struggling ever more strongly. This could not be happening, it was wrong, all wrong...it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
do you know why it hurts, harry? because you feel. you feel love, and compassion, and courage. that's why it hurts, harry, and that's why i can break you
The situation combined with the powerful magic of the Dementor made his mind dance precariously close to the edge, teeter dangerously on the precipice over an unknown darkness.
Harry did not know when he was reduced to begging, pleading for it to stop. He didn't know when his voice broke into a long scream of sheer primal terror as he was penetrated, didn't know when he finally cracked, crumpling into a small ball when he was released from the cruel intruder of his body and the magic that had held him.
He knew only of when he finally fell, his world a writhing mass of living darkness.
Faint strains of classical music echoed in the silence.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Xavier started. Someone had just been broadcasting fairly powerfully, though obviously accidentally.
He glanced out the window from his bed, thinking.
It had been a memory; a rather disturbing one, at that.
It had been Harry's memory.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
"STOP IT!"
Harry bolted upright, his eyes wide in terror. His slender body was shivering violently, his breathing shallow and rapid.
There was a cool wetness trailing down his left cheek.
"Jesus Christ," he murmured, leaning forward and squeezing his eyes shut. "Get a grip, Potter, just a dream."
Harry? a sleepy voice murmured.
I'm fine, Chatoyant, he replied mentally, snapping shut their link.
It had been so long since he had had a nightmare like that.
Then again, it was also the first night in a long time he had not taken any Dreamless Sleep potion- the supply he had had was left back where his destroyed dorm used to be. At least he had had the foresight to put wards and a Silencing Charm all around the room before he went to sleep.
Whenever he had had a vision, Chatoyant had also been forced to dream it, which helped greatly in recalling them to tell Dumbledore. But normal nightmares and dreams were his own, and while his familiar could buffer the effects of most, there were some that were just too powerful.
The seventeen-year-old glanced out the window at the moon, just beginning to wane.
He had thought that memory gone.
Shuddering, Harry wrapped his arms desolately around his legs, drawing them up to his chest. The sheet slipped from his upper body, revealing his bare torso.
The moonlight poured carelessly into the room, falling upon his pale skin. Old scars crisscrossed nearly every inch of the lean frame, testament to the hardships he had faced during his life that had gotten only worse. Some were thin and silvery, others darker, thicker, and deeper, but each and every one of them held a story, a history of rough beginnings and harsh endings.
Knowing that he would not get any sleep for the rest of the duration of the night, Harry slipped out of bed and swiftly dressed in a large, black silk shirt he Transfigured from a lost penny he'd found in a drawer, and a pair of clean blue jeans before leaving the room as silently as any shadow.
Old phantom pains delicately caressed his body like a malicious lover, his imagination creating them from the wealth of emotion and memory hidden behind a wall that would make Fort Knox envious. As he moved down the corridor, he unconsciously shrouded himself in shadow, the dark shades denying the laws of physics and moving at the wizard's automatic instinct of concealment. The plush carpet hid any sound he might have made.
As much as he tried not to, Harry's mind kept dragging itself back to his nightmare. Never before had he been so glad that Snape (after much threatening and cajoling from Dumbledore) had taught him 'the art of deception', or at least some of it. While Voldemort had probably seen right through his act the day...after... none of the Deatheaters had.
It was actually rather disconcerting how similar in both role and personality Xavier and Dumbledore were. The superficial means- both headmasters, of sorts, both ran schools, both had created a secret organization utilizing the talents of their students and allies, both fought against people whose ideas weren't exactly the best. The conversation in the professor's office had shown as much.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
"Harry, please tell me what happened."
Kurt shifted on his perch on the back of the armchair Rogue was sitting in, feeling slightly disconcerted by the stern tone of Professor Xavier's voice. The newest enigma stood in front of the desk, his face turned downwards and to the side in silence.
"Harry, please. I may have to place you under expulsion unless you can prove that your attack was provoked."
The German mutant watched as the boy's shoulders tensed. He had seen some pretty bad cases of paranoia, depression, and temper- after all, he had once been part of a circus- but none had been quite this bad.
The face turned upwards to look at the powerful psychic beneath long strands of hair that fell across his features. "He insulted Hedwig."
Ah. Hedwig must be that beautiful snowy owl, Kurt mused, his tail swishing back and forth behind him as he absently played with Rogue's hair. This guy must have lost a lot of things if he's so protective of her.
Kurt was no stranger to such feelings. The news of being experimented on as a child and being abandoned by his own mother, then being raised in a circus as a freak sideshow called "The Great Nightcrawler", hadn't done much for his personal esteem.
Making people run in fear whenever they saw him didn't help much either.
When he had been adopted by the older couple and given a place to truly call home, he had acted as though it was going to be torn away from him. After all, everything else had been. He hid himself away in the attic spaces, afraid of the villagers and their own fear. He was distant, trying not to get attached.
And then he had been given a cross by his adopted mother.
She had told him that as long as he held faith, God would help him. But he was a monster, a demon, why would such a God want to help him? Because it was the soul that mattered, not the body the soul lived within.
The cross had been a beautiful little thing, the crossbars made of fine silver with all four arms decorated by a Celtic knot that twisted itself sinuously around. A single small, golden crystal sat in the intersection of the two bars, round and sparkling and perfect. To match your eyes, she said.
The cross had been more than a simple symbol of his beliefs; it was a precious keepsake of his only mother and father, a promise of a life free of persecution and hatred.
But their town was tiny, full of people that held no power in the modern world but in the darkness and evil of night, the power superstition could hold over a person. To them, werewolves were always in the woods, ready to rend apart any who dared enter; vampires stalked the unwary; ghosts plagued the lone and sinful; witches were considered the Devil's apprentices, seductive temptresses that would turn any pious man away from salvation.
And then a demon hunter had arrived in town, and destroyed nearly everything Kurt Vaugner had finally achieved.
The cross had been lost in the chaos.
He still felt its strange, unnatural absence and the sharp sting of betrayal.
What had Harry lost?
Xavier's voice continued.
"Be that as it may be, Harry, you deliberately hurt another person."
"If that were the case, Xavier, then he would have been dead."
Absolute silence rang in Kurt's ears. None of the other mutants moved.
Xavier sighed, looking as old as Kurt had ever seen him.
Harry turned to the side and moved his cloak so that, for the first time, it showed his front. In the belt he was wearing were several small loops attached, in which small bottles nestled firmly. Clinking softly, he withdrew one and twirled between his fingers, letting the cloak fall back to its original position.
"This a Calming potion," he said softly. "What he suffered was a small part of the Cruciatus Curse; had he been forced to feel the full brunt of it, he would have been driven insane within three and a half minutes. It is a purely mental curse that makes the recipient feel intense agony. He will be fine, but should there be any side effects this will take care of it."
He set the bottle gently on the middle of the professor's desk. That had been the longest speech any had heard him say since meeting him only the day before.
"How do we know that's not poison?" Scott demanded, tactless as usual. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Had I intended to kill him, then he would have already been dead."
Logan growled.
"What, so you have killed before?" Scott retorted.
Kurt watched as Harry's eyes widened, his body tensing as though expecting a blow. He seemed at a loss for words, the emerald of his eyes glazing over as he stared at something only he could see.
"I lost control," he murmured. "I am no better than he is."
"Than who, Harry?" Xavier asked gently, his voice concerned. Kurt, meanwhile, was confused. Could he mean Magneto? It was possible, though he could have sworn that he had seen the mutant die.
Xavier's words seemed to bring Harry back to the here-and-now, and the stunned misery of his expression suddenly dissolved into black neutrality. When he spoke his tone was clipped and betrayed nothing.
"This will take away any symptoms remaining." He gestured towards the lone little glass vial sitting innocently on the desktop. Then, turning on his heel, he strode from the room.
Was it Kurt's imagination, or did his steps seem a bit more hurried than before?
"Well," said Beast, blinking. "This produces quite a quandary."
"He is obviously emotionally unstable," Ororo supplied. "While this situation may have been nothing more than an accidental loss of control, it also proves that he is unpredictable. We know nothing of him except that he is highly trained and potentially very dangerous, judging from what he have seen thus far. We do not even know the full extent of his power, or even what that power is."
"If I may," Jean broke in quietly. "I saw him this morning. He was up even before me. When I dropped a coffee cup, he just waved his hand, and it...put itself back together, without a single crack showing that it had been broken. The spilled coffee just disappeared. I tried talking to him, but he seemed so...sad, and lonely. He said he was wondering what things might have been like had he acted differently, but he didn't go into detail. Then when some of the younger mutants came in, he just- disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Rogue repeated, her brow furrowed.
"Yeah, it was like when Kurt teleports, but there wasn't any smoke, just a small popping sound. He was there, then he...wasn't."
Kurt suppressed a smile; it wasn't often that Jean had such trouble articulating herself.
"I mean, if you had blinked, you would have missed it."
"How strange," Xavier mused, obviously deep in thought.
"Do you think it's possible that it might actually be...magic?" Jean asked timidly. Kurt got the impression that she was slightly embarrassed just to be voicing that thought, though he himself was starting to wonder the same thing.
"And that snake, it changed, but he didn't do it," Kurt added. "It changed on its own. That seemed like magic, if anything."
He received several strange looks.
"How do you know it wasn't him, but the snake thing?" Scott asked. Kurt blinked. Hadn't they felt it too?
"I didn't get the impression from him," he said slowly, feeling as though he had said something he wasn't supposed to. "Didn't you feel it too?"
"Feel what?"
Apparently, they hadn't.
Great…
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
"I want to go home."
Harry stopped, his internal musings wrenched away at the sound of the small, pitiful voice whimpering. He stepped forward lightly, the shadows hugging him more closely than ever in his wish to remain unseen.
Through a doorway just before the kitchens (when had he gotten down the stairs? Constant vigilance, goddammit!), there was a soft light spilling from the entrance, unusual in the fact that all other doors and entrances were dark and occupied only by sleeping inhabitants or tiny mice. He recognized the door immediately as the back way into the large living/play room, where all the games, toys, and other various distractions from daily life were kept. It should have been empty of any living being.
With a touch of the unbearable curiousness he had retained from childhood or lack thereof Harry slipped inside.
The pastel blue walls were covered in posters of music bands, theme parks, favorite entertainers, and some of the children's cartoons; there were a couple sofas and futons, some armchairs, and numerous pillows of all colors and size thrown haphazardly around. There was a large television with some video games Harry didn't recognize, and a foozball and air hockey tables on the right side of the room.
This took all the time of a swift intake of breath.
But the sorrowful whimpering and crying came from the two figures huddled on a plushy scarlet armchair near the corner, the only light in the room emanating from an elaborate and rather beautiful lamp created from a piece of wood that looked as though its dark body had been forged by the hands of the ocean. The two children were curled around each other in a manner reminiscent of newborn puppies, their tiny frames shaking with their quiet cries.
Harry recognized them immediately as the two orphaned twins, Apollo and Artemis. Despite himself, the broken, disillusioned boy could feel the rigid protection around his heart loosen in acknowledgement of one of his few weaknesses sitting right before him, obviously in pain.
He wanted to comfort them, to make sure that their pain was no more than a night terror, but he was unsure. Unconsciously, and with brief surprise, he found that his feet had already brought him over and made him kneel in front of the armchair.
"What's wrong?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His tones were low and soft, nearly purring in the back of his throat.
The boy-Apollo-started, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes shining wetly, as small precious stones of tears fell silently. His twin had her head buried in his chest, and she hadn't deigned to look up through the fall of dark hair that hid her face.
"Dreams," he whispered, his voice faintly accented by a flip to the R's Harry didn't recognize.
"About what?" Harry asked softly, thinking back to his own previous dream.
Artemis looked up finally, her ice blue eyes more haunted than Harry had ever seen in a child of this age.
"When Mommy died," she whispered, shaking.
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say.
"She died a coupl'a months ago," Apollo continued, his words slightly shaky. English must not have been his mother tongue. "Some bad men came, and they..." he trailed off.
"They hur' her real bad, hitt'n her an' stuff, so that she was crying," Artemis finished. "They sai' that mutants didden deserve ta live, but she wasn' a mutant!" she finished desperately, her eyes searching his for any understanding. "They tried ta burn the house down, but Mommy grabbed us and threw us outta window."
Apollo agreed solemnly, his tears rushing down afresh.
Harry had to force himself to resist his reflexes when Artemis suddenly untangled herself from her brother and flung herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a child's hug. Hesitantly, Harry returned the embrace.
Apollo scooted onto the arm of the chair, gesturing for Harry to sit. Awkwardly, Harry shifted Artemis so that he wouldn't drop her as he stood up, and let himself sink into the cushion.
Abruptly, Apollo settled himself in Harry's lap, behaving in a manner similar to guinea pigs as he tried to burrow beneath the older boy's arm.
Well, Harry mused at the situation. I must admit, this wasn't exactly how I thought the rest of the night was going to turn out. It had been a long time since he had been embraced as a source of comfort or love, and he found, to his surprise, that he had missed it.
Finally, Artemis released him and settled into his other side, her tiny hands playing with the long strands of ebony hair Harry had forgotten to tie back.
"I miss her," Apollo said quietly. Harry felt a sear of empathy in his heart.
"My mum died too," he said, hiding his amusement as they both looked at him in disbelief.
"When I was a little baby, I lived with my mum and dad. But at the same time, there was an evil man that was hurting and killing people."
there was a blinding flash of green light
"I heard Kitty say that you do magic," Artemis interrupted. "Are you a witch?"
"No. Boys are called wizards," he said with a small smile. "Girls are witches. And this man, he was a wizard too, only he used his powers for bad things. One day on Halloween, he came to my house to kill my family. My dad told my mum to run and protect me, so she did. The evil man killed my dad, and then went after my mum and me. She sacrificed herself to save my life, and because of that, I managed to survive."
lily, take harry and run! i'll hold him off
"How?" Apollo asked, eyes wide with enthralled awe.
"It's an ancient magic that my mum used, and because of it I lived. The only memories I have of them are of the night they died."
Harry found himself nearly being throttled to death by an armful of sobbing little girl.
"You're an orphan too?"
"Yes, I am." Harry felt the familiar sense of loss and pain that came whenever he talked about his parents, and what could have been had things only been different.
Artemis pulled away for the second time. "Can you show us some magic?"
Harry let his senses stretch outwards, searching for any forms of other life. Only a couple mice beneath the cabinet and a moth fluttering near the windowsill. He shifted so that he was more comfortable, and his arms encircled the two tiny children.
Only these two would bear witness.
Cupping his hands in front of them, he stared at the center of space contained in the bowl-shaped confines of his fingers and palms. As he did so, his sleeves were pushed back to the middle of his forearms though the two attentive twins didn't notice, an oversight Harry was silently grateful for.
He willed his magic into the open space, nudging the small ball of power that thrummed beneath tight cords of will and control that most magic- wielding beings were unaware of. Had it been a real creature, it would have been grumbling at being roused when it didn't feel like it, but it complied after realizing what its master and creator wished it to do. A thin trickle of pure magic spilled out like a tiny mountain spring from a never-ending source, dancing as the spring would do over rocks through his veins and into his fingertips.
The lamp flickered out to leave behind a darkness in response to the magic that tugged its electrical cord.
In the material world, the small, dark space seemed to be dotted with tiny flecks of light, like salt on black pepper. The flecks grew to spots, then stars, some of the stars growing even more to form small galaxies and nebulae, spinning solar systems and streaks of flashing comets and asteroids.
Artemis and Apollo gasped with delight, their previous concerns momentarily forgotten.
One of the galaxies began to grow, quickly overtaking and blocking out the rest of the tiny universe, revealing itself to be a spiral galaxy that spun with a speed of one turn every several thousand millennia. One of its arms became the center focus, and finally a single solar system.
"The Milky Way!" Apollo gasped out breathlessly, gazing at the streak of stars.
The nine planets of the solar system were spinning slowly in their paths around the sun, glittering in the sun- and star-light like crystals spun on the end of a chain. The third planet, a tiny blue marble of sapphire, eventually became the size of the sun, then the size of a galaxy, until it hung suspended on unseen strings in the space of Harry's hands.
Finally on one continent there was a tiny sparkle, growing in size, making the northern reaches of the Atlantic Ocean swell and the wide expanse of forest on the continent loom ever larger; and the sparkle became a tree, proud in its ancient age and wide in its girth, the emerald leaves shining with the morning dew, each tiny drop of water reflecting thousands of minute rainbows, beautiful in all their small glory; then the blue of one such spectrum expanded, giving one the sensation of plunging into clear, untouched waters; a silver little fish flickered by, its dark eyes fathomless and knowing with the lore of the universe; but then it was gone in a flash, caught by the lethal spear of a bird's beak, and the bird gave a squawk that was not heard but felt in each of their minds.
The blackness of his plumage became the darkness in a forest, broken by the tall, regal trunks of trees that had known and lived all the Ages that Man only dreamed of, and through that darkness came a form that ran swiftly over the leaf-strewn ground, the claws digging deep into the earth's hide and its thick fur rippling in an unfelt wind; the wolf's eyes were deep, deep amber, wild and fierce, as it pursued a deer that leapt as though it could break away from the ground it was attached to and disappear into the endless sky, to become another star amongst millions; but then the wolf was on the ground, its body writhing in agony; the fur retracted into pale, scarred flesh, the claws becoming human nails and the teeth nothing more than what the human watchers had. The thin human chest gasped for breath as he lay motionless, not responding to the shaggy black dog that nudged at him in concern, the Man's eyes as bright and amber as the wolf's, but more thoughtful, deeper in a way that it wasn't before.
The amber iris grew dark, consuming the space, and gradually darkened; a barren land lay wasted beneath an unforgiving sky, hard and merciless and angry, the earth flayed bare and exposed like a corpse from a butcher's hand. A skeleton, the bones long since bleached white, stared up at the sneering sun and grinned in mockery even as it sank below the surface it had lain on for unknown time; where it had disappeared, the ground was slightly sunk in a gentle curve; and the sun disappeared to be replaced by its sister, who smiled her mysterious smile on the cold, lifeless area and let her moonbeams spill over until silvery grass grew, and life began to replace where once only Death had ruled.
The stars in the sky once again appeared, and the human watchers were pulled away from the life-blossoming landscape, flying past the countless stars and nebulae, past a bright flash as a star finally burned itself out and exploded, while a few endless seconds later a new one was created, and finally there was nothing left, and the magic disappeared.
All the while, a soft tuneless, wordless melody sang in the back of their minds, singing of Light and Dark, Trust and Deceit, Peace and War, but it too finally faded away, leaving behind a feeling of loss and sadness.
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"Kurt, give it back!"
"Aw, come on Kitty, you can do better than that."
Rogue silently laughed at the antics of her brother and the valley-girl, disguising her smile as a yawn and jumping slightly when Jean put a hand on her shoulder.
"Jumpy, aren't we?" she smiled, her voice kind. Rogue didn't answer as they both walked in the direction of the kitchen to grab breakfast.
"TGIF, right Rogue?" Spike grinned, bounding past them in his hurry not to be late. Because of his rather poor grades, his math teacher had decided to give him a few private tutoring sessions each Friday an hour before school started.
Rogue agreed, a small smile on her face. She paused as she and Jean passed the door next to the kitchen's.
"Hey Jean, was anyone in there last night?" she asked, breaking away from the redhead and moving towards the entrance. Jean shook her head.
"No, no one's used this room for months, as far as I know."
The early morning light poured in through the tall windows, giving the room passable light to see by. Rogue stopped, leaning and whispering to the telepath while pointing.
"Who's that?"
"I don't know, I'll check." Jean put her fingers to her temple, closing her eyes in concentration, before gasping.
"It's Harry! And... the twins? What are they doing in here?"
Rogue crept across the room to the armchair situated in the corner, the one most often used by those who only wanted to read or just think, but still be in the company of others.
The cold, ruthless newcomer had one leg flung over the arm of the chair, his left arm wrapped around the girl Artemis presumably to keep her from falling off. She and her twin were curled around each other on his lap, their little chests rising with each slow, contented breath.
Rogue blinked to make sure she wasn't still asleep. Harry looked...normal. Calm.
Relaxed.
Jean, Kurt, and Kitty appeared beside her, and judging from their expressions were just as surprised as she was.
One green eye half-opened lazily and looked at them, though his breathing did not alter and his body had not even shifted. The other opened, and he raised an eyebrow as though to say 'Got a problem? No? Then leave quickly and quietly, and maybe I won't sever your tongue from your head.'
It was actually quite amazing that he managed to make such a simple gesture so eloquent.
They did not know that he'd had private lessons from the snarky, son-of-a- bitch Master himself.
"Sorry," Jean whispered. Kurt grabbed a shoulder from the two older girls and wrapped his tail around Kitty, and then teleported away to leave them in peace.
Now in the kitchen, they each regarded the others in bafflement.
"He has got to be the most contradictory guy that ever existed," Rogue muttered.
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Xavier smiled at the rising sun spreading its fatherly arms over the earth.
After feeling a combined rush of confused surprise from his students, he had inconspicuously pried to make sure that everything was all right.
It was.
"Harry Potter, welcome to your new home, for as long as you wish it to be."
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Long, pale fingers pressed together lightly.
"The senator will be hard to convince," a voice that lilting and soft, but colder than a shard of broken glass, spoke aloud in a heavy silence. "But with the proper...persuasion, he will acquiesce to our means."
The smile of the ruby lips would make a fallen angel cringe.
Don't forget!
R&R!