Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by J. K. Rowling remain her copyrighted property, as well as the copyrighted property of her
publisher, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters created by the author remain her property.
"'What, nephew,' said the king, 'is the wind in that door?'" ~Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d' Arthur
A/N: A couple people asked me when Over Sea takes place. There is no specific date given, but the time I had in mind was a few years after Harry, Ron, and Hermione graduated. So in Muggle terms, they'd be in college by now.
The Wind in the Doorway
Pro. Blake Aidenn
Tent 10
As-of-yet-Unnamed country #4
"'As-of-yet-Unnamed country number four'?" Will mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.
Fingers trembling slightly, I eased the lip of the envelope open. Covered in neat, friendly penmanship, sat the words from a man I'd believed to be dead for over eight years. Gratefully enough, my friends seemed to sense that this was a private matter, an began discussing the Quidditch game that was coming up soon over my head.
The letter looked as though it had been lost, trampled on, and folded any number of times. A large tear ran through the words "My Dear Daughter." I began reading.
My Dear Daughter, Malory:
I trust that your journey to Hogwarts was pleasant enough. Was the barrier tricky? I remember the first time I rode the Hogwarts Express...the day ended with a black eye and a slightly crooked nose. To be perfectly honest, I'm slightly relieved that I persuaded Dumbledore out of taking you himself. Though a fine man, I'm not entirely sure if I trust him behind the steering wheel of any type of vehicle.
I'm absolutely dying to know how your classes are. Has Hogwarts has changed since I've been there(cast your mind back as far as you can, and that will be when I began attending Hogwarts)? Which House were you sorted into? And before you say anything, I want you to realize that I don't care which house you were sorted into, no matter what your new friends may say, there really is no better or worse House in Hogwarts. Which is your favorite class? Mine was always Transfiguration. It's rather difficult, but the results are quite worth it, in my opinion.
I suppose you'll be wanting to know why I couldn't come for you while you were cooped up with that relation of yours. I'm afraid that I'm glad I don't hold any blood ties with your mother's sister. It still perplexes me as to how your wonderful, beautiful, laughing mother was related to that prune-faced old woman. But I digress. You must understand, Malory, that I wanted very dearly to fetch you. Ever since your mother died, you've been the only person who's been in my every thought. I wanted to hear my daughter say her first words, I wanted to see you laugh in the comfort of a home I chose. But there are some things, Malory, that are beyond our control, and as weak an excuse as this is, the weather is one of them.
Such storms you've never seen! I pray that you never will, for they can only be heralds to Dark Forces. Dumbledore told me that he told you I was an in-field researcher and mapmaker. That is partially true. I do make maps, but only for future reference by others such as myself. There are two main forces in the magical world, Malory: The Light and the Dark, the Good and Evil of our world. You are a member of the Light - at least I hope. Heaven knows what sort of trouble you may have been in since I saw you last.
I work for the Ministry, as Dumbledore correctly told you, and for the LIght, researching how the Dark can win over so many elements, so many creatures. We've been striving for many years to find where their true source of power comes from. The storms that prevented me from fetching you, my child, were not made of rain, or hail or sleet. They were of fire and ice. Trees were uprooted as easily as daisies, hurled at my fellow researchers and myself. We weren't in any real danger - poltergeists and flying objects aren't half as dangerous as the people who summon them. But they were enough to isolate us from the rest of the world.
The Dark has moved on: we're not sure where. Though it's a mixed blessing, the only reason why I am able to write to you is because the Dark no longer pursues us. They are now after other quarry.
I hope that you've made many friends. If you happen to see anyone by the name of William or Margaret Hugh, say hello, if you haven't already. I knew their father very well before they were born.
If you need anything, anything at all, use my raven. He looks older than his years, and will probably outlive many of his future masters. Write back.
Love,
Your Father
Fighting the lump that had risen in my throat, I carefully flattened the letter and placed it in my Transfiguration book, hoping that by the end of the day all the wrinkles would disappear.
"Who was it from?"
"My father." The words felt strange in my mouth. The very act of speaking was renewed, leaving a refreshed feeling in my heart. I felt as though a great burden had been taken off my shoulders. I smiled at my friends. "Which class do we have first today?"
The days seemed brighter as I waited for the reply to my own letter. Curious about my practically nonexistent past, I'd asked my father everything, what was my mother like, what was he like, did I have any cousins, or siblings, or aunts(besides Jane) or uncles, where had I been born...
My hiatus had snapped into oblivion with the arrival of my father's letter, and I awaited the upcoming Quidditch match as eagerly and noisily as any of my other Gryffindors. The first match of the year, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw.
There were no first years on the team, as no first years were allowed brooms or were talented enough. However, in a bout of school spirit, Madam Hooch decided to begin flying lessons after school on Thursdays, for those who wished to try out for next year. Irene and Jasper were too busy with their Care of Magical Creatures homework to come, so Will and I left together for the empty sports field. I tried to imagine the stands crowded with all the students, and failed. The stands seemed too big for the people whom I'd seen.
"So what are we flying on?" I asked Will as stood waiting for the teacher. Vague images of wizard hangliders drifted across my mind.
"Brooms, of course," Will smiled. "What else?"
"Brooms?" As I said so, about forty brooms glided into our field of view.
They were in extremely poor condition. The handles were faded, some splintering. Odd twigs bent out at strange angles, some tails crusted with mud or coated with a heavy layer of dust. Many looked as though they hadn't been used for many years.
"Those are the brooms we're going to be riding?" I asked skeptically. A broom floated in front of each student and hovered in midair.
Madam Hooch, a short quick woman with the eyes of a hawk, snapped her fingers as she followed in the brooms' wake. Immediately all the brooms fell to the ground. "The first thing I'm going to teach you is how to get a broom off the ground without touching it." She stretched her hand out and opened it, palm facing us. "It's quite simpled really. Just say 'UP' in a firm voice, and the broom should come to your hand."
Easier said than done. Will had little trouble with it. At his first command, the broom fairly jumped into his fingers. I, on the other hand, had a few more difficulties, and the monosyllable wasn't enough. In the end, Madam Hooch had told me to watch my tongue, and be careful not to traumatize the vehicle I was about to ride.
But the broom jumped to my hand quite obediently when I was finished.
Next, she showed us the proper way to hold a broom. One of the Hufflepuffs was having some trouble: he kept holding it as though it were a muggle broom, and he was about to sweep the field. "Now at the sound of my whistle, please mount your brooms," Madam Hooch said, a note in her voice hinting that she didn't trust all of us floating around on brooms. "One, two..." A shrill, piercing note cut through the afternoon air.
I swung one of my legs over the broom and pushed off, the way Will had shown me. The pressure between my legs was a jolt at first, rather like sitting on a rail. But after a while, the broom handle seemed to accomadate itself to fit my body, and was as comfortable as the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. I only got about ten feet off the ground, but it was better than many of the others. Will was soaring around thirty feet above my head, an expression of ecstasy written plainly on his face. "How do you get higher?" I called to him.
"Pull your broom up!"
Taking his advice, my broom shot up like a cork out of a bottle. The crisp air tingled, nipping at my nose. By the time I reached Will, it was as red as a berry.
"C'mon, Rudolph," Will grinned. "Race you to the end of the field."
"You're on." We bent over the front of our brooms. Being smaller and lighter, I managed to get a lead on Will and was just about to make it to the imaginary finish line when my broom gave a sudden lurch beneath me, propelled by a strong wind. I clung on tightly with both hands, trying not to notice how far away the ground seemed to be. Again, a gust of wind made the broom buck wildly, then stop, vibrating slightly.
Will whooshed passed me. "Ha! I beat you!" On seeing that something was the matter, he made a U-turn and hovered beside me. "What's wrong?"
"My broom is malfunctioning," I muttered thickly, trying not to get sick as the broom spasmodically bucked around. Why wasn't his acting like mine? Surely the wind would effect everybody...
Will stared at my broom before whispering slowly, "Malory, get on mine now. Don't ask questions, just do it."
I tried to climb towards him without relinquishing hold on my own broom, when the thing went flying out of Will's reach, catching me off guard. I jerked over the side of the broom, and soon the only things that kept me from plummeting to the ground were the crooks of my legs. My robes flew over my face, blinding me.
"MS. AIDENN! THIS IS NO TIME FOR STUNTS!"
"I'm not -" I began, but then the broom began speeding towards the ground, much faster than I would have liked. "SLOW DOWN!" I commanded, but the broom just accelerated as the soil rushed up to meet me.
Something strong grabbed onto my wrist and I was jerked into the air. As my broom buried itself into the dirt, Will caught me by the arm and hoisted me with some difficulty onto his own broom. "You okay?"
"No."
"Good." We floated down to the ground. Madam Hooch rushed over immediately.
"What do you think you were doing, Aidenn?" she demanded.
"I couldn't help it!" I shouted, trying to arrange my robes so that the clothes underneath didn't show. "I lost control!"
Madam Hooch paled. "You what?"
"I was doing fine, and then this big gust of wind came up and the broom just started bucking and spinning around." I reached out to hand the broom to her.
"Get away from the broom," Madam Hooch ordered, a new note of panic in her voice. A few other students had gathered around to see what was going on.
I had no idea what was wrong. "But Madam Hooch -"
Will pulled me back. "Just listen to her." I stared up at him, bewildered. His face was drawn, his muddy eyes sparkling with fear.
Madam Hooch blew on her whistle sharply. "CLASS HAS ENDED!" she bellowed. "BACK TO THE SCHOOL!" Madam Hooch was avoiding the broom as much as possible while trying to get it back into the locker rooms. The students that were still in the air floated idly down, laughing and smiling. Cheeks pinched by the wind into a rosy hue, the first flying class of the year made their way back to Hogwarts.
"Are you okay?"
Will blinked and looked at me. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Do you know what it takes to interfere with a broom?"
"Not really."
"Dark Arts. Major Dark Arts. Only the most powerful Dark wizards and creatures can interfere with flight of any kind." Will shivered as a strong draft greeted us as we entered the Great Hall. "Do you feel kind of cold?"
"Don't change the subject."
"No, wait, just stand here." I did so, and trembled as a rank smell invaded my senses. It was vaguely familiar, the odor of betrayal and deceit. Wind crawled along my body, numbing it. Frozen throughout my entire body, my very soul, I stood in the corridor perfectly still. Like a deer when it's heard a twig snap behind it. I'm too afraid to move, I thought, and I'm too afraid to stand still. Then I scolded myself. You're being stupid. "I'm too afraid to move, I'm too afraid to stand still." Bullocks. It's only a draft...
With a loud scream of triumph, the wind picked up its speed and intensity. The double doors slammed shut, a few people still outside. Everyone turned to see what was going on. A couple of tapestries were torn off the walls. Will was yelling something but I couldn't hear him over the wild shrieking of the wind. I could only see his mouth moving as he tried to tell me something. He was pulling on my sleeve, trying to lead me away from the entrance hall, but I stood frozen to my spot.
Suddenly, the noise of the wind seemed to die down. Not that the wind itself stopped however; the walls had been stripped of their tapestries and paintings, suits of armor leaned heavily against the draft. But for some obscure reason, I couldn't hear a thing. Here and there, I could catch a glimpse of someone I knew: Irene and Jasper clinging to a stairwell, shouting something incomprehensible. A few of my roomates, their eyes shut against the unexpected blast.
Clear as a bell, I heard Will's voice yell, "Malory, watch out! Get down!" I snapped to attention and tried to do as he said, but against the heavy current, the best I could to do was fall backwards and feel myself being dragged across the floor. I heard a dull thunk from above my head, and as abruptly as it had started, the hurricane stopped. I blinked and stumbled awkwardly to my feet.
Ashen-faced, Will was staring at a long, rusty sword that stood buried up to its hilt in the heavy oak doors. It seemed to have been ripped out of the grip of one of the suits of armor. I realized with belated horror that if I'd still been standing, it would have pierced through my neck. A thrill of cold fear streamed through my veins as I saw the symbol that had been etched onto the sword.
Will wrapped an arm around my shoulders, as though trying to reassure me. "You scared me so bad," Will muttered. Unsure of what to say, he settled for "God, you had me so worried. I feel like I could kill you."
I moved out of his reach.
"What's going on? What happened?" Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor and the head of Gryffindor, made her way to where Will and I were standing. She surveyed the sword calmly, took in our windswept hair and tight faces. "I'd like an explanation."
Everyone began chattering excitedly, shouting over each other to be heard by McGonagall.
"This tornado just started up in the middle of the hall -"
"I felt like I was going to freeze to death, it was so cold -"
"It smelled funny -"
"First time I've ever prayed in my entire life -"
"Did you see that sword?"
McGonagall turned her attention to Will and I. "And what's your version of the story?" Her eyes were shrewd and quick.
"Exactly what everyone else said," I whispered. I didn't add that Gregori Quinn's family crest had been on the sword that was very nearly the cause of my death.
publisher, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters created by the author remain her property.
"'What, nephew,' said the king, 'is the wind in that door?'" ~Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d' Arthur
A/N: A couple people asked me when Over Sea takes place. There is no specific date given, but the time I had in mind was a few years after Harry, Ron, and Hermione graduated. So in Muggle terms, they'd be in college by now.
Over Sea
The Wind in the Doorway
It was silently and unanimously agreed that the incident with the spider wouldn't be reported to Dumbledore. For, as Jasper said, "If we tell Dumbledore and then it turns out to be a false alarm, we'll look like a bunch of asses." But there were other, subtler reasons. None of us wanted to admit that something bad could be happening in this utopia, me least of all. I had no other options after this. Even the recent discovery that my father was alive seemed a remote possibility in the recesses of my mind. Often I wondered if I'd just imagined the entire conversation that I'd had with Dumbledore, that first, exciting day. Maybe my parents were still dead, and only I didn't know it. About two weeks after I found the spider, I began to withdraw from those around me. I didn't notice it at the time, and looking back I wonder how I could have been so narrow-minded. All my friends' attempts at conversations fell to the floor. In class, I did what was required and nothing more, occasionally less. I no longer argued with Snape when he took points off of Gryffindor, a virtue of mine that Jasper, Will, and Irene seemed to admire especially.
To be frank, I don't know why I began my gradual seperation from those around me. I wasn't undergoing any major stress, I wasn't angry at anything. It was as though my personality had gotten very, very tired, and was taking a long hibernation. I'd fall asleep in the common room and forget why I'd come there in the first place. I'd forget the homework assigments within the hour that they'd been assigned, and yet felt that it wasn't worth it to simply ask my friends what they were. I became an entirely different person, triggered by the appearance of a tiny, striped spider.
A letter, dusty and very weather-worn, was the object that brought me out of my hiatus with the rest of my peers. I'd long ago gotten used to the sight of thousands of owls and a smattering of eagles and ravens stream through the window, parcels or letters clasped in their beaks or talons. Not to my surprise, I never got any letters. Jim would probably be too busy, now that the schoolyear had started. And my father, as I said before, seemed a fantasy of my own making. So when a haggard raven dropped a letter, addressed unmistakably to me, on my plate of toast, I was the most surprised.
"Who's it from?," Jasper inquired as his seventh attempt to get me to start talking that morning.
I shrugged half-heartedly in response, turning the letter over with mild curiosity. When I spotted the return address my fingers froze. In golden letters, it read:
Pro. Blake Aidenn
Tent 10
As-of-yet-Unnamed country #4
"'As-of-yet-Unnamed country number four'?" Will mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.
Fingers trembling slightly, I eased the lip of the envelope open. Covered in neat, friendly penmanship, sat the words from a man I'd believed to be dead for over eight years. Gratefully enough, my friends seemed to sense that this was a private matter, an began discussing the Quidditch game that was coming up soon over my head.
The letter looked as though it had been lost, trampled on, and folded any number of times. A large tear ran through the words "My Dear Daughter." I began reading.
My Dear Daughter, Malory:
I trust that your journey to Hogwarts was pleasant enough. Was the barrier tricky? I remember the first time I rode the Hogwarts Express...the day ended with a black eye and a slightly crooked nose. To be perfectly honest, I'm slightly relieved that I persuaded Dumbledore out of taking you himself. Though a fine man, I'm not entirely sure if I trust him behind the steering wheel of any type of vehicle.
I'm absolutely dying to know how your classes are. Has Hogwarts has changed since I've been there(cast your mind back as far as you can, and that will be when I began attending Hogwarts)? Which House were you sorted into? And before you say anything, I want you to realize that I don't care which house you were sorted into, no matter what your new friends may say, there really is no better or worse House in Hogwarts. Which is your favorite class? Mine was always Transfiguration. It's rather difficult, but the results are quite worth it, in my opinion.
I suppose you'll be wanting to know why I couldn't come for you while you were cooped up with that relation of yours. I'm afraid that I'm glad I don't hold any blood ties with your mother's sister. It still perplexes me as to how your wonderful, beautiful, laughing mother was related to that prune-faced old woman. But I digress. You must understand, Malory, that I wanted very dearly to fetch you. Ever since your mother died, you've been the only person who's been in my every thought. I wanted to hear my daughter say her first words, I wanted to see you laugh in the comfort of a home I chose. But there are some things, Malory, that are beyond our control, and as weak an excuse as this is, the weather is one of them.
Such storms you've never seen! I pray that you never will, for they can only be heralds to Dark Forces. Dumbledore told me that he told you I was an in-field researcher and mapmaker. That is partially true. I do make maps, but only for future reference by others such as myself. There are two main forces in the magical world, Malory: The Light and the Dark, the Good and Evil of our world. You are a member of the Light - at least I hope. Heaven knows what sort of trouble you may have been in since I saw you last.
I work for the Ministry, as Dumbledore correctly told you, and for the LIght, researching how the Dark can win over so many elements, so many creatures. We've been striving for many years to find where their true source of power comes from. The storms that prevented me from fetching you, my child, were not made of rain, or hail or sleet. They were of fire and ice. Trees were uprooted as easily as daisies, hurled at my fellow researchers and myself. We weren't in any real danger - poltergeists and flying objects aren't half as dangerous as the people who summon them. But they were enough to isolate us from the rest of the world.
The Dark has moved on: we're not sure where. Though it's a mixed blessing, the only reason why I am able to write to you is because the Dark no longer pursues us. They are now after other quarry.
I hope that you've made many friends. If you happen to see anyone by the name of William or Margaret Hugh, say hello, if you haven't already. I knew their father very well before they were born.
If you need anything, anything at all, use my raven. He looks older than his years, and will probably outlive many of his future masters. Write back.
Love,
Your Father
Fighting the lump that had risen in my throat, I carefully flattened the letter and placed it in my Transfiguration book, hoping that by the end of the day all the wrinkles would disappear.
"Who was it from?"
"My father." The words felt strange in my mouth. The very act of speaking was renewed, leaving a refreshed feeling in my heart. I felt as though a great burden had been taken off my shoulders. I smiled at my friends. "Which class do we have first today?"
The days seemed brighter as I waited for the reply to my own letter. Curious about my practically nonexistent past, I'd asked my father everything, what was my mother like, what was he like, did I have any cousins, or siblings, or aunts(besides Jane) or uncles, where had I been born...
My hiatus had snapped into oblivion with the arrival of my father's letter, and I awaited the upcoming Quidditch match as eagerly and noisily as any of my other Gryffindors. The first match of the year, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw.
There were no first years on the team, as no first years were allowed brooms or were talented enough. However, in a bout of school spirit, Madam Hooch decided to begin flying lessons after school on Thursdays, for those who wished to try out for next year. Irene and Jasper were too busy with their Care of Magical Creatures homework to come, so Will and I left together for the empty sports field. I tried to imagine the stands crowded with all the students, and failed. The stands seemed too big for the people whom I'd seen.
"So what are we flying on?" I asked Will as stood waiting for the teacher. Vague images of wizard hangliders drifted across my mind.
"Brooms, of course," Will smiled. "What else?"
"Brooms?" As I said so, about forty brooms glided into our field of view.
They were in extremely poor condition. The handles were faded, some splintering. Odd twigs bent out at strange angles, some tails crusted with mud or coated with a heavy layer of dust. Many looked as though they hadn't been used for many years.
"Those are the brooms we're going to be riding?" I asked skeptically. A broom floated in front of each student and hovered in midair.
Madam Hooch, a short quick woman with the eyes of a hawk, snapped her fingers as she followed in the brooms' wake. Immediately all the brooms fell to the ground. "The first thing I'm going to teach you is how to get a broom off the ground without touching it." She stretched her hand out and opened it, palm facing us. "It's quite simpled really. Just say 'UP' in a firm voice, and the broom should come to your hand."
Easier said than done. Will had little trouble with it. At his first command, the broom fairly jumped into his fingers. I, on the other hand, had a few more difficulties, and the monosyllable wasn't enough. In the end, Madam Hooch had told me to watch my tongue, and be careful not to traumatize the vehicle I was about to ride.
But the broom jumped to my hand quite obediently when I was finished.
Next, she showed us the proper way to hold a broom. One of the Hufflepuffs was having some trouble: he kept holding it as though it were a muggle broom, and he was about to sweep the field. "Now at the sound of my whistle, please mount your brooms," Madam Hooch said, a note in her voice hinting that she didn't trust all of us floating around on brooms. "One, two..." A shrill, piercing note cut through the afternoon air.
I swung one of my legs over the broom and pushed off, the way Will had shown me. The pressure between my legs was a jolt at first, rather like sitting on a rail. But after a while, the broom handle seemed to accomadate itself to fit my body, and was as comfortable as the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. I only got about ten feet off the ground, but it was better than many of the others. Will was soaring around thirty feet above my head, an expression of ecstasy written plainly on his face. "How do you get higher?" I called to him.
"Pull your broom up!"
Taking his advice, my broom shot up like a cork out of a bottle. The crisp air tingled, nipping at my nose. By the time I reached Will, it was as red as a berry.
"C'mon, Rudolph," Will grinned. "Race you to the end of the field."
"You're on." We bent over the front of our brooms. Being smaller and lighter, I managed to get a lead on Will and was just about to make it to the imaginary finish line when my broom gave a sudden lurch beneath me, propelled by a strong wind. I clung on tightly with both hands, trying not to notice how far away the ground seemed to be. Again, a gust of wind made the broom buck wildly, then stop, vibrating slightly.
Will whooshed passed me. "Ha! I beat you!" On seeing that something was the matter, he made a U-turn and hovered beside me. "What's wrong?"
"My broom is malfunctioning," I muttered thickly, trying not to get sick as the broom spasmodically bucked around. Why wasn't his acting like mine? Surely the wind would effect everybody...
Will stared at my broom before whispering slowly, "Malory, get on mine now. Don't ask questions, just do it."
I tried to climb towards him without relinquishing hold on my own broom, when the thing went flying out of Will's reach, catching me off guard. I jerked over the side of the broom, and soon the only things that kept me from plummeting to the ground were the crooks of my legs. My robes flew over my face, blinding me.
"MS. AIDENN! THIS IS NO TIME FOR STUNTS!"
"I'm not -" I began, but then the broom began speeding towards the ground, much faster than I would have liked. "SLOW DOWN!" I commanded, but the broom just accelerated as the soil rushed up to meet me.
Something strong grabbed onto my wrist and I was jerked into the air. As my broom buried itself into the dirt, Will caught me by the arm and hoisted me with some difficulty onto his own broom. "You okay?"
"No."
"Good." We floated down to the ground. Madam Hooch rushed over immediately.
"What do you think you were doing, Aidenn?" she demanded.
"I couldn't help it!" I shouted, trying to arrange my robes so that the clothes underneath didn't show. "I lost control!"
Madam Hooch paled. "You what?"
"I was doing fine, and then this big gust of wind came up and the broom just started bucking and spinning around." I reached out to hand the broom to her.
"Get away from the broom," Madam Hooch ordered, a new note of panic in her voice. A few other students had gathered around to see what was going on.
I had no idea what was wrong. "But Madam Hooch -"
Will pulled me back. "Just listen to her." I stared up at him, bewildered. His face was drawn, his muddy eyes sparkling with fear.
Madam Hooch blew on her whistle sharply. "CLASS HAS ENDED!" she bellowed. "BACK TO THE SCHOOL!" Madam Hooch was avoiding the broom as much as possible while trying to get it back into the locker rooms. The students that were still in the air floated idly down, laughing and smiling. Cheeks pinched by the wind into a rosy hue, the first flying class of the year made their way back to Hogwarts.
"Are you okay?"
Will blinked and looked at me. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Do you know what it takes to interfere with a broom?"
"Not really."
"Dark Arts. Major Dark Arts. Only the most powerful Dark wizards and creatures can interfere with flight of any kind." Will shivered as a strong draft greeted us as we entered the Great Hall. "Do you feel kind of cold?"
"Don't change the subject."
"No, wait, just stand here." I did so, and trembled as a rank smell invaded my senses. It was vaguely familiar, the odor of betrayal and deceit. Wind crawled along my body, numbing it. Frozen throughout my entire body, my very soul, I stood in the corridor perfectly still. Like a deer when it's heard a twig snap behind it. I'm too afraid to move, I thought, and I'm too afraid to stand still. Then I scolded myself. You're being stupid. "I'm too afraid to move, I'm too afraid to stand still." Bullocks. It's only a draft...
With a loud scream of triumph, the wind picked up its speed and intensity. The double doors slammed shut, a few people still outside. Everyone turned to see what was going on. A couple of tapestries were torn off the walls. Will was yelling something but I couldn't hear him over the wild shrieking of the wind. I could only see his mouth moving as he tried to tell me something. He was pulling on my sleeve, trying to lead me away from the entrance hall, but I stood frozen to my spot.
Suddenly, the noise of the wind seemed to die down. Not that the wind itself stopped however; the walls had been stripped of their tapestries and paintings, suits of armor leaned heavily against the draft. But for some obscure reason, I couldn't hear a thing. Here and there, I could catch a glimpse of someone I knew: Irene and Jasper clinging to a stairwell, shouting something incomprehensible. A few of my roomates, their eyes shut against the unexpected blast.
Clear as a bell, I heard Will's voice yell, "Malory, watch out! Get down!" I snapped to attention and tried to do as he said, but against the heavy current, the best I could to do was fall backwards and feel myself being dragged across the floor. I heard a dull thunk from above my head, and as abruptly as it had started, the hurricane stopped. I blinked and stumbled awkwardly to my feet.
Ashen-faced, Will was staring at a long, rusty sword that stood buried up to its hilt in the heavy oak doors. It seemed to have been ripped out of the grip of one of the suits of armor. I realized with belated horror that if I'd still been standing, it would have pierced through my neck. A thrill of cold fear streamed through my veins as I saw the symbol that had been etched onto the sword.
Will wrapped an arm around my shoulders, as though trying to reassure me. "You scared me so bad," Will muttered. Unsure of what to say, he settled for "God, you had me so worried. I feel like I could kill you."
I moved out of his reach.
"What's going on? What happened?" Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor and the head of Gryffindor, made her way to where Will and I were standing. She surveyed the sword calmly, took in our windswept hair and tight faces. "I'd like an explanation."
Everyone began chattering excitedly, shouting over each other to be heard by McGonagall.
"This tornado just started up in the middle of the hall -"
"I felt like I was going to freeze to death, it was so cold -"
"It smelled funny -"
"First time I've ever prayed in my entire life -"
"Did you see that sword?"
McGonagall turned her attention to Will and I. "And what's your version of the story?" Her eyes were shrewd and quick.
"Exactly what everyone else said," I whispered. I didn't add that Gregori Quinn's family crest had been on the sword that was very nearly the cause of my death.