Chapter 6- Premonitions
An ambivalent chill lay over the resplendent coast of Aman, Fëanor gazed out at the intricately carved tall-ships of the Teleri. He felt his will rise to his throat, an insatiable fire translated to delicately stimulating words. The heat of his own heart emanated from the atmosphere, his mind was fixed and penetrating.
He stood before the gentle Telerin elves, their fragile but potent stubbornness reflected back to Fëanor, he felt it crawl around his soul causing a flaming irritation.
"Á atanllën kiryalda!" Those simple words were enough to cause a flutter of murmurs scatter around the crowd. One of the apparently stronger, strode forward to face him. His features were soft and grounded, but his eyes shone with a struggling fear. Fëanor felt a rush of cruel satisfaction, which the Teler merely reflected with a rampart of inflexibility.
He glanced at Fëanor, a wordless response confirming the misplaced loyalty of his kin.
Fëanor took a breath, trying to mould the winds into a solution, his mind began to spark, the entire universe centring on a point of fury. He drew his blade and charged toward the frontier of elves, his fiery charisma causing the crowd behind him to follow. He didn't feel it when the cold metal attacked them, all he could feel was the fire, the dramatic chaos unfolding around him blinded by the vision of the swan-ships. Fëanor marred all that was before him, reaching the mast in a matter of seconds. He raised his sword at the madness-ridden sky, the delight of success swallowing all other inclinations.
He cast his eyes around the loyal Noldor, those which he trusted to follow his truth and not betray it. A flicker of gold caught his eye, a sudden collapse of elation encompassed him, he recognised it all too well and knew that it was not a friendly signal. The flicker came into view as a woman, bright intuitive eyes fighting against her own kin, defending the pathetic Teleri.
Fëanor felt a iron cold contravention rise from the pit of his being, he shrieked.
"Artanis!" He knew that she heard by the indistinguishable curse that she immediately threw at him, while cradling an injured Teler in her arms. Fëanor felt a whisper of a weakening emotion, and pondered of it's source, his realisation suddenly overwhelmed him and the chaos faded into dancing blackness.
Fëanor felt an uncomfortable itch emerge from behind his eyelids, he opened them to a pale sunlight stretching through a small brick-framed window. He sat up in his bed, the effect of the memory dream still churning his emotions, he felt almost divided, the focused fire he used to contain had become slightly more scattered. He didn't like it. Especially the unnerving cold of the one elf he had vaguely admired shunning his very existence. Artanis' golden hair still stung his mind, he felt a strange reality to it.
He attempted to bring his attention toward the comings of this world and an irritatingly significant thought floated across his consciousness. The day ahead would be the day he would travel to the place where he would gain the significant advantage against Morgoth, it was the day he was going to Hogwarts. He tried to connect this with the imaginings of his half-brother's daughter, but couldn't extract any credible meaning.
He heard a gentle-spirited tap on the door of his bedroom, and Sara appeared in the doorway. Fëanor felt the sentimental anticipation reflected in her sighing and un-obtrusive smile. She strode into the room wearing a billowing white dress half-hidden by an emerald velvet cloak, obviously Sara enjoyed embellishing events, which he rather reasonably disagreed with. She was a sensitive soul though, and although she was not his real mother, he had actually never met Miriel except through his father's nostalgic longing; he had begun to appreciate her warm nature. Fëanor suddenly realised she was talking to him and tried to quiet his thoughts.
"Make sure you have everything ready", she began to pile his books. Knowing what was coming he grabbed the black silver marked box containing his wand, and placed in on the pile. Sara picked up the strange protective manner in which he did this, making sure the he was the only one who touched it. She furrowed her brow mildly and continued to sort out his supplies.
Nilmo fluttered to perch on his shoulder, and Sara groaned warmly, "I suppose he is coming with you." Fëanor glared at her, as if he wouldn't.
Fëanor strode along the train station with Sara panicking at the time pressure at his side. He studied her, she was frantically looking for someone who she could relate to. He sighed, just hoping that the stress would be over soon.
Fëanor spied a flicker of red hair, his heart sank. He also began to ponder why he was identifying everyone by the colour of their hair, the image of Artanis floated to the fore-front of his mind, but he strived to lock it away for the time being.
"Sara!" Molly Weasley strode over to them, trying to ignore the frustrated looks from the rest of her family behind her. Fëanor, attempting to escape from being ensnared by the social situation, pushed his trolley forward and planted himself beside Ron who was talking to someone else. He noticed that this was the slightly awkward boy he had spotted in Diagon Alley, he had a strange aura, it was gentle and contemplative with a slightly darker edge to it, yet there was a comforting type of warmth somewhere deeper.
Fëanor merely rocked back and fourth on his heels, hoping that Ron would use the experience of their last encounter and leave him in peace. They watched as the Weasleys disappeared through the barrier before it was Fëanor's turn, Sara hugged him with tears streaming down her face.
"Good luck." He smirked unenthusiastically and confidently drove himself through the barrier onto the platform. Trying to disconnect from the rest of the beings, he boarded the train with Nilmo placidly chirping in his ear. When he found an empty cabin, he placed his trunk on the rails and sighed. The unfamiliarity of his situation was beating down on him, Nilmo tried to cheer him up with a soft brush against his cheek, but his solemn mood would not lift.
The boy whom Fëanor had classified as 'the awkward boy', carefully crept into the cabin trying to be as discreet as possible. Fëanor was relieved at another soul who shared his appreciation for silence. He leant back on the seat, quite comfortable in the mingling of energies, but the other boy seemed to have to social urge to understand him so he spoke.
"Hello, um... what's you name, I'm Harry Potter." He perked up behind his glasses, but he didn't seem to have any irritating thoughts.
"My mother called me Aiden." Fëanor let the gravity of his mood leak into his words, but the boy didn't seem perturbed.
"So is that your name?" He raised his eyebrows. Fëanor couldn't decide whether he was profoundly confused or it was purely social courtesy.
Before he could respond he saw Ron Weasley standing in the doorway.
"Can I sit here?" His sentence was slightly cut off at the end by the sight of Aiden, but the other boy agreed and the three of them sat uncomfortably in the presence of social undercurrents. Harry and Ron began to spark a conversation, leaving Fëanor isolated to observe. He felt the train begin to move, as if this was a signal Harry tried to include him in their communion.
"I think Hedwig likes your owl." He glanced at his bird in the cage who was staring transfixed at Nilmo.
Ron tried to add to it, "Yeah but his name's really weird."
Fëanor shot a look at Ron defensively, a flitter of frustration spun his stomach that he couldn't translate the contrary attitude he seemed to have cultivated toward him.
"What is his name?" Harry chirped curiously.
Fëanor sighed, "Nilmo." He tried to adopt the accent of the world and mingle it with the Quenya word, but the arcane pronunciation leaked through, Ron smirked with feigned perception, concluding his previous thoughts.
Fëanor rolled his eyes in a barely distinguishable gesture and turned to Harry, he couldn't explain his immediate comfort with the boy yet he felt a type of moral kinship with him. Maybe this was what Sara had tried to explain as 'friends'.
"So can I see it?" Ron muttered with a slightly obsessive curiosity. Fëanor's attention piped up as Harry removed a mop of hair that was concealing his fore-head. Ron's face was alight with subtle awe, Fëanor was merely confused, he felt a strange sensation as he stared at that lightning shaped gash, it was the reflection of a memory, he grimaced at the death and the terror, a boy left lonely and afraid while a dark shape murdered his parents. He swallowed, this boy had faced fear akin to the marring of Morgoth in Arda. A genuine pity swelled in his soul, the like of which he had never felt toward any being before.
Fëanor tried to approach subtly, "How did you obtain it?"
Ron stared at Fëanor in disbelief, "Have you lived in a cave your entire life?"
Fëanor felt the expanding animosity and grumbled quite audibly, Ron just smiled sheepishly and leant back in silence to the soft rocking of the train along the rails.
"Well, my parents-
Ron chipped in with a festering fury, "You know who tried to kill him and he didn't die."
Fëanor cocked his head curiously, he had heard mumbles of this 'You know who' but Sara and Emmanuel never involved him in their conversations about it, from what he saw in the scar he was a shadow. He furrowed his brow, just like Morgoth.
Harry sat back, observing the ever-sharpening rift between Ron and Fëanor.
The three boys sat in silence, a festering irritation was emanating from the atmosphere.
Fëanor felt a soft twinge of foreboding a-sudden, he gazed out at the rolling hills, the land becoming wilder every moment.
"Excuse me." Fëanor heard a new voice at the door to their cabin and twisted his head slowly. There was a bright eyed girl with thick bushy-brown hair standing in the frame. She glanced down at the three of them, a slightly proud glint in her eye. Fëanor noticed that she had joined in with Harry and Ron's conversation about houses.
"I think Griffindor's the best one." She spoke certainly with an air of picking knowledge from different parts of her mind.
Fëanor sat up straight as she perched herself beside Harry, something about her essence unnerved him.
"I'm Hermione Granger, what are your names?" The girl piped up.
Ron conquered the conversation before anyone else could speak, Fëanor had the idea that it was to create a false impression of him, so that he could share his hatred with another person.
"Well this is Faiden, and Harry Potter, my name's Ron Weasley."
Hermione stared down at him disapprovingly, Fëanor watched as Ron added another person to his hit list.
"Faiden?" Her voice had become wary.
"My name is Aiden." Fëanor muttered defeatedly, he now wanted more than anything to get off the train.
"That means fire doesn't it?" Her eyebrows knitted together with concentration.
"My mother wanted to call me it." Fëanor felt a gentle panic float through his stomach, why did this matter so much to her?
Hermione glanced at him oddly, then changed the subject.
"Have you tried any magic yet? I've done some simple ones and they've all worked out fine for me." She flicked her wand and repaired Harry's glasses.
Fëanor suddenly had the spur of a thought, he brought out his wand from his trunk, the silver markings glittering in the sun through the window.
The rest watched slightly confused at his behaviour, he brought out the stick, let his spirit float into it and the light of Aman sparked at the tip. He waved it around showing-off, especially to Ron in order to reduce the insults that were being concocted in his head from materialising into words.
Hermione gasped, Fëanor smirked at his control over the situation, yet her stunned expression didn't disappear. He let the light die down, Harry smiled and Ron looked petrified, Fëanor knew what effect the light had on men.
Hermione muttered something under her breath and then glared at Fëanor, who just registered her expression with confusion.
"What was that!" Her voice was thick with fury.
"Light." Fëanor studied her curiously.
Hermione suddenly grabbed the wand from Fëanor and gazed at the markings wrapping around the pale wood.
"Nai hiruvalyë ufurur sinomessë."
Fëanor lept off his seat. "How can you read that?" His eyes were burning.
She merely stared at him, a familiar expression.
"Artanis?" He lowered his voice so the other two couldn't hear his words.
Hermione looked him in the eyes fiercely.
They both sat down, anticipation was thick in the air.
Author's note
Ok hard-core Harry Potter fans, you may hate me after reading this chapter. Anyway I hope that I haven't completely destroyed the integrity of that amazing book!
Disclaimer for all chapters past, present and future- I don't own Harry Potter or the Silmarillion or any of the characters/concepts etc. etc. etc.
Quenya translations: Á atallën kiryalda!- Give me your ships!, Nai hiruvalyë ufurur sinomessë- May it be that you find truths here (Literal translation- May it be that thou finds un-lies in here)
Anyway please review if you hate it or you love it, or you think that I am a cruel cruel person for doing what I did, (but I did actually intend to do it). I would just appreciate to know the general opinion so far:)