Forever and Anon
Oceania, Jester's Keep. June 3rd. Two days after the Forest of Spears. 9:00 a.m.
Harry paced his current work-in-progress, the Jester's Keep. It was a dreary, rainy day, and the constant patter roared in his ears. He wondered briefly if Neville could control rain, being the Master of Water, then turned his mind back to his castle. Ah, yes. It was looking beautiful. No workers were here today, due to the horrid weather, but Harry didn't mind. They deserved a break. After seeing how Voldemort treated his troops, Harry had taken pains to be nice to his men. He was not a weakling towards them, but neither was he extremely harsh. His men were growing quite fond of his attitude. Which was what he'd planned. If soldiers liked you, they were more apt to work for you.
Harry did not want an overly tall castle. Once a castle was tall enough, it took less and less to knock it down. The more weight on top, the less force is needed to weaken the base and make the entire thing collapse. Harry planned on four, maybe five floors, and a tower or two. The first floor, complete now, was built as Harry had designed to be a place to hold massive meetings or to capture an invading enemy, but the second floor was built to very different specifications. After the raid on Gringotts, they'd found a vault belonging to an architect. The architect had made plans for a grand defensive structure and placed it in Gringott's supposedly secure vaults. Harry was quite grateful to him. The second floor was where much of the defensive equipment was both placed and built, and someone else had done his designing for him.
The first floor of his castle had a simple layout and resembled old Viking castles. When one walked in the front door, one entered a "lobby" of sorts. To the east and west stairs ran up while directly ahead lay the Grand Hall, where Harry held his banquets and celebrations. Easily the largest room currently in the castle, it stretched up two floors. His servants were even now finishing up the top bannisters of the Grand Hall. His throne sat at the far north end of the Hall, on a raised section approachable by stairs. A second throne, slightly smaller, was being built for Blaise. It would be set next to his, and a little in front- so he could watch her and make sure she wasn't trying anything. It paid to be paranoid, especially in his case. People really were out to get him and she was one of the only people that could kill him.
The Grand Hall had four doors set in its sides, two on the eastern side and two on the western side. On the east half, the first door from the doorway to the south was the armory. Weapons and armor created by Cho Chang and her Enchanters was stockpiled here, subdivided into groups like swords, shields, helmets, etc. It was here that new recruits came to pick up their equipment. It would was being moved to the second floor as now that the new Armory room upstairs was finished.
The second eastern door led to the stables... if one could call it that. This room, about three fourths as large as the Grand Hall, was a dark place where the giant spiders the Dusk Knights rode were kept and fed. Each had its own private cell, a dark place where it could spin it's webs and sleep peacefully, or drink from a little bowl (inset into the wall) that magically refilled itself when empty. Live animals, usually rabbits or groundhogs from the Forest, were thrown in for meals. It was great entertainment for the spiders to catch the squealing animals. It was even more fun for the keepers to watch. The krakens were usually the keepers and found it out right fun to do so. They also kept the many captured beasts that the Krakens used here.
On the western side of the room, opposite the Armory, was the Elemental Orb's room. Only Fire and Air still lay inside, Water being bound to Neville's forehead and Earth keeping Padma companion on her wrist. Fire glowed cheerily, like a campfire that's just been restocked, and it had an ornate pillar decorated with rubies. Set on a raised platform by itself, it was almost always surrounded by Fire Elementalists. It had not chosen any King (and didn't plan to), out of respect for Earth already having done so. However, it had no compunction to teaching its Elementalists, and handled almost all the new Fire Elementalist training in Oceania. Harry had traded a few words with the Orb, and rather liked it. Fire whole-heartedly supported the Tide (incongruous as that statement seemed), and was allowed to have a few trinkets (hence the ruby-coated pillar).
Air, on the other hand, sat mostly by itself on the other side of the room on a plain white pillar, Harry had attempted to coax Air into joining them, but it had steadfastly refused. Being a creation of Wizards, it could not deny its Elementalists (which was why Water Elementalists could still do magic, even though Water was silenced by Neville's ring), but it could have lent its ancient history and lore to the Tide. By refusing, it had doomed itself to a long life of silence. No Elementalists gathered about it, and it glowed an unnoticeable, dull white color, as if trying to hide itself. At times it seemed to have arguments with it's self.
The last room on the first floor, reached by entering the second western door, was the kitchen. Although "kitchen" is a rather small term for it; it was a grand place, fit for a king. Huge and magically powered freezers, great ovens, formulas perfectly mixed with magic- it was a gourmet chef's delight.
Harry walked into the Grand Hall, walked to his throne, and touched the armrest tenderly. He stood there, looking at it, and wondering. How did it start? Where did it start? He was human now, so his face was visible. On it, a mask of thoughtful contemplation could be seen. The thunderbolt-shaped scar was lengthened by his lowered eyes, as if trying to stretch forth and strike his nose. After a moment, Harry smiled, a normal human smile. Then he began laughing. He turned and sat in his chair, enjoying its comfort and feel. He intended to enjoy it forever and anon... and listen to the endless sound of rain in this country… Forever and anon
And no one could stop him. Now he must see to Blaise as she had yet to wake and no one but he himself was allowed anywhere near her.
Voldemort's Fortress, England. Same day, same time.
England is known for two things; a long and elaborate history, and a great deal of rain. As some wise man or another mused once, " The reason England has so many poets is that there are so many words that rhyme with rain." Whether he was right or not, there was one person in England who was hearing a poem in his head- and not a pleasant one either. He would have felt even worse if he had known that Harry was thinking eerily similar thoughts.
[Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries,] Voldemort thought, sitting in his study with his face a study of worry, fingers rubbing his temples as he attempted to drive the thrice-damned poem from his mind. [All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain...]
Voldemort sighed. Unable to rid the poem from his mind entirely, he forcibly moved it to the back of his head. It stayed there, running constantly, an endless litany that was nonsense but, in a part of him buried so deep he was hardly aware of it, it made sense. He did not know why... but it was right, somehow.
He leaned back, eyes closed, into his chair. Two entire companies. Lost. And the few survivors had reported that, as far as they knew, the Black Tide had suffered only minimal losses. Yesterday, he'd read that Firion's Gate, a small town west of Oceania, had joined up with Harry. Damn it. Three towns already, what few forces Harry had lost would soon be replaced by new recruits.
He still had four companies, which gave him about twelve thousand or so Wizard troops, plus about five hundred monsters. Before, he thought he'd be able to defeat Harry with only a small force. Now he wondered if all of his forces would be enough.
He sat there, the man once called the Dark Lord, and through his mind, for some reason scaring him worse than anything ever had before in his long and twisted life, he kept hearing a poem...
[Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries... All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain... You will join it soon]
Voldemort sat ram rod straight in his chair and shivered as that part added itself to the poem that haunted him. He heard laughter and thought that such a cruel sound should not be called that. He forced himself to relax
Durmstrang undisclosed location in Russia. Same day, same time.
Hermione looked outside. New troops were busy filing in. Durmstrang had shut down all of its scholastic courses and was now fully-focused on military purposes. Hermione and Ron had been made the official heads of the White Shore. They had no official title- the charter merely stated the White Shore would follow their lead- but both had been given nicknames by the troops.
"Old Grim" was what the soldiers called Ron, and it fit. He did look old and grim. Lines, premature on his young face, encircled his mouth, which was set in an almost permanent thin line. His sword, glowing with enchantment, was a constant presence at his side. He was old for his age... very old.
Hermione, for her part, wasn't looking too young either. She'd been shocked this morning when she'd gazed in the mirror- was this the face of a young girl? Her face had lines on it- not wrinkles, not yet, but the start of them. Her eyes were sadder, deeper somehow, as if the well of all the pain she'd suffered had become visible in them. She had a long streak of white hair amidst her normal brown, the result of a Necromancer spell that had hit her in the battle for Beauxbatons. She looked old. She'd cried when she'd seen it, and Ron (laying next to her, on the other side of the four-post bed) had woken up and held her, asking her what was wrong. She'd cried in his arms, as he rocked her back and forth. The troops had taken to calling her the "Snow Lady", ironically, she thought to herself, something that she excelled at were cold spells, they called her that partly for her hair... but also because she just *seemed* like a lady. Part of it was the way she carried herself, the great and somehow sad dignity in her almost royal face, and part of it was the way she talked... but it was mostly just because she was a lady. It couldn't be explained better than that.
She was now head of the healers, surprisingly, of their entire forces after taking to healing like a fish does to water similarly to how she had taken to cold spells. She had named her organization of Fire because on a beach a fire at night was always helpful, like they would be.
Ron 'Old Grim' Weasley had taken to training as a Paladin as she had to as a Healer. He still used his sword but he was training to kill Harry. He would be a Holy warrior if it meant to kill Harry. Some of the men had taken after him and he soon was the Leader of the organization called Crab by their forces.
The 'Sands' were for now Leaderless. But they continued to fight as they always had.
She remembered when she welcomed Patil Parvati. She had joined a group of spellcasters largely thought extinct. They are Druids that became angry at Harry and the Kraken for not only tearing down most of the Black Forest but for the Kraken taking control over natural animals. Patil was more in it for revenge against her sister Padma for going to Harry instead of sticking together like they had promised when they were little. Patil was the leader and most advanced spellcaster of the Druids and had the most nature related spells. They had named their organization Plant like on a beach.
She had been surprised when Percy Weasley had approached her about taking up a job here. She had told him that they didn't really make money and he told her that he wanted to help because they had killed his fiancé (I think that means the female one but I have no clue) in the Beauxbatons attack. He now led the Enchanters in making weapons for the White Shore.
George Weasley had come to her after the Hogsmeade attack. He talked to her about how his twin had been. He had been trying a particular class of magic when it had happened he had been away as had Fred and that is all that saved them. George had talked to Fred and Fred just took it as a Joke. He had done over the top jokes that got people seriously hurt but he never did it on purpose, Fred however had. He took a sort of pleasure that George had never understood. George quickly left to help against Harry. He had become a Monk. Monks use their magic to near or break the human limit and then use hand to hand combat to kill their opponents. George had first learned how to fight at such a level that that was useful. George didn't know what had happened to Fred. His organization had taken to being called the Calm to represent the calm, but dangerous, sea.
She had also been approached by Celestina Warbeck who had offered the support of the bards. She was their leader with the rest of the 'Weird Sisters'. They had helped everyone but were disliked by the Crabs because of their own fun loving nature. They had an organization called Song. They had added to morale greatly. All of the organizations had a representative add something to the White Shores flags. The others were obvious but the Song simply added a guitar next to the fire.
Hermione was standing outside her and Ron's room, looking down at the blizzard covered grounds of Durmstrang. White Shore soldiers were loading up on boats, getting ready. They were making a second move soon, in conjunction with Ministry forces. She could see the small forest that had sprung up after the Druids had settled, moving with the cold winds.
An errant breeze, cold like death, struck her and made her shiver in her lace nightgown. And then, for no reason whatsoever, something came into her mind
[Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries…]
and she cocked her head, thinking. [What was that?] She thought, blinking as she stood there in the cold and snow in her white gown. [Something I read? Something
*true* something said in her mind.
I heard?]
And then, unbidden, a second line came to her. And in it, she thought she saw something past the simple words and phrases, a deeper meaning to it... but maybe it was just the cold and the early time and her own nerves.
[All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain...]
She shivered. And it was not from the cold. She heard a final line
[You will join it soon]
She almost screamed as she recognized Harry's voice saying the poem.
