Powers That Be
Prologue
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A continuously shifting sea of reddish-yellow sand spread out as far as the heat-hazed horizon, with the seemingly countless sandy dunes only broken up by the occasional odd rock formation that would show itself for only the briefest of moments before it disappeared once more amidst the swirling sands as if it had never been there in the first place.
One might even think that they had simply imagined seeing it at all.
High overhead in the midst of a cloudless bright blue sky, the sun was reaching its zenith as its brilliant light bore down unrelentingly upon this ever-changing landscape where nothing grew, and the only thing that appeared to be alive was the very sand itself.
Were it not for the strong winds that flowed through this vast desert unimpeded, bringing with it some measure of relief from the murderous heat, the man reasoned he would have already succumbed to the scorching hot environment.
The lone figure brave enough, or many would say foolish enough, to journey into the uncharted sands had prepared for this trip for some time.
Every inch of him was covered with fabric heavy enough to protect him from the biting, windblown sand and yet light and breathable enough that he could bear the heat of the harsh desert sun. Even his face was thinly veiled over by cloth, obscuring his vision somewhat but protecting his eyes from any serious damage potentially wrought by the rough sands.
Sure, some of the finer particles still managed to get through and he could feel it collecting in some of the folds within his robes, but a few well-placed shakes and the sand fell down and out easily enough. The only issue so far was that the sand was constantly finding its way in, which meant he had to shake them loose every so often.
He held a hand up to his forehead to further shield his eyes from the sun and the sand while his other hand gripped the rope tied to the hefty bag slung over his shoulder. He stopped for a moment, the wind buffeting him as he widened his stance so as to more easily keep his balance.
There was still nothing of note within sight so he kept trudging through the sand.
Each one of his steps plunged his high boots into the sand and the deeper into the desert he walked, the more he could feel the sand slowly filling his boots. Four times already that day he had stopped to empty the reddish-yellow particles from his boots as much as he could before slipping them back on.
Five days.
That was how long he had been traveling through this inhospitable landscape. Five days and still no signs of what he was so desperately searching for. At this point, most people would probably turn back, content in the knowledge that they had tried and failed but would live to maybe try again. He did not have that luxury however, so he continued to press forward, going deeper than any reasonable person would dare.
Failure was not an option. After all, failure meant certain death, and he was if anything a survivor.
Cresting over a sand dune as the wind roared around him, he realized too late that this particular dune was eroding rapidly on the far side, and then the sand underneath him abruptly gave way. He stumbled and tried to catch his balance but he was already over the tipping point, his body falling over on its side as he tumbled and rolled down the suddenly steep slope of sand, riding a mini sand avalanche before coming to an abrupt and rather painful stop at the bottom of a valley between three dunes.
Already, the sand was beginning to cover him and he struggled to get to his feet and get moving lest he be engulfed by the changing sands and lost forever. The hand that held the rope to his bag was still clenching it tight, making sure that it continued to be secured to his person. Losing the bag would also amount to dying and he was not about to let that happen, no matter how hard the cursed desert tried to claim his life.
By the time the sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon, the wind had died down to a more bearable breeze and the shifting sand seemed to lose its energy as its movements slowed to a crawl.
The travelers eyes scanned the immediate area and, finding a suitably wide sand dune that looked like it would take a while to erode in the now weakening wind, decided to walk up to the top and plop himself down. His legs burned from the effort required to trek across these treacherous sands and some rest was warranted.
Pulling his bag around in front of him, he opened it up away from the strong breeze and reached a hand into its depths. Grabbing what he wanted, his hand emerged holding a skin full of water, one of the many that he had packed and was now going through at an alarming rate. On the bright side, at least the bag was getting lighter and lighter as the days wore on.
With great care, he popped open the top of the water skin and took a swig, mindful to shield it from the sand-filled wind as much as he could. The water, which was unfortunately warm, filled his mouth briefly before it hit the back of his parched throat and slid down into his gut. He let out a satisfied sigh as he secured the water skin and returned it to his bag. That was his water ration until morning.
He had barely slept these past five days. Whenever the wind died down enough, like this moment, he would find some time to rest. Snatching an hour or two of sleep at a time. He was already pressing his luck being asleep for that long in this perpetually shifting desert, but so far that luck had held.
Positioning his bag properly, and making sure he was parallel to the wind, he lay down for another nap. He could feel the exhaustion to his very bones and sleep took him fairly easily.
It was the wind that woke him, as it usually did. It started to howl once more as it picked up in ferocity and the sand started to fly thicker all around him. With great effort, he managed to get back onto his feet, his aching body displeased with the little rest he managed to get. There would be time for rest when he reached his goal.
The sky was awash with color, shades of red, yellow, and orange near the horizon while blues and purples filled everywhere else. Night was almost upon him, and with it was the gentler light of the moon.
He continued his journey through the shifting sands, stumbling more than a few times but managing to get back to his feet every time. When morning came, he still didn't find what he was seeking, and he drank the next ration of water as well as a piece of jerky. He pressed on, determined as ever despite his lack of success thus far.
Sunset on the seventh day came. Once again the sky was filled with a bright array of color. The man was barely managing to walk. His body was starting to shut down on him, much to his dismay, and it took tremendous effort to take more than a few steps at a time. His water skeins were close to empty and only a few sticks of jerky remained. But he didn't stop.
He pushed and struggled and took one step after another. Until finally his legs could no longer hold him and he fell, tumbling painfully across the sand. His hand, rough and calloused underneath the worn light gloves that he wore, let go of the rope to his bag and it flew off somewhere he couldn't see. He was tired. So very tired. Too tired to even really feel the pain that had been growing across his body these past few days.
Sleep called to him. The long sleep that called to everyone at the end. His vision started to go dark as he closed his eyes. All around him, the desert sand raged and the wind howled and yet he felt strangely at peace in this chaos.
Already the sand was starting to accumulate over his body. It wouldn't be long before he disappeared from view completely, consumed by the desert.
No.
This was not how it was suppose to end. A great anger filled him then. He was angry at the world. Angry at fate. Angry at the gods. But mostly, he was angry at himself. Angry for being so weak. He wanted to yell and cry out, but his body was already shut down and only his mind remained. He was so close to losing himself to the eternal void, and he struggled desperately to keep himself alive. To keep himself awake.
He didn't want to die.
That's when he felt it. The slightest touch on his consciousness. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn't quite describe, but it was somewhat similar to the sensation you felt when someone blew air gently on your ear or the back of your neck.
At first he thought he imagined it, but then it came again. This time with a little more force to it. And then it pushed into his consciousness. He could feel it slithering around his mind like a snake, examining his memories and his thoughts.
It spoke to him in a whisper at first. It was a quiet whisper, like someone sharing a secret with a friend while out in public.
What do you seek?
He wanted to live.
Why?
Because he was dying.
What do you seek?
The voice was louder now, but he was confused as to why the voice was asking him the same question again, and when he gave the same response the voice repeated itself. It was apparently looking for a different answer. He tried to think what it could be.
What could he want more than to simply live? Here at the doorstep of death.
He wasn't sure how long it took him, but it finally dawned on him. All of his studies. All of his research. All of his efforts. The end goal was never to simply just live. The end goal was to thrive. To take and do what he wanted. To reshape this broken world as he saw fit. In order to do that, however, he needed power.
What do you seek?
Power. He wanted power. Power over death. Power over life. Power to make the world tremble. Power over everything!
The voice went silent, and he wondered if that answer was not acceptable either. He could feel himself fading, slipping into the cold abyss, unable to hold on for much longer.
What are you willing to give?
Everything.
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AN: Just a little idea I had that I wanted to get down in writing. The story will focus on Harry and the gang.