The Tale of Ben Adarwayne

Author's Note:

Thanks for taking a peek at this. Please feel free to lend any advice or opinions. I'd appreciate any feedback. The main story is set in the world of Fantastic Beasts. My approach to the LOTR is more abstract. I had it in the back of my mind, but in no way have tried to shoe-horn Ben into the role of Tom B. Just some aspects I toyed with. Past, present, or future, nobody seems to know who he is or where he came from anyways. I'm not sure how much sense it makes, maybe someday I'll go back and try to make it flow a bit more, but I think it reads as a series of short acts or stories that culminates in the end and creates a new entity.

Prologue to the Prologue: Blur

Professor Black always regretted taking on a professor of divination with such a questionable background and uncertain affinities. He still looked back on the night that he interviewed Ben Adarwayne with a bit of confusion, and wondered if, in light of what he knows now, he would have made the same choice today. The displays of his skill during the day of the interview were formidable. The normal tricks employed by seers could not explain what happened either, whether they were in view of all the faculty and students that attended his demonstrations, or later in that room one-on-one. From that time on, however, although he was Adarwayne's superior as Headmaster of Hogwarts, with not insignificant resources and knowledge, it still bewildered him to meet Ben in the hall. Professor Black always responded to Adarwayne's cheerfulness with a bit of unease and felt somewhat off balance when around him. Adarwayne always returned either an overly-delighted air, or extraordinarily blank response, neither of which left Black feeling like he had an impression he could read Adarwayne. Professor Black found the fact that he had such difficulty connecting particularly distasteful.

Each time Professor Black pondered that first meeting, he wished that he could remember it more clearly, and wondered whether there could have, perhaps, been another choice. He had not been able to remember everything from that interview with a great deal of certainty. Another choice could have been a better one. Adarwayne had… issues.

At the moment, though, Professor Black was particularly annoyed because there should have been no reason to miss the evening that was supposed to crown his long years of service. All the other professors were present for the ceremony. This of all other nights was the most important of his career, because he would retire at the end of this school year. This was his final meeting with the whole faculty and the trustees together in one room. Finally! After this he could relax and carry out his last few months and drift off with ease and grace, handing his obligations on to the next Headmaster.

He was about to give his speech, but paused because he was struggling to recall some memories that had just started to struggle to creep to the surface as he gazed around the room. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it. What most disturbed him and came to the forefront seemed to be the memory of that night he sat with Adarwayne for the first time. The memory that seemed to have eluded him until this very moment.

The interview had not gone well. Ben Adarwayne was shabby and seemed a bit unstable, even as far as seers go. They retired to Professor Black's office for a one on one conversation at the end of the interview day. As soon as the door shut, Black's sense of unease and annoyance was accentuated by the peculiar muggle attire Adarwayne wore and his habit of staring without blinking, not laughing at the appropriate times, and laughing at irony. The muggle clothing was shabby, but exceedingly formal and, at the same time, seemed dated and old fashioned, but muggle nevertheless. This seemed odd, particularly to one who always expected his professors to wear the most formal of wizard robes, which would seem extremely outlandish in the muggle world.

Professor Black just couldn't surmise what it was about Adarwayne that was so off-putting to him. It could just be that Adarwayne did not inspire confidence through charisma and confident good looks, the type of shallow personality toward which Professor Black tended to be drawn. It also seemed that an aura around him seemed to blur, as if in a vision in which the eye keeps slipping off the subject. It was as if he were out of focus, or something was amiss with the perception of time. As they sat down at the table to interview, Professor Black kept catching his own reflection in a mirror just off to the side of his vision. It was as if the mirror to his left kept nagging at him, trying to catch his attention, but he couldn't quite catch it when he glanced at the mirror. He only saw it out of the corner of his eye. His image seemed to appear as a skeletal apparition. When he glanced at the mirror directly, he saw himself, but always Adarwayne's reflection smiled disturbingly back at him. When he looked back at Adarwayne, his interviewee was stoic and did not smile.

"So, I've read your application materials and have discussed your qualifications and the results of the meetings with the rest of the committee." Black announced officially. "And I've decided to hold off on a decision…"

As Black stared at Adarwayne, an apparition appeared next to him. It was a vision of a young boy. As he focused on the ghost, he realized it was his older brother Sirius, who had died some fifty odd years earlier at the age of eight years old. The apparition motioned toward Adarwayne with his hand. "Choose him or you will die tonight." The apparition whispered.

"Are you all right, sir?" Adarwayne broke the pause in Professor Black's sentence.

As Professor Black still stared at his brother's apparition, dead these many decades, knowing it must be a hallucination, he muttered. "Yes, of course, I am quite all right. I just remembered something from a very long time ago." Black dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, trying to dispel the vision.

Adarwayne and the apparition of Sirius both turned their heads and looked at one another. They both turned back to Black, smiling. They spoke in unison. "If you hire me/him, you will not die this night. You will survive until four months from the day that I miss your banquet."

At the last word, Professor Black fell forward in a faint, hitting his head soundly on the table before him.

When Black drifted back to consciousness, Adarwayne was also lying face down on the table before him, apparently unconscious. When Black looked around the rest of the room and ended with a stare into the mirror. What he saw in the mirror this time, however, was Sirius standing beside him where he sat. Sirius, however was not present next to him in the room. Sirius reached out of the mirror, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the mirror.

From the mirror, Black could see back out through the pane of the mirro and into his office as though through a haze. He looked down at his brother who said "This is your future." And Sirius faded from his vision. Black was stuck, standing, and staring ahead into the blurry vision of his office.

He stood there for what seemed several hours, unable to do anything but stand and stare. Once and a while he would yell and plead for help. After what seemed several hours, Adarwayne woke, stood up and walked to the mirror. He lifted an eyebrow and said. "Well, do I get the job?"

"Yessss." Black could hear his own voice come as a whisper.

Adarwayne reached out his hand and pulled Black back through. Professor Black found himself unable to recall all the details and his mind was in a bit of a blur, but he knew for certain that he must commit to hiring Adarwayne. The rest of the interview seemed to be normal… almost as if he were reading from a script. He offered the job and received immediate acceptance.

Later that same evening after the interview, during a meeting of the school's faculty, Professor Black stood and stepped forward to announce that he had offered the position of Professor of Divination to Ben Adarwayne, and that Adarwayne had accepted. As the newly appointed Professor Adarwayne stood and the rest of the faculty applauded, a chandelier came crashing down on the Headmaster's empty chair where he had been seated just moments before.

And now all these years later, he finally remembered those moments with a clarity that had seemed to elude him up until this very moment. Today, a day that was supposed to be a joyous banquet signifying the peaceful coming of the end to his sentence as Head Master… he stood before and amongst the tables crowded with all those gathered to honor him, and could only stare at the one empty seat.

Prologue: Magical Tom

November, 1924. The street was bustling and packed with muggles. Archon hated having to wade through the filth. Rushing, rushing, rushing on their way to nowhere for nothing… and what do they produce… more muggles. He fantasized that they should be stepping back and bowing to make way for him. Ironically, he smiled, he could make that happen. He had no doubt, however, that something like that would attract the attention of the ministry.

Archon passed this way on practically a daily basis. He routinely took this path on his way to work because he had a weakness… a weakness that hurled him helplessly into the muggle world. He liked the small spiced rolls from the small bakery on the corner. For some reason, they weren't as good when they were 'magicked' up. No rolls today, but his errand made it necessary to cross this path on his day off. Right now he just wanted to get home with his prize. Then he would prepare himself for a special gathering to present the stone to Andromeda Rosier. This would allow him to gain access to the inner circle. It cost half a fortune. Luckily, he was not spending his own money to get it. He just had to prove to the prior owner that he had a generous heart. He eventually had to kill the man anyways. Oh well, not the first time.

The prize was an ancient stone sphere, of which, as some wise teachers had once told him, were so old, that they were made by druids. Others say they came from Atlantis, or even from far beyond the sea. All those old myths are no matter. What Archon did know, is that the stone, cairngorm, a particularly valued form of smoky quartz, is mined at great cost from mountains up in Scotland, from whence the material gets its name.

Pieces of cairngorm this large are exceedingly rare, and to be flawless enough to then make a stone for seeing is even more so. Once formed under the right process, they can be magically transformed into an object known as an enabler. Enablers help create linkages between places, time, and space. That is why they, and less rare, inferior forms of quartz, are used as crystal balls for divination. The rectangular case was locked securely and tethered with magic to his wrist. None of the muggles would notice it, or even him, since he and his box were thus enchanted.

As he stopped to use his wand to remove a smudge from his shoe, a flash on the storefront window sill caught his eye. He reached over and picked up a dull stone. Nothing special about it, except that it appeared to have been carefully balanced on the sill. Why it would have appeared to sparkle, he did not know. The odd thing was that it seemed to 'pop' out from between his fingers like a slippery watermelon seed, and shot down the side street.

He habitually lunged after it and found himself twelve steps down the side street. He caught himself as he stumbled up in front of a storefront with a small group of people standing around. Archon peered over them to see what they were gathered to see. He saw a tattered, cardboard sign next to a sleeping, dirty hobo. The man was clothed in what was clearly a mocked up, torn and stained magician's robe. The sign said:

Magical Tom

Quick Trick: One Pence

Beautiful piece of magic: One Shilling

The sign was posted above a broken, cracked briefcase. The briefcase had legs, so it stood like a little table. One of the legs was shoddily tied with a strip of cloth, and its inadequate repair and poor positioning made the table tilt. A dirty handkerchief was thrown haphazardly on the top. No passerby would have wanted to look too closely, for fear of what could possibly be in that handkerchief. The elderly hobo lying on a cobbled-together bench, or what could have been a cardboard bed, looked almost corpse-like. Most people visiting the area would have averted their eyes as they passed, so as not to be involved with what could have been a crime scene. He apparently lived and slept on the filthy sidewalk in front of the storefront. One would think any self-respecting store owner would shoo him away, thought Archon.

Not having any muggle money to speak of and not caring to have to spend time just waiting to see some pathetic muggle sleight of hand, he began to turn to get back to completing his errand. He had seen this 'magician' many times before, sleeping on his trash heap or sitting and talking to the unfortunate local children or workers. He had never stopped to see the magician's act. One of the small audience shouted at the sleeping man. "Hey Tom! I've got a penny for a quick trick!"

Archon turned back and thought that since he wouldn't have to wait, this might be amusing. He watched as the bum woke up, turned and realized he had an audience. "Oh my goodness my sweet. Did your mother say it was OK for her beautiful daughter to spend her hard-earned money?"

Archon looked down at the child. She was a hideous atrocity. Her face had been scarred and burned across her nose and left side. Her hand was claw-like and useless, likewise scarred. Fire from a stove had caused pain and worry that would lead to a lifetime of struggle and pity. Archon whispered under his breath, "He has an odd idea of what qualifies as beauty."

"Oh Tom, I'd rather see your magic than have a piece of candy." She said. Her mother stood above her and smiled and nodded.

"Well you are an odd one indeed m'lady." Tom took her penny. Most of the audience knew he would find a way to slip it back to her.

Magical Tom held out his hand and spoke in nonsense gibberish, ending in "zip-zip, zipparoony." He did a clumsy job of palming something from his coat with his left hand while his right distracted the little girl. When he held out his hand, he held a necklace made of pigeon feathers that iridesced in the sunlight. In the middle of the strand hung a larger, red feather.

Archon thought he recognized that feather. It looked like a phoenix feather. He leaned closer to get a better look. He was bumped back by the applauding crowd, humoring the magician.

Magical Tom hooked the necklace around her neck and she beamed a smile back at Tom.

Archon was repulsed at how horrible it would be to have those filthy feathers around his own child's neck. "Well… when you live in filth, perhaps you get used to it." He mumbled.

Another in the audience spoke up and said, "OK, Magical Tom. I have a shilling here. Show us some beautiful magic."

A twinkle appeared in Tom's eye and a smile on his lips as he reached out and took the man's coin. He looked at it before looking back up and saying, "All right, then. I'm going to make this coin appear in that young ladies pocket." He said, waving the coin around in a flourish.

The man who gave the coin said, "You'll have to do better than some sleight of hand trick for that, Tom. I'll want my money back."

"Don't you worry, fine sir, you will be quite impressed and satisfied." Tom replied. As he waved his hands around and pretended to slip the coin in a side pocket, it intentionally slipped out of his hand and bounced on the ground, landing at the girl's feet.

As Tom acted distracted and pretended to try to make the coin appear from behind a lady's ear, the little girl picked up the coin and put it in her pocket.

"And now! Smoogabooga Bim Bam Boom! Young lady, will you please turn out your pocket?" Tom asked, turning to her.

The little girl put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the shilling coin. At the same time, the coin-giver laughed and said, "All right, now Tom, that's not good enough."

Tom held up a finger, to indicate that they should wait and be patient as he winked at the crowd.

He got down close to the little girl and whispered to her, "Breathe on the shilling m'lady." As the little girl breathed across the coin, the coin glowed and the phoenix feather fluttered in a sudden wind.

The little girl looked up and said, "What's supposed to happen?" As she did, the crowd began to gasp as her scars faded and her other hand reached up to cup the trembling coin, uninjured.

"It's a miracle!" shouted the girl's mother and several others in the crowd. Oddly, they all immediately forgot about Magical Tom. Except the little girl. She looked up at Magical Tom most astonished of all as the people crowded around her to see. Her face was smooth, without any scaring.

Archon looked up at Magical Tom, himself astonished. Now, Archon began to feel that there was something familiar about Magical Tom, "How wonderful that you produce miracles for these miserable people." Archon said, only loud enough for Tom to hear.

Magical Tom spoke sadly back. "One small miracle is surely appreciated. The problem is the corruption of a kind act by trumpeting it from the rooftops. You and your friends use such obfuscation to prey on their misfortunes while you plot to subjugate them. All people deserve dignity. Our indifference makes us culpable… just short of the guilt you bear for the murder you just committed"

As Archon cocked his head sideways, considering the curious, distasteful, inexplicably-aware response. Tom was looking back at him, with a smile cracking on his lips. He held up a small, dark, crystal sphere with swirling, grey clouds, exactly like the one Archon had in his box.

The crowd was pushing to see the little girl and pushed Archon backwards. Tom made an announcement, although only Archon was paying attention to, or even remembered him. "I will now take this, my very valuable and special crystal ball and make it into two crystal balls." The cardboard and paper of his make-shift bench/bed and other scraps lying about started to shred and swirl around Tom as he produced an authentic wizard's wand.

Archon's eyes popped open as he saw first the glowing orb, and then the wand. He glanced down at his box, thinking that Tom had somehow stolen his prize. Archon tried to lunge through the crowd, drawing his own wand, but when he got there, Tom was very difficult to make out through the maelstrom of paper and confusion. Tom, nevertheless, quite surprisingly handed Archon the sphere. In his panic and confusion, Archon took it, then knelt down to open his box to try to replace his sphere that had somehow been removed. When he peered inside, he could see the original sphere. He looked in his other hand and Tom's sphere was now a dirty orange ball. When he looked back in the case, the sphere there had become an orange ball as well.

He looked back up at Tom. Magical Tom stood smiling back at him with a wink and a nod. He had a cairngorm stone in each hand and slipped them in his pockets, and disappeared in the chaos of swirling paper and pushing people.

Archon lurched up and stumbled forward in disbelief and tripped on the same pebble that had initially led him down this side street. He fell smack-down on his face after slipping on a smudge of grease. He was immediately pinned down by Magical Tom who held a wand to Archon's temple.

"Archon, my dear boy. I'm surprised you don't recognize your old professor." Tom rasped in Archon's ear from above and behind. "But, you didn't have the gift, so didn't pay much attention. Unfortunately for you, you will not remember this conversation. What you will remember is that Magical Tom knows that you have committed murder and he took something from you. You will eventually remember the cairngorm stone, but there will be something that eludes you. You won't be able to lay your finger on it. It will haunt you. It will mingle with an unabating hunger and ceaseless feeling of loss. It will drive you mad, murderer." He rasped the angry accusation into Archon's ear

Magical Tom slowly pulled a wispy tendril of silvery smoke from Archon's temple, stood up and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

The amazed audience wandered down the block, overjoyed with the miracle that had happened, but had not noticed the struggle and had forgotten Magical Tom. The only one with a memory of Magical Tom, now, was Archon, but he only recalled a wasted few moments watching a sloppy, cheap performance… for the time being. He stood up, brushed himself off, grabbed his case that he now misremembered still carried a cairngorm stone. He would receive a shock and a vague recollection later in the presence of his master.

Archon would waste many days of many weeks searching for Magical Tom, wandering the streets in frustration. He would also hunger for something he's forgotten. A craving. Things did not bode well for him. He would never be able to see the bakery looming before him, but he could smell it… and he would never find Magical Tom.