A/N: Ahem, well... it's out early! Yes, again, and I'm on a roll! There is only one thing bugg'n me that I'll "voice" before you read on: reviews. Authoralerts, I think, are not working... and so people are not reading. And when people don't read, they don't review (ooo, there's an observation!). ::puts hands together:: PLEASE, review... tell me what you think so far. I have very surprising plans for this story- and to make it good I need to know if everything is just peachy up to this point. OK? So, be kind... rewind- no wait, that's videos... uhmm- need your view, please review? Uhmmm... yes, whatever- moving on! READ & ENJOY! Then... REVIEW!
Chapter Six: The Talent Scout
Timothy told everything. The visions, the crest, the destiny… everything. Darian stared with wordless awe the entire time, as John nodded in comprehension. Timothy explained quickly, not stopping a moment in fear that someone would walk into the room and overhear. When he finally did pause, taking a deep breath and wondering if he had done something terrible, John spoke up.
"I have more to tell. I've had more visions."
"I feel so stupid… both of you keeping secrets from me!" Darian shook his head.
"Sorry," both Timothy and John frowned.
"More visions?" Timothy looked at John.
"I found out more parts to the original vision… answers to why strange things have been bothering me. Through my lessons with Peacecraft, she has taught me that by being an empath, you first must learn to read your own mind. Of course she knows about the visions too, and she taught me how to recall them on command and see more detail. Tonight, I finally broke through. Although, it doesn't make any more sense now than it had before."
"Like what?" Timothy whispered.
"Remember when Darian pulled that book out on knights in the bookstore this summer?"
"Yeah." Both Timothy and Darian replied.
"Well, tonight, in my original vision I now saw knights lining a field. Then I saw a figure… not too tall, but not short, with red hair. He was facing these knights as if he were going to fight them. I don't know what happens next, but the feeling I get from it is of immense pain."
Timothy and Darian stared at him silently, the quiet only disturbed when there was a violent knock on the dorm door.
"Let us in! For crying out loud, it's 1 AM!"
"We've been standing out here for ages!"
No on moved, until the poundings outside got so intense that Darian finally stood up and opened it slowly. Ben stormed into the room, closely followed by very a tired looking Bobby and Bran.
"Really, if you must have a slumber party without us, do it somewhere else!" Ben lit a candle with his wand angrily.
"Sorry, we didn't notice the time." Timothy apologized.
"Didn't notice the time," Bran rolled his eyes. "We've only been yelling from outside the door for the past two hours!"
"We almost went to get Miller, you're not allowed to have spells over the doors in the dormitory, you know." Bobby yawned.
"Yeah well, what we were doing is not your business and we had every right to spell lock the door." Darian countered.
The anger and fatigue in the room reached a noticeable level, and as Darian and Ben faced each other off in challenge, Timothy jumped between them.
"We won't do it again, alright Ben? Sorry, we really are. Let's just go to bed, OK?"
After a tense moment of staring each other down, both boys agreed and Ben mumbled something about "school night, the nerve" as he climbed into bed and hastily closed his curtains. Timothy sighed, looking over at John who wore an indifferent expression as he disappeared behind his own coverings. Bran and Bobby were soon in bed as well, but Timothy and Darian continued to stare at each other.
"What now?" Darian mouthed silently.
Timothy shrugged and gave him a helpless look.
Reluctantly, they too, climbed into their beds. It was impossible, however, for Timothy to sleep. Did he do the wrong thing about telling his friends about his destiny? About the crest? What did the new information about John's vision mean to him? What did it all mean, anyway? Was it really the snake from John's vision that kept attacking Jeff? And why?
It was a long, long time, it seemed, before sleep finally claimed Timothy. He couldn't tell he had fallen asleep, though, for one moment it seemed he was lying in bed, when the next he was standing in the middle of a tropical forest. A forest that looked oddly familiar. The edges around the tall pine trees and palmetto bushes seemed fuzzy to his eyes and Timothy rubbed his sleeve across his glasses hoping it would clear his vision. But it didn't, and to his surprise, instead of his pajama sleeve he saw on his arm, he was wearing his school uniform.
Timothy walked on through the hazy forest silently, not feeling the least bit disturbed that he had suddenly appeared in the thick of it out of no where. He kept walking, and walking, following a worn path between bushes and flowering hibiscus plants. The sweet scent was strong and Timothy could smell every blossom. As he looked about through the branches and leaves, Timothy could make out the figure of a girl in the distance.
"Hello?" He called out to her, and he could hear a familiar high-pitched giggle.
"My Owl Eyes, how blind you are!"
"Summerray?" Timothy whispered, dubious.
As he lifted a fern branch to see her more clearly, Timothy jumped as his nose bumped into Summerray's. She laughed at him heartily, her outlined body as fuzzy as the plants around him.
"How blind you are, my Owl Eyes." She whispered when her laughter died.
"How…?" Timothy started, rubbing his nose, but Summerray closed her eyes and shook her head.
"You are not looking. Things will be worse for you if you don't." she whispered seriously.
"What do you…?" He started again, but she suddenly laughed again and with a flash, disappeared from sight.
Timothy pried through the bush to see where she had gone, but something large fell on his shoulder… something unnaturally warm.
"Odd creatures, the natives, 'em?"
He slowly, carefully, looked over his shoulder and saw a very tall man.
Unlike Summerray, who had appeared normal however fuzzy on the outlines like everything else, this man seemed translucent. While he could see professional wizarding robes in their original dark blue and khaki color, the man was glowing a gold shimmer that was unearthly, but beautiful.
"She's right, though." The man spoke again, his voice youthful and wise at the same time. He sounded far away, almost.
"R-right about… what?" Timothy gasped, not knowing how to perceive this stranger, who didn't feel strange at all, but familiar.
"Walk with me, short stuff, let's talk." The man smiled and began to walk further down the trail, leaving Timothy dumbstruck in his spot. The unearthly light that seemed to radiate from this man dimmed as he walked away, and the fuzzy outlined forest now began to disappear. Fearing that he would get swallowed in darkness, Timothy bounded after the man.
He had to run to keep up with the familiar stranger, for the man was so tall, that for each of his steps Timothy had to take two. The scene around him blurred as trees and bushes past by as he continued to follow down the trail. While he expected to hear the wind blowing, animals, and the crunching of the footfalls they were making, Timothy heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing. The man was silent, but he gave off a friendly… almost loving aura that Timothy was more bewildered than afraid.
Suddenly, the man stopped, and Timothy ran head on into his back. As he stumbled and nearly fell backward, the man hardly had to turn around for his long muscular arm to grab Timothy's hand and steady him. Timothy looked up at him, eyes wide, as he felt warmth spread through his body at his touch.
"I've got'cha." The man laughed kindly. He pulled Timothy to his side, and looked out in front of him, his face growing slowly serious. Forcing himself to follow his gaze, Timothy gasped.
They were still standing in the forest, but at the edge, and were looking out at a totally new scene. In front of them was a huge room brightly lit by torches along the walls. In the center of the room was a large round table littered with parchment and quills. Around the table sat wizards and witches dressed in auror's robes. They all looked tired and weary, and, with a closer look, Timothy could see his Great Uncle Us sitting next to his parents! At the head of the table, next to his parents, sat Eian Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster. Everyone wore grim faces, his parents more than anyone. A lump formed in Timothy's throat, for he knew the reason.
"I never imagined what my little sister would get involved with… but I always knew that she was capable of anything. Yet, I'm afraid this time…" the man sighed, shaking his head.
Timothy looked up at him and realized who it was with a strange lack of surprise. He frowned and blinked slowly.
"This time both she and my father can't save the world. This time, it's my turn."
The ghostly image of his dead uncle looked down on him with respect and pride.
"What lies ahead is something more than anyone, even your parents, could ever predict. I'm afraid I can't tell you much… and that I can't help like this again… but listen to me, nephew. Use your instincts. When something seems wrong, it most likely is. Telling your friends about your quest wasn't wrong, but only you can help yourself in the end. Looks can be deceiving- both in a good way and a bad. Keep your eyes open. Do you understand?"
Timothy nodded.
"I'm glad you found the diary. It helped me, and it will help you too in ways unexpected." He continued with a smile.
"It already has." Timothy smiled back.
"Remember… when things seem impossible, always try the improbable." The ghostly image of his uncle laughed brightly. "Who ever thought I'd be talking like a scholar! If only your mother could hear me now… but when she dreams, she dreams of times that were. Only once was I able to say goodbye."
"Is this goodbye, too?" Timothy asked quietly.
"It's hello and goodbye… but the ones that we love and admire are never truly gone, as I am. Only just out of your senses… but we're there, by your side, root'n for ya! Like I once heard, 'Death is but the next great adventure', not the end but another beginning."
"Is this all real? It feels like it does." Timothy looked around. The office scene where he had seen his parents at work were gone, even the forest that was not quite clear to begin with started to dissolve as well. Only his uncle remained unchanged, and before long, they were standing in a white void. Timothy wasn't sure how to feel… only confused at all that had happened.
"Someone once asked, 'what is real?' and no one could answer him. Can you answer that question?" his uncle looked at him, and as he did so, he began to dissolve as well.
"Please don't go! I really don't know what to do!" Timothy panicked as he soon found himself alone in the white void.
"Oh, little Timothy, you do know. Just be yourself. Goodbye, and just to let you know, I am so proud and honored that you carry on my name."
The voice faded and Timothy began to feel the void begin to swirl with a violent surge of wind and cold. He shivered and closed his eyes…
… and opened them, finding himself completely uncovered from his bed sheets and his curtains wide open. The window next to his bed was open as well, and the cold wind he had felt in his dream came, in reality, from the outside.
It felt so real… I've never had a dream like that before. Timothy sat up, running everything through his mind. The forest, Summerray, the scene of his parents and the Circle of aurors… and his dead uncle whom he had never met before; they all had meaning, Timothy knew it. They were all trying to tell him the same thing: to get over his denial and accept his destiny. Even before the dream, he thought, John's vision was all about his quest. Summerray, in his dream, told him to "open his eyes" in her own unique way. The ghostly image of his dead uncle came to him to basically do the same thing- convince him that he had to face his fears and just try his best. Was it really his uncle? Or was it just an image of what Timothy thought of him to be?
It was all so overwhelming. Timothy shakily got to his feet, shuffled to the window and closed it. In the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind, one single decision made itself clear:
"If there is one place I know I can start looking, it's here at Hogwarts. The clues at least are somewhere in this castle… and I have a funny feeling that I'll find them when I least expect it." Timothy whispered out loud, crawling back into bed.
He was so exhausted… his mind tired by conflicting thoughts… that sleep soon came up on him again. But not before his ears caught the sound of something sliding along the floor, yet he fell into the realm of sleep once more.
For the next several days, Darian regarded both Timothy and John dispassionately and distantly, obviously upset at them for keeping such a secret from him. John seemed satisfied that Timothy finally told them about the crest, and wasn't the least bit put off at him for not telling anyone. In fact, he was troubled that he did tell, when the images he saw told him not to tell anyone. However, when Timothy explained the bizarrely real dream to him, John became heavily interested.
"To be contacted by a dead person who's not a ghost is simply amazing!" John said as he, Timothy, and Darian were walking to potions later that week. "Professor Peacecraft gave me a book on psychological phenomenon, and there's a small section about just that in there. It's extraordinarily rare, Timothy!"
"It won't happen again, my uncle said so in the dream." Timothy said.
Darian simply pretended not to be interested, walking along side them silently. Timothy had put up with it without protest until then, not blaming him for his behavior, but as he heard Darian breath deeply through his nose in annoyance during the conversation… Timothy stopped dead and whirled in front of Darian's face.
"I'm sorry, OK?! Why can't you understand that I couldn't tell anyone? That I can't tell my parents, or else they'll think I'm mentally ill and keep me home?"
People in the hall began to slow down and stare. John shifted his weight from foot to foot worriedly as he looked around at the growing scene, Timothy and Darian locked in an intense glare.
"Timothy, calm down… people are staring…" he warned.
"You could have always told me! I wouldn't think your were nuts! Friends don't keep secrets." Darian hissed.
Timothy's face hardened, but then as they said nothing more… the crowd silent around them, watching… Timothy's face fell and he looked at Darian helplessly.
"If your own life, your family's life, and even the lives of everyone on Earth relied on you and you were told not to tell… you would keep it to yourself and no one else too." Timothy whispered.
John grabbed their shoulders and looked at them both severely.
"Stop acting stupid, both of you! Everyone is watching! Shut up, now!"
The tardy bell rang, and the crowd of watching students suddenly sprang to life in fear of being late to class. Timothy and Darian didn't move, and John let out a sigh of exasperation. Finally, Darian's face softened and he looked at Timothy with a small friendly smile.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too." Timothy smiled back.
"Good, we're all sorry! And we'll be even more sorry when we loose ten points each for Gryffindor by being late to Visser's class!" John threw up his arms and pulled both of his friends into the potions classroom hastily, all three of them smiling with relations back to normal.
However, their faces fell in union once they saw the rest of the class. Everyone was looking at them, and more pointedly at Timothy. Professor Visser stood before them with a mixture of amusement and scolding, tapping his wand slowly on his shoulder while regarding all three of them.
"Love life more important than your potions class, 'eh?" The large Russian teacher inquired, while the rest of the class snickered quietly. The Slytherins were beside themselves in glee at the confused and scared faces that Timothy, Darian, and John were wearing- even the Gryffindors stifled smiles.
"E-excuse me, s-sir?" Timothy squeaked, totally confused.
"The class tells me that you're having girl problems. As important as that may be for you, Mr. Potter, being on time for my class is the priority." Visser looked to Darian and John. "And you two as well, you can stop fighting over female territory. Really now, second years fighting over the opposite sex as if you were a lot of sixth years. You're too young! Now, go sit down before I no longer consider this a warning and deduct points."
All three of them exchanged wide-eyed glances as they shuffled to their desks. Everyone was snickering now, and Timothy couldn't remember ever feeling more embarrassed. Darian was glaring at everyone angrily, appalled that those of their own house would go against them. John was all red and quiet, preferring not to look at anyone.
It took a moment after the three of them sat down for the class to return to normal as Visser gave out instructions on the specific potion they were starting that day. Timothy got out his ingredients quietly, growing steadily angry toward Luna.
Why did I have to be so stupid and talk to her? I should of left her in the alcove and walked out separately. Everyone still thinks that we have crushes on each other! And now they must think that Darian and I were fighting over her! He slammed his scales a little too hard on the desk.
Darian was a little more outward about his feelings, mumbling something like: "All that stupid girl's fault! She's spreading rumors! Why I let you talk to her… why I oughta…" All while throwing spiders' legs and unicorn hoof shavings into his cauldron. John was the only one who looked calm, his gaze contemplating some mental conversation as he dropped his own ingredients into his cauldron.
When the bell rang and they filed out of class, people continued to stare as they made their way outside for Herbology. Timothy dreaded every step, for they shared the class with the Hufflepuffs, and Luna was one of them.
"Don't let me see her," Darian growled as they walked toward the greenhouses. "I just might hex her into a warthog."
"Just ignore it," John sighed. "If we do, people will just let it go and forget about it. Besides, you don't know enough magic to hex anything into a warthog just yet."
Darian and Timothy nodded, just as Bran and Ben walked by ahead of them.
"Oh hey, Timothy! Going to invite your girlfriend to the team try-outs?" Bran laughed.
Timothy scowled and John grabbed his shoulder as he began to take out his wand.
"They're still upset at us for locking them out of the dorm. Let them blow off their immature steam and they'll come apologizing later, you'll see." John muttered, but he glared at them just as well.
Darian was beside himself.
"Just wait until I get my hands on their pillows. We'll just see how funny they think this all is after they find their heads on top of spiders in the middle of the night!"
"Cool it, Darian. John's right. Let's just wait for the try-outs and we'll blow them out of the sky." Timothy smiled mischievously.
"That's not exactly what I meant…" John said slowly.
When they filed into the greenhouse, it was the Hufflepuffs' turn to stare and giggle. Timothy didn't trust himself to look for Luna as he got to his table with Darian and John beside him, he was afraid he'd try to hex her anyway. Professor Zan gave out the assignments then persisted to make his rounds as everyone began to work. Timothy, Darian, and John worked silently, looking at each other every now and then with rolling eyes. People whispered their names often, but they ignored it, becoming more intent on their work in an effort to block it all out. At one point, the whispering and giggling became louder, and just as Timothy slammed the polka-dotted plant they were working on into a planter, someone tapped his shoulder.
"What?!" He shouted, making everyone fall silent instantly. Timothy's face blanched and flushed, as he looked at who it was that had tapped his shoulder. It was a tall girl he did not recognize, she must have been a Hufflepuff. She was trying very hard not to smile as she silently handed him a folded piece of parchment. When he slowly took it from her, looking around him with a dangerous glance should anyone say anything, the girl turned on her heel and walked away.
"What's the matter? Get to work!" Professor Zan snapped, and everyone began to mutter and work again.
"What is it?" Darian whispered into his ear as he helped him put potting soil in the planter.
"I highly suggest, Timothy, that you don't open it here. Put it away." John muttered, looking around them as people stole curious glances.
"Yeah," Timothy slipped the note into his robe pocket. "We need to find a place private to talk later anyway."
To his relief, and notably to John's and Darian's as well, they did not see Luna at all. They continued to ignore everyone as they left class for lunch and decided to grab a quick sandwich and take them up to the common room. Fortunately, the common room was empty, and Timothy asked Hagrid to yell if anyone should come. While the portrait of Hagrid was suspicious, he agreed. When the entrance swung closed, Darian exploded.
"I swear! The nerve of people! They think that that little tiff we had out in the hallway before potions was over Luna! Now, not only do they think Timothy has a crush on her, they think John and me do as well!
"Shush!" John hissed, sitting down in an armchair. "Yes, Darian, that is what it appears. Like I said, give it time and it will all blow over. If you show you're upset about it, it will only reinforce their suspicions."
Timothy sat down across from John, taking out the note.
"We didn't really finish the discussion we had a few nights ago about my family crest and the visions." He looked pointedly at Darian, emphasizing that it was his anger toward them that prevented any earlier talks. He blushed, but said nothing.
"I dunno, Timothy," John sighed. "I don't think there is much that we can do about it. I can ask Peacecraft, but you said you couldn't tell anyone. This stays between the three of us."
"Well, right now, I'm more interested in that note you got." Darian pointed at Timothy's robe pocket. Timothy took it out and held it in the firelight that came from the mantle.
"It's from Luna." John said.
"No, really, you think?" Darian rolled his eyes at him with a sarcastic tone.
"Guys…" Timothy chided, unfolding the note. The three of them leaned in as Timothy read the scribbled handwriting:
This is not my fault. So don't be mad at me.
Luna
"That's it? That's all she wrote? Of course it's her fault! I expected a memo of apology!" Darian snorted.
"But it isn't her fault." John leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, yes it is! Don't you remember? She practically fainted every time she looked at Timothy last year. Before that thing with Smith, she worshipped his very name! This is all her doing, she has a crush!" Darian paced the room.
Timothy re-folded the note, then decided to throw it into the fire. He did so, and watched as the paper crumpled into ashes.
"I believe her, but that doesn't make me any less annoyed. The less I see her the better." Timothy muttered.
"How do you she's not prompting all this?" Darian asked him severely. Timothy countered his expression.
"She's changed, Darian. Think about it. She's no longer the groveling little girl from last year. Now's she's just a lost little girl, with a great hurt inside… her parents were murdered and she almost was as well. In a way, she was responsible, because obviously it was Malfoy's doing and he was punishing her family for the failure in capturing me. Now she lives with a grandmother who hates her guts. I don't like her any more than you do, but I don't think she's spreading around rumors and I don't think she feels that way… at least not anymore. Let's drop this now, OK? I have more important things to worry about than girls."
John and Darian looked at him, stunned. Timothy blushed slightly and looked away, surprised at himself for defending Luna like that. He didn't even realize that, in a way, he still felt guilty and sorry for her… and it angered him even more that he did so.
"Whoa, Timothy, I think you're hanging around John too much. You sound so… so… dramatic." Darian whispered in awe.
"Timothy's right," John insisted. "Enough of this Luna business, we have to help him with this crest. I have a feeling he can't ignore it anymore and he needs to find it soon. With my persistent visions and his conversation with his dead uncle," Darian let out a snort. "He needs to find it soon."
They all looked at each other and didn't say anything for a few moments. Timothy wondered if his friends knew just how difficult this task was; that to just "find it" is a lot easier said than done. How on Earth was he supposed to do this while in school? What were the odds that the crest was in the castle? It could be anywhere!
Darian sat down and put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his palms. John stared at the fire, his gaze showing intense thought. Timothy merely watched them both, eager for any suggestion.
"You said that your ancestor was friends with Godric Gryffindor, and that it was him that made the crest to ward off evil, correct?" John asked without taking his eyes off the fire.
"Yes." Timothy answered quietly.
"Well, naturally as you may have already guessed, we should start looking in the castle."
"Where else would we be able to look?" Darian muttered sarcastically.
John blushed slightly but made no comment.
"But where to start?" Timothy mused out loud.
"Check the library. You never know if there is anything written about the crest." John said.
For the first time in a while Timothy saw hope.
"Right! Of course! Perfect!"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not too partial to bookwork." Darian grumbled.
"Oh, quit your bellyaching. You could look up books on Quidditch while we work… need to improve those skills, don't we Darian?" Timothy teased.
Darian glared at them both when John and Timothy began to giggle. He regally got to his feet and marched to the common room exit.
"I'll show you just how good of a research officer I can be," he looked back at them dignified. However, his face fell slightly as he looked toward the spiral staircase leading up to the boys' dormitories. "What's that?"
Timothy and John looked to where he was staring, but couldn't see anything.
"What's what?"
"I don't see anything."
Darian had a suspicious expression, but he shrugged and turned to open the portrait hole. Slightly puzzled, Timothy and John followed.
To their frustration, the bell rang signaling afternoon classes rang before they reached the library, and they had to re-plan to visit after school. Much to their relief, the rest of the day went without little attention over the subject of Luna, and the topic was temporarily forgotten. However, the only thing that bothered Timothy was the constant chatter over Quidditch try-outs, and how people were practicing in their free time to prepare.
"Let's think about this, Timothy," Darian said as they walked to dinner at the end of the day. "Is this… this… assignment you have so important that it needs to be taken care of now, or can you just put it aside for a week or two until after the Quidditch try-outs?"
"Darian…" John started, but Darian persisted.
"I mean, we need the practice if we have hopes of beating practically the entire house, you know? Of course you shouldn't be worried about making it, you're very good, but even the greats have to practice every once and a while."
Before Timothy could say anything and John could object further, a sneering voice broke out over them from behind.
"Think you're too good to practice now, are you?"
Slowly, the three of them turned around to look at Carla Haughton, flanked by her equally sneering brother, Sean.
"What would you know, Haughton?" Darian growled. "You wouldn't be able to play Quidditch if you're life depended on it."
Carla crossed her arms and scowled.
"Going to spell-o-tape yourself to Potter there, Hall? They say two airheads fly better than one, you know."
"Oh, don't you have anything better to do than to berate people?" John rolled his eyes impatiently.
Carla smiled and laughed through her nose, stopping a moment to elbow her brother to join her when she noticed he was staring at a suit of armor instead.
"As a matter of fact, I do. I'd say I'm using my time wisely by practicing, wouldn't you agree? Oh, sorry, that's right… you're too good to practice for the try-outs."
Timothy felt sick as she brushed past them mockingly.
"You're trying out for the Slytherin team?" Timothy blurted out stupidly.
Carla turned back and smiled crudely at them.
"That would be my house, now wouldn't it?"
Timothy moaned to himself at the thought of competing against her in a game should he make his own team. Darian opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't get it out. John simply stared without emotion.
Carla laughed, grabbing her brother roughly and pushing him ahead of her into the Great Hall. Before they got her completely out of their sight when they sat down at the Gryffindor table, she called out,
"Better not fly into the scout, wouldn't want to disgrace the all-mighty Gryffindors!"
"Scout?" Both Timothy and Darian said aloud. Bran, who was sitting across from them, nodded as he loaded his plate.
"Yep, haven't you heard? A talent scout is coming to Hogwarts the day of the try-outs to get a figure on how well the teams are gonna be this year."
"Talent scout!" Darian got excited, forgetting the earlier hostility between them and Bran, along with the rest of their dorm mates. "From where? The professionals?"
"Dunno," Bran mused as he chewed his dinner. "All I heard that it was a talent scout."
"Well in that case, we should do some practicing." Timothy began to grow excited.
"Would be wise," Bran looked at him, before turning slightly pink. "Er… sorry about earlier. It was stupid of me, the others feel the same too."
"No problem," Timothy smiled, eager to get back on friendly terms. "Are you going to be with the team at try-outs?"
"Of course. I'm one of the team, I get to help with the decision." Bran smiled back.
"Well, just be sure to judge fairly this year." Darian mumbled.
"It wasn't my fault…" Bran started, beginning to frown.
"Oh wow, look at the time. Hey, Timothy, Darian, we should get started on that paper that's due in the library right now." John said loudly, getting to his feet before another argument could break out.
"Erm, yeah… right." Timothy followed him, grabbing Darian's arm before he could say anything. Bran simply blinked and shrugged, continuing to eat.
"But, John, I'm still hungry!" Darian whined as they searched the enormous shelves of the library ten minutes later.
"Oh, shut up, Darian." Timothy and John said in union.
"We oughta be practicing right now, Timothy." Darian grumbled a moment afterward as they began to pull huge volumes of history texts from the shelves.
"Later…" Timothy muttered absentmindedly as he found a table and sat down, fingering through pages.
"John, this is your fault." Darian pointed a severe finger at John as he pulled a distinctly moldy smelling book entitled Ancient Quests & How to Solve Them.
"You fail to realize the severity of this situation, Darian, which is not surprising since it doesn't concern your sports life." John said airily.
"How hard could it be to find-?"
"Shhhh!" Timothy and John snapped at him.
"Darian, shut your trap and help us!" Timothy hissed.
Reluctantly and looking very put off, Darian snatched a book from John's pile and started flipping through.
"What exactly is it that I'm looking for?"
"Don't act stupid," John muttered. "Just look for 'Potter' and 'crest'." He whispered the last few words carefully.
For an hour they searched. Timothy came upon countless articles about his father and the first falling of Lord Voldemort when he was a baby, to when his parents caused his final demise. There was even a page in which they showed his parents with himself at eight years old and his sister at three. His parents were proudly wearing their medals bearing the Order of Merlin, First Class. Timothy stopped and stared at the moving photo; his parents beaming shyly, his sister cooing in their mother's arms and himself looking innocently up at the medals his parents wore. He could remember when they had gotten home that day and he watched as his father placed their medals in a hutch that kept their most precious keepsakes in the sitting room.
"Dad?" he had said, standing on his toes to watch his father put the medals on a glass shelf. "Did your parents ever get this much medals?"
Timothy could remember his father's face, and before then he couldn't remember his father ever crying, but there was a tear in the corner of his eye as he shook his head slowly.
"I don't know, I've never asked."
Concerned at his father, Timothy gently hung on to his arm.
"Did they get the Merlin medal too, do you know?"
Timothy remembered how long it seemed for his father to answer, and when he finally looked at him with a sad smile, Timothy knew that he missed his own parents- and that only made Timothy more grateful that he had his own.
"In a way, they did, Timothy. If they didn't have one then, they have one now."
The memory hung around in Timothy's mind as he continued to flip the pages of the history book. Both John and Darian were silent, now intent on the search. However, when three hours had passed, they came up empty.
"I have learned more about your family than maybe you even know, Timothy… but I found nothing on what it is we're looking for." Darian pushed the last book in his pile away and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm afraid I had no luck either." John sighed, closing his book.
"Maybe we're just not looking in the right books." Timothy yawned.
"Oh, c'mon, these books contain the entire history of the world, it seems!" Darian exclaimed.
"Let's call it a night, guys. We've done enough for one day." John got up and began to gather all the books to put away. Somewhat reluctantly and disappointed, Timothy helped him and Darian joined in soon after.
In the two weeks leading up to the 29th of September, they hadn't returned to the library. Instead, Darian was insistent that he and Timothy train for the Quidditch try-outs. It was now more important than ever to do their best, with the talent scout coming and all. John was not pleased, trying to convince Timothy that his quest was top priority and that they should be doing all they could at that time to solve the problem. But Darian's encouraging words of Quidditch glory won him over, and he found himself flying with his Dragonsfire 800 and Darian over the grounds after school hours. John soon gave up on them and spent his time while they practiced with Professor Peacecraft.
On the morning of the 29th, Timothy could hardly contain his excitement. His parents, especially his father, would no doubt be immensely proud of him if he should make the team. So confident he was that he was going to make it, Timothy decided to send Windstone with an early letter to tell them just how much he had prepared for that day. The whole of Gryffindor was buzzing and alive with equal excitement, and Darian had a hard time keeping himself back at not challenging others in their faces over who was going to make it.
It was hard for everyone to keep still that day during classes. The try-outs were scheduled separately for each house, and Gryffindor ended up being scheduled last because Walters slept in too late and was last to sign the house up.
"How that idiot got elected team captain is a question the human race may never know." Darian muttered in exasperation.
"We can't see him like that if we're going to be under his command, Darian. It'll take the fun out of the game." Timothy reminded him.
"Thank you, oh great wise one, you have opened my eyes and I feel my attitude changing with your words of wisdom." Darian cried sarcastically.
"If you two are finished, we have transfiguration to go through now." John rolled his eyes.
Professor Miller was all too aware of the excitement in the air surrounding the try-outs, and gave them little work to do. In Professor Visser's class, those trying out for Slytherin were called, and Carla sneered at Timothy as she left the room. Her brother wasn't trying out, but somehow he had managed to be allowed to go watch. Darian growled under his breath that Carla would catch a headwind and get blown out of the country. As wonderful a thought that it was, Timothy dreaded that it would be just his luck that Carla made the Slytherin team.
It wasn't until the last class for that day, Defense Against Dark Creatures, that Gryffindor was finally called. Lupin gave Timothy an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he left with nearly every other Gryffindor in the class.
"Just be yourself." Lupin whispered in his ear and he gave him a warm smile as the group left the classroom.
Afraid that he was going to fall over with excitement and nerves, Timothy got his broom with the other second years from his dorm room and followed everyone outside with Darian practically bouncing on his heels beside him.
"Thank God dad got me a new broom," Darian said breathlessly, holding up his brand new broom labeled Starshooter on the handle. "This year is going to be a lot different!"
Timothy held his Dragonsfire 800 close to him, remembering the endless times he had played with his father, pretending to be professional players in the Quidditch World Cup. His father had the chance to play professionally when he graduated Hogwarts, but because of Voldemort and Timothy's mother, he turned it down. Timothy was determined to live up to him this much by making the team this year.
When they reached the Quidditch pitch, the whole of Gryffindor house seemed to be there. People lined up along the field while Timothy could see the current team members analyzing each person. Growing steadily more nervous, surprised even since he had already gone through a try-out session the previous year, Timothy and Darian fell into the line. When everyone was in place, the adults addressed the potential players.
"Welcome to this year's Quidditch try-outs." Professor Miller announced, for he was head of Gryffindor. "I hope that all of you will play fairly and honestly. While I'm sure each of you are fine flyers and players, only two people today will make the team. Whatever the outcome, I hope that you'll support your house like true Gryffindors!"
Everyone erupted into cheers while Professor Mali, the Quidditch coach, stepped forward to have her say. When everyone quieted, her authoritative filled the pitch.
"I hope all of you are aware of the rules! This is how the try-outs will be done. A large number of Quaffles and Bludgers will be up on the field, and each one of you will hit as many Quaffles as you can through the goals while avoiding the Bludgers. There will be two Snitches as well, and if anyone can catch one of them within two hour's time the session will be off. Afterwards, if need be, certain selected individuals will be chosen to be judged separately. Alright then? When I blow my whistle, mount and the session will begin! Ready? Go!"
Timothy sprang to life at the sound of the whistle. He was in the air faster than anyone else, yet closely flanked by Darian. With friendly nods they went their separate ways, Timothy going after a nearby Quaffle and Darian avoiding a Bludger.
There were people everywhere, some flying better than others. Timothy applied all his knowledge of the game and the tips his father had taught him when he was smaller- nothing could break his concentration, not even the family crest. All that he could think of was the scarlet colored balls getting through the golden hoops and the gray Bludgers narrowly missing his head.
After thirty minutes, Timothy had made nineteen goals. Darian was close behind with seventeen, but Timothy couldn't allow his concentration to break with congratulations. He was about to make his twentieth, when something small and gold caught his eye.
There it was, hovering near the grass undiscovered by all the other students preoccupied with making goals with the Quaffles. The golden Snitch with it's beating little white wings was now in Timothy's full view. Remembering his father's stories about the many ways in which he caught the Snitch as Gryffindor's seeker, Timothy tried hard to pretend he hadn't seen it. Instead, he pursued a Quaffle that was low to the ground and, at the last second before he reached the ball, zoomed to the side and caught the Snitch!
Professor Mali's whistle shrilled over the pitch, and everyone began to land. Instantly the air was filled with chatter:
"Who caught it?"
"Where's the Snitch?"
"I think I swallowed a bug."
Timothy struggled to keep the frantically beating Snitch in his hands as Darian nearly flew into him.
"You caught it!" he shouted.
Everyone turned in their direction.
"Timothy Potter has it!"
"No surprise there, his dad was seeker."
Professor Mali made her way through the crowd and beamed down at Timothy.
"Well done! There hasn't been a record like that since your father was here! Congratulations, Timothy."
"Thank you, Professor." Timothy blushed as he handed her the Snitch. Never before had he ever felt more proud of himself.
"Like I said, buddy," Darian whispered in his ear as everyone began to walk toward the bleachers. "Piece of cake!"
The students began to fill the bleachers and sit down for further instructions. Now that everyone had a chance to be seen, unless the team already picked the two new players, selected people would be judged individually to narrow down the choices. Timothy and Darian found empty seats and sat down with the rest as the Gryffindor team, Professor Miller, and Professor Mali positioned themselves in front of the crowd.
"Hey, you know what I just realized?" Darian began.
"What?"
"Where's the talent scout we heard about?"
Timothy blinked and searched the field. The only adults there were Miller and Mali. Unless the talent scout was watching from a secret location, he wasn't there. Then he realized that he didn't even know if the scout was a man or a woman.
"All of you did wonderfully! The team, Professor Miller, and I all watched you carefully. We have put together a list of finalists that we will consider to join the team. Now, please, in a calm and civilized manner, check for your name on the list here on the field." Mali called out. However, the request for a calm and civilized crowd to look at one list was a futile one, for when she had uttered her last word the bleachers began to pour students.
"Let's wait 'till the crowd clears." Timothy suggested, but Darian couldn't wait.
"I have to know! I have to know!"
Timothy shook his head as Darian barreled through people and fought his way to the list. He was surprised at how calm he was and figured Darian would tell him if he was on the list or not. Something inside of him told him that there was no need to worry that he wasn't.
Sure enough, all pink in the face with excitement, Darian fought his way through elated and disappointed students back to Timothy.
"We MADE IT! WE MADE IT!" He lifted Timothy clear off his seat and hugged him. At one point he twirled him around and Timothy's flailing limbs nearly knocked a nearby first year tumbling down the stairs.
"Sorry!" He called out as the boy screamed and cursed.
When the din of voices began to lower, Professor Mali made herself heard once more.
"Those of you who are not on the list, we thank you for trying out and doing your best. Please, at this time, those not listed need to return to the castle. All of you who did make it, please come down to the field."
Nearly the entire crowd began to flow out of the pitch, and Timothy and Darian excitedly made their way back onto the field. When the last person had left, they both were standing next to eight other students. Timothy recognized two fifth year girls by sight. There were three sixth year boys who were grinning at Walters out on the field, obviously thinking they had a better chance since they were friends. Finally, there were two fourth year boys and one fourth year girl at the end of the line. The current team members lined up parallel in front of them, Bran giving Timothy and Darian a small smile. Both Miller and Mali walked up and down the line, inspecting each student.
"When your name is called," Mali announced finally. "You'll have three minutes to mount your broom, launch, and make as many goals with the Quaffles that you can. There will be two Bludgers, just like in an official game, so avoid them. Also, within the three minutes, if you see the Snitch you may catch it. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes!" Came the unanimous reply.
"Alright then. Adobe Carter, you're up!"
One of the sixth year boys leapt onto his broom and zoomed into the air. He seemed to be twice Timothy's size, and he began to pelt Quaffles left and right. However, his bulk was more of a disadvantage, for it was harder for him to maneuver. It was more than obvious, for he had suddenly spotted the Snitch, and bolted after it. Timothy was sure he wouldn't be a good seeker if he chased after the Snitch that way, and he was too large and bulky to be very fast. At the end of the three minutes, he had spent the first minute making 13 points with the Quaffles, and the rest of the time fruitlessly chasing the Snitch, which disappeared before he could catch it.
The group clapped politely as he landed, and Professor Mali called "Harold Harrington" to the sky. Timothy watched the fourth year perform slightly better than his older predecessor, making judgement on if he would be a top choice to be picked. Darian, the whole time, tapped his foot in both nervousness and impatience. He suddenly jumped, however, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey guys, how's it going?"
Timothy turned and smiled to see John. The expression his friend was wearing was puzzling, for it was a mixture of weariness, suspicion, and masked excitement.
"Merlin's beard! You scared the living daylights out of me, Too Tall!" Darian looked faint.
"I'm surprised they let you in." Timothy mentioned, trying to hide his concern over John's expression.
"Got a pass from Peacecraft," John held up a figure of a gargoyle. "She… er, thought I should be here to support you and I agreed."
Timothy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. John had used that tone before, when he knew something. Timothy knew better not to ask, knowing he wouldn't get an answer- at least not right away.
"Thanks," he said anyway. "We're gonna need it."
"Is the competition as tough as they said?" John shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Harold made at futile dive at the Snitch, which flew away before he got close.
"I'll admit, it was scary having to compete with nearly the whole house." Darian said breathlessly, still rubbing his chest to gain back his composure.
"So far, I don't think we have anyone to really worry about." Timothy said, giving his attention back to Harold as he flew down when the whistle blew.
"Darian Hall!" cried Mali.
"That's me!" Darian fumbled with his broom and made a hairy take off, but managed to pull himself together and began to attack the Quaffles. Timothy and John watched with equal tension as Darian quickly made 15 points within a minute and a half. For as long as Timothy had played Quidditch one on one with Darian, he knew that catching the Snitch just wasn't his strongest point. He willed vainly as he watched his friend fly that he wouldn't go after the Snitch- he was too broad shouldered and square to go really fast to catch the elusive ball.
Darian dodged the Bludgers easily, making another five points in 30 seconds. Timothy could just see his broadly smiling and confident face as he made another spectacular goal.
Good, Timothy thought, just don't catch the Snitch! Ignore it! Don't catch the Snitch!
But much to his despair, he saw Darian stop his broom so suddenly he nearly fell over face first. Timothy searched the field and saw the golden Snitch hovering just under on of the golden hoop goal posts.
"No!" Timothy cried, hearing another person yell the same cry and realized John had noticed too.
It was useless, Darian couldn't hear them. Using a technique that Timothy commonly used having been taught by his father, Darian flattened himself out on his broom and flew at top speed toward the tiny golden ball. Timothy groaned, hoping that this observed trick would help Darian. It even seemed like he was going to make it, and Timothy grabbed John's arm as he strained his eyes to see across the field through his glasses. They both held their breaths as Darian got closer and closer… nearly there.
"He's gonna do it!" Timothy whispered loudly.
"I dunno…" John's voice doubted.
"No, no, it really looks like it!"
"He's going too fast!"
"Slow down, Darian, slow down!" Timothy cried, realizing John was right.
"He's gonna hit-!"
BAAAAAAAANNNNNNNGGGGGGG!
"-the goal post."
Horrified, Timothy and John cringed as Darian missed the Snitch at the last moment and couldn't slow down, flying headlong into the goal post near the base.
There was a unanimous "Oooooh!" and painful expressions from the other students, and both Miller and Mali mounted brooms and flew across to Darian who was lying dazedly in the grass. Timothy didn't hesitate to mount his own broom to go to him, and turned to John to offer him a lift. But John shook his head quickly, and Timothy remembered with an embarrassed nod that John was allergic to brooms. But before Timothy could turn around to leave, Mali and Miller had already returned with Darian clinging to Miller's back on his broom with a far off look.
"Darian! Are you alright?" Timothy helped Darian half-climb, half-fall from Miller's broom.
"I'd like to buy a vowel!" Darian swooned on his feet, Timothy jumping off his own broom to help him stand.
"What did he mean by that?" Timothy whispered concernedly at John, who shrugged back at him, clueless.
"He'll be alright, he just bumped his head, that's all." Mali reassured them as he handed John Darian's broom, in which John gave a short sneeze. "Bless you."
"Eh… thank you." John muttered, hastily placing the broom on a bleacher with a disgusted look.
"Just as well, he should go see his mother in the hospital wing." Miller advised.
"Oh, but mom, I don't want to eat the pink elephant!" Darian cried out suddenly.
Everyone blinked at him and stared.
"I'll take him." Timothy made up his mind, putting an arm around Darian when he began to stumble again.
"But, Timothy, what about the try-outs? You'll miss your turn!" Bran called out when the team had assembled closer to see what was going on.
Timothy glanced at John, expecting him to offer, but he said nothing. The look in his eyes gave him a strange feeling that John wanted this all to happen, and that Timothy should take Darian to the hospital wing. When Darian began to mumble something about "is that your final answer?" Timothy couldn't let one of his best friends down. He'd just let the rest of the group go ahead of him while he quickly took Darian to see his mother. Certainly he'd make it back in time.
"Oh, but I have already chosen the two new players." Came a smooth, strangely accented voice.
Everyone turned around to see a tall, dark haired and beautiful woman dressed in very fashionable robes coming striding over the grass in her red pumps. There didn't seem to be any visible flaw with this woman; she was simply, perfect. Timothy glanced at his professors for any clue as to who this woman was. Miller's jaw had relaxed fully, and if he wasn't careful, he'd drool. However, Mali's expression was of cool indifference. The tough Quidditch coach crossed her arms and tapped her wand on her side.
"With all due respect, Ms. Tuvok, the current team members have the vote as to who will be admitted to the team."
Timothy gasped in realization that this woman named Tuvok was, in fact, the Quidditch talent scout! Never would he have guessed that his dressed up aristocrat would spend her career outside for a sport!
"The players I have chosen, I'm sure your players will greatly consider, Professor Mali." Her accent was Russian, Timothy recognized.
"Oh?" Mali furrowed her brow.
"Dear Mr. Walters, come forward please." Tuvok turned to the sixth year captain. His eyes were wide and that of an obedient dog, looking up at her eagerly. Timothy had to keep from laughing at the older boy's expression, and looked at everyone else. The rest of the students trying out had a mix of wonder, suspicion, and awe. Then Timothy glanced at John, and his expression made Timothy do a double take.
John's eyes were narrowed almost to slits, directed at Tuvok. He was frowning in what was almost a scowl. Timothy looked all around to see if he was mistaken that John was looking at Tuvok, but there was no doubt he was.
"John, what's wrong?" Timothy whispered.
John didn't seem to hear, didn't notice him at all. Timothy was about to ask again, when Tuvok's voice spoke loudly.
"Of all who stand here, in your honest opinion as captain, tell us who you think would be valuable additions to your team."
It looked difficult for Walters to tear his gaze away from the beautiful woman's face, but he looked anyway and stared down each of the possible players.
"So far, Harrington, most likely. But Potter is my first choice."
Timothy wasn't surprised at Walters' response, and the interested look Tuvok gave seemed forced.
"And why do you say Mr. Potter, when he hasn't performed individually yet?" She asked him smoothly.
"He's the best I've seen, and his father was a legend at Hogwarts." Walters was staring back at Tuvok again.
The rest of the group shuffled their feet and grumbled discontentedly, glaring at Timothy out of the corner of their eyes. He paid them no mind, still holding on to a reeling Darian and watching the talent scout carefully.
"I agree fully with you, Mr. Walters. Mr. Potter is indeed the wisest choice, and one of mine. Now, what about the second and last player? Is Harrington your second choice?" Tuvok gave him a mesmerizing smile.
"Yeah," Walters sighed dreamily. "Ma'am." He added a moment after.
"On this choice, my boy, I'll have to disagree." Tuvok looked at everyone.
"But Ms. Tuvok, he can't make a final decision yet! We haven't seen everyone, and it has to be put to a vote!" spoke up Jane Neeks, one of the chasers.
Tuvok smiled and began to pace in front of everyone. Miller was still stuck in his male stupor and Mali continued to glare at the imposing female, it seemed. All the other possible players had begun to grow fearful that the choice was already made and that they hadn't made it. John was still glowering at the woman as if she were dangerous, and Timothy could only stare bewildered as he held on to Darian's arm.
"You fail to see what makes the most valuable player. The one who risks everything against the odds to win. I saw one candidate demonstrate this trait in it's entirety, and I'm quite disappointed that you have overlooked him." Tuvok said, her pace slowing down until she stopped in front of Timothy. No… in front of Darian.
"Darian Hall?" Walters seemed to snap out of his daze. "But… but he flew into the goal post! I mean, look at him! He's delirious!"
"Price check on prune juice, Bob, price check on prune juice!" Darian sputtered. Timothy blushed, embarrassed for him and yet completely surprised at the same time that Tuvok would choose him after what had just happened!
"All for the sake of the win, Mr. Walters. He was willing to go all out to catch the prized Snitch, even though he must of known he wouldn't be able to do it. But he tried anyway. That, my young captain, is a true team member." Tuvok turned back to the current team members.
"Now, I say you cast a vote now."
The girl players opened their mouths to object, but the three boys nodded.
"All in favor of Potter and Hall, say 'I'!" Walters called out.
Instantly, the three boys raised their hands. The girls exchanged exasperated and dubious looks, but raised their hands anyway. Timothy nearly fell over.
I made it! We made it! I made it on the Gryffindor team!
Tuvok smiled broadly as the remaining candidates groaned loudly and began to leave. Timothy could hardly believe it! Sure, he felt immensely confident that he would get in… but to actually know that he did? And Darian too! For sure, his best friend's unfortunate run-in with the goal post would keep him from the team. But this talent scout saw some sort of promise out of it. They both made it!
"Practice is every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you guys." Walters said to them as the team began to leave. He gave a dreamy glance and nod to Ms. Tuvok, and left himself. Timothy was so shocked with happiness that it took a while to realize that John was tugging at his shoulder.
"Let's go, Timothy, let's go." He said urgently.
Timothy was too caught up in his excited thoughts to react to John's strange dire urge to get away. Perhaps it was just Darian, who stumbled along their strides sloppily, continuing to mutter about pink elephants. When they reached the exit, Timothy got his mind long enough to turn and thank Tuvok, but when he did… she was gone. Mali had dragged Miller out of the pitch with the rest of the students long before, so the field was empty.
"This is the happiest day of my life!" Timothy sighed contently as they walked toward the castle.
"Timothy, I beg to differ." John said distantly, and didn't expand on his meaning.
"Oh say, can you see! By the dawn's early light…!" Darian began to cry.
"Darian, you're not an American." John hissed.
"Oh… right." It was the first competent thing Darian said since the accident.
"Nothing could make this day more great!" Timothy sighed, obliviously.
"You're right," John muttered. "'Cause it's definitely not going to get better after I tell you…"
"Tell me what?" Timothy snapped out of his bliss at John's rarely vain tone.
"O' Canada! O' Canada!"
"Darian! SHUT UP!"
A/N: I'm sorry if the beginning was confusing and if ending was too rushed. In the beginning, I sorta got bored and moved on to what I wanted to write- and the end happened the same way. ::blushes and shrugs:: School has a passion to want to kill me, social life claims more time than I ever imagined, and energy just doesn't seem to want to come to me. ::sigh:: Well, make life a little happier and REVIEW! Paahhhleeeeaaaassseee? Not that I'm begging or anything...::thinks a moment:: OK, maybe I am.
See a newly updated reading list and a new drawing at Renee's site!
HTTP://WWW.THEWORLDOFRENEEPOTTER.DISNEYFANSITES.COM
I update it as much as possible, so if authoralerts don't work, check the site for I always update it with news on the chapters.
What does the future hold? Will Darian snap back to reality? What is John's issue with the seductive Quidditch talent scout? Why did she pick DARIAN, any how? Does this have anything to do with... dun dun dunnnn... Timothy's quest?! I'll tell ya this much... yeah. ::evil giggle:: You'll never guess what happens! I promise a wonderful literary surprise! It all begins with CHAPTER 7! ::dramatic music plays & thunder claps::
~OrcaPotter
Chapter Six: The Talent Scout
Timothy told everything. The visions, the crest, the destiny… everything. Darian stared with wordless awe the entire time, as John nodded in comprehension. Timothy explained quickly, not stopping a moment in fear that someone would walk into the room and overhear. When he finally did pause, taking a deep breath and wondering if he had done something terrible, John spoke up.
"I have more to tell. I've had more visions."
"I feel so stupid… both of you keeping secrets from me!" Darian shook his head.
"Sorry," both Timothy and John frowned.
"More visions?" Timothy looked at John.
"I found out more parts to the original vision… answers to why strange things have been bothering me. Through my lessons with Peacecraft, she has taught me that by being an empath, you first must learn to read your own mind. Of course she knows about the visions too, and she taught me how to recall them on command and see more detail. Tonight, I finally broke through. Although, it doesn't make any more sense now than it had before."
"Like what?" Timothy whispered.
"Remember when Darian pulled that book out on knights in the bookstore this summer?"
"Yeah." Both Timothy and Darian replied.
"Well, tonight, in my original vision I now saw knights lining a field. Then I saw a figure… not too tall, but not short, with red hair. He was facing these knights as if he were going to fight them. I don't know what happens next, but the feeling I get from it is of immense pain."
Timothy and Darian stared at him silently, the quiet only disturbed when there was a violent knock on the dorm door.
"Let us in! For crying out loud, it's 1 AM!"
"We've been standing out here for ages!"
No on moved, until the poundings outside got so intense that Darian finally stood up and opened it slowly. Ben stormed into the room, closely followed by very a tired looking Bobby and Bran.
"Really, if you must have a slumber party without us, do it somewhere else!" Ben lit a candle with his wand angrily.
"Sorry, we didn't notice the time." Timothy apologized.
"Didn't notice the time," Bran rolled his eyes. "We've only been yelling from outside the door for the past two hours!"
"We almost went to get Miller, you're not allowed to have spells over the doors in the dormitory, you know." Bobby yawned.
"Yeah well, what we were doing is not your business and we had every right to spell lock the door." Darian countered.
The anger and fatigue in the room reached a noticeable level, and as Darian and Ben faced each other off in challenge, Timothy jumped between them.
"We won't do it again, alright Ben? Sorry, we really are. Let's just go to bed, OK?"
After a tense moment of staring each other down, both boys agreed and Ben mumbled something about "school night, the nerve" as he climbed into bed and hastily closed his curtains. Timothy sighed, looking over at John who wore an indifferent expression as he disappeared behind his own coverings. Bran and Bobby were soon in bed as well, but Timothy and Darian continued to stare at each other.
"What now?" Darian mouthed silently.
Timothy shrugged and gave him a helpless look.
Reluctantly, they too, climbed into their beds. It was impossible, however, for Timothy to sleep. Did he do the wrong thing about telling his friends about his destiny? About the crest? What did the new information about John's vision mean to him? What did it all mean, anyway? Was it really the snake from John's vision that kept attacking Jeff? And why?
It was a long, long time, it seemed, before sleep finally claimed Timothy. He couldn't tell he had fallen asleep, though, for one moment it seemed he was lying in bed, when the next he was standing in the middle of a tropical forest. A forest that looked oddly familiar. The edges around the tall pine trees and palmetto bushes seemed fuzzy to his eyes and Timothy rubbed his sleeve across his glasses hoping it would clear his vision. But it didn't, and to his surprise, instead of his pajama sleeve he saw on his arm, he was wearing his school uniform.
Timothy walked on through the hazy forest silently, not feeling the least bit disturbed that he had suddenly appeared in the thick of it out of no where. He kept walking, and walking, following a worn path between bushes and flowering hibiscus plants. The sweet scent was strong and Timothy could smell every blossom. As he looked about through the branches and leaves, Timothy could make out the figure of a girl in the distance.
"Hello?" He called out to her, and he could hear a familiar high-pitched giggle.
"My Owl Eyes, how blind you are!"
"Summerray?" Timothy whispered, dubious.
As he lifted a fern branch to see her more clearly, Timothy jumped as his nose bumped into Summerray's. She laughed at him heartily, her outlined body as fuzzy as the plants around him.
"How blind you are, my Owl Eyes." She whispered when her laughter died.
"How…?" Timothy started, rubbing his nose, but Summerray closed her eyes and shook her head.
"You are not looking. Things will be worse for you if you don't." she whispered seriously.
"What do you…?" He started again, but she suddenly laughed again and with a flash, disappeared from sight.
Timothy pried through the bush to see where she had gone, but something large fell on his shoulder… something unnaturally warm.
"Odd creatures, the natives, 'em?"
He slowly, carefully, looked over his shoulder and saw a very tall man.
Unlike Summerray, who had appeared normal however fuzzy on the outlines like everything else, this man seemed translucent. While he could see professional wizarding robes in their original dark blue and khaki color, the man was glowing a gold shimmer that was unearthly, but beautiful.
"She's right, though." The man spoke again, his voice youthful and wise at the same time. He sounded far away, almost.
"R-right about… what?" Timothy gasped, not knowing how to perceive this stranger, who didn't feel strange at all, but familiar.
"Walk with me, short stuff, let's talk." The man smiled and began to walk further down the trail, leaving Timothy dumbstruck in his spot. The unearthly light that seemed to radiate from this man dimmed as he walked away, and the fuzzy outlined forest now began to disappear. Fearing that he would get swallowed in darkness, Timothy bounded after the man.
He had to run to keep up with the familiar stranger, for the man was so tall, that for each of his steps Timothy had to take two. The scene around him blurred as trees and bushes past by as he continued to follow down the trail. While he expected to hear the wind blowing, animals, and the crunching of the footfalls they were making, Timothy heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing. The man was silent, but he gave off a friendly… almost loving aura that Timothy was more bewildered than afraid.
Suddenly, the man stopped, and Timothy ran head on into his back. As he stumbled and nearly fell backward, the man hardly had to turn around for his long muscular arm to grab Timothy's hand and steady him. Timothy looked up at him, eyes wide, as he felt warmth spread through his body at his touch.
"I've got'cha." The man laughed kindly. He pulled Timothy to his side, and looked out in front of him, his face growing slowly serious. Forcing himself to follow his gaze, Timothy gasped.
They were still standing in the forest, but at the edge, and were looking out at a totally new scene. In front of them was a huge room brightly lit by torches along the walls. In the center of the room was a large round table littered with parchment and quills. Around the table sat wizards and witches dressed in auror's robes. They all looked tired and weary, and, with a closer look, Timothy could see his Great Uncle Us sitting next to his parents! At the head of the table, next to his parents, sat Eian Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster. Everyone wore grim faces, his parents more than anyone. A lump formed in Timothy's throat, for he knew the reason.
"I never imagined what my little sister would get involved with… but I always knew that she was capable of anything. Yet, I'm afraid this time…" the man sighed, shaking his head.
Timothy looked up at him and realized who it was with a strange lack of surprise. He frowned and blinked slowly.
"This time both she and my father can't save the world. This time, it's my turn."
The ghostly image of his dead uncle looked down on him with respect and pride.
"What lies ahead is something more than anyone, even your parents, could ever predict. I'm afraid I can't tell you much… and that I can't help like this again… but listen to me, nephew. Use your instincts. When something seems wrong, it most likely is. Telling your friends about your quest wasn't wrong, but only you can help yourself in the end. Looks can be deceiving- both in a good way and a bad. Keep your eyes open. Do you understand?"
Timothy nodded.
"I'm glad you found the diary. It helped me, and it will help you too in ways unexpected." He continued with a smile.
"It already has." Timothy smiled back.
"Remember… when things seem impossible, always try the improbable." The ghostly image of his uncle laughed brightly. "Who ever thought I'd be talking like a scholar! If only your mother could hear me now… but when she dreams, she dreams of times that were. Only once was I able to say goodbye."
"Is this goodbye, too?" Timothy asked quietly.
"It's hello and goodbye… but the ones that we love and admire are never truly gone, as I am. Only just out of your senses… but we're there, by your side, root'n for ya! Like I once heard, 'Death is but the next great adventure', not the end but another beginning."
"Is this all real? It feels like it does." Timothy looked around. The office scene where he had seen his parents at work were gone, even the forest that was not quite clear to begin with started to dissolve as well. Only his uncle remained unchanged, and before long, they were standing in a white void. Timothy wasn't sure how to feel… only confused at all that had happened.
"Someone once asked, 'what is real?' and no one could answer him. Can you answer that question?" his uncle looked at him, and as he did so, he began to dissolve as well.
"Please don't go! I really don't know what to do!" Timothy panicked as he soon found himself alone in the white void.
"Oh, little Timothy, you do know. Just be yourself. Goodbye, and just to let you know, I am so proud and honored that you carry on my name."
The voice faded and Timothy began to feel the void begin to swirl with a violent surge of wind and cold. He shivered and closed his eyes…
… and opened them, finding himself completely uncovered from his bed sheets and his curtains wide open. The window next to his bed was open as well, and the cold wind he had felt in his dream came, in reality, from the outside.
It felt so real… I've never had a dream like that before. Timothy sat up, running everything through his mind. The forest, Summerray, the scene of his parents and the Circle of aurors… and his dead uncle whom he had never met before; they all had meaning, Timothy knew it. They were all trying to tell him the same thing: to get over his denial and accept his destiny. Even before the dream, he thought, John's vision was all about his quest. Summerray, in his dream, told him to "open his eyes" in her own unique way. The ghostly image of his dead uncle came to him to basically do the same thing- convince him that he had to face his fears and just try his best. Was it really his uncle? Or was it just an image of what Timothy thought of him to be?
It was all so overwhelming. Timothy shakily got to his feet, shuffled to the window and closed it. In the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind, one single decision made itself clear:
"If there is one place I know I can start looking, it's here at Hogwarts. The clues at least are somewhere in this castle… and I have a funny feeling that I'll find them when I least expect it." Timothy whispered out loud, crawling back into bed.
He was so exhausted… his mind tired by conflicting thoughts… that sleep soon came up on him again. But not before his ears caught the sound of something sliding along the floor, yet he fell into the realm of sleep once more.
For the next several days, Darian regarded both Timothy and John dispassionately and distantly, obviously upset at them for keeping such a secret from him. John seemed satisfied that Timothy finally told them about the crest, and wasn't the least bit put off at him for not telling anyone. In fact, he was troubled that he did tell, when the images he saw told him not to tell anyone. However, when Timothy explained the bizarrely real dream to him, John became heavily interested.
"To be contacted by a dead person who's not a ghost is simply amazing!" John said as he, Timothy, and Darian were walking to potions later that week. "Professor Peacecraft gave me a book on psychological phenomenon, and there's a small section about just that in there. It's extraordinarily rare, Timothy!"
"It won't happen again, my uncle said so in the dream." Timothy said.
Darian simply pretended not to be interested, walking along side them silently. Timothy had put up with it without protest until then, not blaming him for his behavior, but as he heard Darian breath deeply through his nose in annoyance during the conversation… Timothy stopped dead and whirled in front of Darian's face.
"I'm sorry, OK?! Why can't you understand that I couldn't tell anyone? That I can't tell my parents, or else they'll think I'm mentally ill and keep me home?"
People in the hall began to slow down and stare. John shifted his weight from foot to foot worriedly as he looked around at the growing scene, Timothy and Darian locked in an intense glare.
"Timothy, calm down… people are staring…" he warned.
"You could have always told me! I wouldn't think your were nuts! Friends don't keep secrets." Darian hissed.
Timothy's face hardened, but then as they said nothing more… the crowd silent around them, watching… Timothy's face fell and he looked at Darian helplessly.
"If your own life, your family's life, and even the lives of everyone on Earth relied on you and you were told not to tell… you would keep it to yourself and no one else too." Timothy whispered.
John grabbed their shoulders and looked at them both severely.
"Stop acting stupid, both of you! Everyone is watching! Shut up, now!"
The tardy bell rang, and the crowd of watching students suddenly sprang to life in fear of being late to class. Timothy and Darian didn't move, and John let out a sigh of exasperation. Finally, Darian's face softened and he looked at Timothy with a small friendly smile.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too." Timothy smiled back.
"Good, we're all sorry! And we'll be even more sorry when we loose ten points each for Gryffindor by being late to Visser's class!" John threw up his arms and pulled both of his friends into the potions classroom hastily, all three of them smiling with relations back to normal.
However, their faces fell in union once they saw the rest of the class. Everyone was looking at them, and more pointedly at Timothy. Professor Visser stood before them with a mixture of amusement and scolding, tapping his wand slowly on his shoulder while regarding all three of them.
"Love life more important than your potions class, 'eh?" The large Russian teacher inquired, while the rest of the class snickered quietly. The Slytherins were beside themselves in glee at the confused and scared faces that Timothy, Darian, and John were wearing- even the Gryffindors stifled smiles.
"E-excuse me, s-sir?" Timothy squeaked, totally confused.
"The class tells me that you're having girl problems. As important as that may be for you, Mr. Potter, being on time for my class is the priority." Visser looked to Darian and John. "And you two as well, you can stop fighting over female territory. Really now, second years fighting over the opposite sex as if you were a lot of sixth years. You're too young! Now, go sit down before I no longer consider this a warning and deduct points."
All three of them exchanged wide-eyed glances as they shuffled to their desks. Everyone was snickering now, and Timothy couldn't remember ever feeling more embarrassed. Darian was glaring at everyone angrily, appalled that those of their own house would go against them. John was all red and quiet, preferring not to look at anyone.
It took a moment after the three of them sat down for the class to return to normal as Visser gave out instructions on the specific potion they were starting that day. Timothy got out his ingredients quietly, growing steadily angry toward Luna.
Why did I have to be so stupid and talk to her? I should of left her in the alcove and walked out separately. Everyone still thinks that we have crushes on each other! And now they must think that Darian and I were fighting over her! He slammed his scales a little too hard on the desk.
Darian was a little more outward about his feelings, mumbling something like: "All that stupid girl's fault! She's spreading rumors! Why I let you talk to her… why I oughta…" All while throwing spiders' legs and unicorn hoof shavings into his cauldron. John was the only one who looked calm, his gaze contemplating some mental conversation as he dropped his own ingredients into his cauldron.
When the bell rang and they filed out of class, people continued to stare as they made their way outside for Herbology. Timothy dreaded every step, for they shared the class with the Hufflepuffs, and Luna was one of them.
"Don't let me see her," Darian growled as they walked toward the greenhouses. "I just might hex her into a warthog."
"Just ignore it," John sighed. "If we do, people will just let it go and forget about it. Besides, you don't know enough magic to hex anything into a warthog just yet."
Darian and Timothy nodded, just as Bran and Ben walked by ahead of them.
"Oh hey, Timothy! Going to invite your girlfriend to the team try-outs?" Bran laughed.
Timothy scowled and John grabbed his shoulder as he began to take out his wand.
"They're still upset at us for locking them out of the dorm. Let them blow off their immature steam and they'll come apologizing later, you'll see." John muttered, but he glared at them just as well.
Darian was beside himself.
"Just wait until I get my hands on their pillows. We'll just see how funny they think this all is after they find their heads on top of spiders in the middle of the night!"
"Cool it, Darian. John's right. Let's just wait for the try-outs and we'll blow them out of the sky." Timothy smiled mischievously.
"That's not exactly what I meant…" John said slowly.
When they filed into the greenhouse, it was the Hufflepuffs' turn to stare and giggle. Timothy didn't trust himself to look for Luna as he got to his table with Darian and John beside him, he was afraid he'd try to hex her anyway. Professor Zan gave out the assignments then persisted to make his rounds as everyone began to work. Timothy, Darian, and John worked silently, looking at each other every now and then with rolling eyes. People whispered their names often, but they ignored it, becoming more intent on their work in an effort to block it all out. At one point, the whispering and giggling became louder, and just as Timothy slammed the polka-dotted plant they were working on into a planter, someone tapped his shoulder.
"What?!" He shouted, making everyone fall silent instantly. Timothy's face blanched and flushed, as he looked at who it was that had tapped his shoulder. It was a tall girl he did not recognize, she must have been a Hufflepuff. She was trying very hard not to smile as she silently handed him a folded piece of parchment. When he slowly took it from her, looking around him with a dangerous glance should anyone say anything, the girl turned on her heel and walked away.
"What's the matter? Get to work!" Professor Zan snapped, and everyone began to mutter and work again.
"What is it?" Darian whispered into his ear as he helped him put potting soil in the planter.
"I highly suggest, Timothy, that you don't open it here. Put it away." John muttered, looking around them as people stole curious glances.
"Yeah," Timothy slipped the note into his robe pocket. "We need to find a place private to talk later anyway."
To his relief, and notably to John's and Darian's as well, they did not see Luna at all. They continued to ignore everyone as they left class for lunch and decided to grab a quick sandwich and take them up to the common room. Fortunately, the common room was empty, and Timothy asked Hagrid to yell if anyone should come. While the portrait of Hagrid was suspicious, he agreed. When the entrance swung closed, Darian exploded.
"I swear! The nerve of people! They think that that little tiff we had out in the hallway before potions was over Luna! Now, not only do they think Timothy has a crush on her, they think John and me do as well!
"Shush!" John hissed, sitting down in an armchair. "Yes, Darian, that is what it appears. Like I said, give it time and it will all blow over. If you show you're upset about it, it will only reinforce their suspicions."
Timothy sat down across from John, taking out the note.
"We didn't really finish the discussion we had a few nights ago about my family crest and the visions." He looked pointedly at Darian, emphasizing that it was his anger toward them that prevented any earlier talks. He blushed, but said nothing.
"I dunno, Timothy," John sighed. "I don't think there is much that we can do about it. I can ask Peacecraft, but you said you couldn't tell anyone. This stays between the three of us."
"Well, right now, I'm more interested in that note you got." Darian pointed at Timothy's robe pocket. Timothy took it out and held it in the firelight that came from the mantle.
"It's from Luna." John said.
"No, really, you think?" Darian rolled his eyes at him with a sarcastic tone.
"Guys…" Timothy chided, unfolding the note. The three of them leaned in as Timothy read the scribbled handwriting:
This is not my fault. So don't be mad at me.
Luna
"That's it? That's all she wrote? Of course it's her fault! I expected a memo of apology!" Darian snorted.
"But it isn't her fault." John leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, yes it is! Don't you remember? She practically fainted every time she looked at Timothy last year. Before that thing with Smith, she worshipped his very name! This is all her doing, she has a crush!" Darian paced the room.
Timothy re-folded the note, then decided to throw it into the fire. He did so, and watched as the paper crumpled into ashes.
"I believe her, but that doesn't make me any less annoyed. The less I see her the better." Timothy muttered.
"How do you she's not prompting all this?" Darian asked him severely. Timothy countered his expression.
"She's changed, Darian. Think about it. She's no longer the groveling little girl from last year. Now's she's just a lost little girl, with a great hurt inside… her parents were murdered and she almost was as well. In a way, she was responsible, because obviously it was Malfoy's doing and he was punishing her family for the failure in capturing me. Now she lives with a grandmother who hates her guts. I don't like her any more than you do, but I don't think she's spreading around rumors and I don't think she feels that way… at least not anymore. Let's drop this now, OK? I have more important things to worry about than girls."
John and Darian looked at him, stunned. Timothy blushed slightly and looked away, surprised at himself for defending Luna like that. He didn't even realize that, in a way, he still felt guilty and sorry for her… and it angered him even more that he did so.
"Whoa, Timothy, I think you're hanging around John too much. You sound so… so… dramatic." Darian whispered in awe.
"Timothy's right," John insisted. "Enough of this Luna business, we have to help him with this crest. I have a feeling he can't ignore it anymore and he needs to find it soon. With my persistent visions and his conversation with his dead uncle," Darian let out a snort. "He needs to find it soon."
They all looked at each other and didn't say anything for a few moments. Timothy wondered if his friends knew just how difficult this task was; that to just "find it" is a lot easier said than done. How on Earth was he supposed to do this while in school? What were the odds that the crest was in the castle? It could be anywhere!
Darian sat down and put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his palms. John stared at the fire, his gaze showing intense thought. Timothy merely watched them both, eager for any suggestion.
"You said that your ancestor was friends with Godric Gryffindor, and that it was him that made the crest to ward off evil, correct?" John asked without taking his eyes off the fire.
"Yes." Timothy answered quietly.
"Well, naturally as you may have already guessed, we should start looking in the castle."
"Where else would we be able to look?" Darian muttered sarcastically.
John blushed slightly but made no comment.
"But where to start?" Timothy mused out loud.
"Check the library. You never know if there is anything written about the crest." John said.
For the first time in a while Timothy saw hope.
"Right! Of course! Perfect!"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not too partial to bookwork." Darian grumbled.
"Oh, quit your bellyaching. You could look up books on Quidditch while we work… need to improve those skills, don't we Darian?" Timothy teased.
Darian glared at them both when John and Timothy began to giggle. He regally got to his feet and marched to the common room exit.
"I'll show you just how good of a research officer I can be," he looked back at them dignified. However, his face fell slightly as he looked toward the spiral staircase leading up to the boys' dormitories. "What's that?"
Timothy and John looked to where he was staring, but couldn't see anything.
"What's what?"
"I don't see anything."
Darian had a suspicious expression, but he shrugged and turned to open the portrait hole. Slightly puzzled, Timothy and John followed.
To their frustration, the bell rang signaling afternoon classes rang before they reached the library, and they had to re-plan to visit after school. Much to their relief, the rest of the day went without little attention over the subject of Luna, and the topic was temporarily forgotten. However, the only thing that bothered Timothy was the constant chatter over Quidditch try-outs, and how people were practicing in their free time to prepare.
"Let's think about this, Timothy," Darian said as they walked to dinner at the end of the day. "Is this… this… assignment you have so important that it needs to be taken care of now, or can you just put it aside for a week or two until after the Quidditch try-outs?"
"Darian…" John started, but Darian persisted.
"I mean, we need the practice if we have hopes of beating practically the entire house, you know? Of course you shouldn't be worried about making it, you're very good, but even the greats have to practice every once and a while."
Before Timothy could say anything and John could object further, a sneering voice broke out over them from behind.
"Think you're too good to practice now, are you?"
Slowly, the three of them turned around to look at Carla Haughton, flanked by her equally sneering brother, Sean.
"What would you know, Haughton?" Darian growled. "You wouldn't be able to play Quidditch if you're life depended on it."
Carla crossed her arms and scowled.
"Going to spell-o-tape yourself to Potter there, Hall? They say two airheads fly better than one, you know."
"Oh, don't you have anything better to do than to berate people?" John rolled his eyes impatiently.
Carla smiled and laughed through her nose, stopping a moment to elbow her brother to join her when she noticed he was staring at a suit of armor instead.
"As a matter of fact, I do. I'd say I'm using my time wisely by practicing, wouldn't you agree? Oh, sorry, that's right… you're too good to practice for the try-outs."
Timothy felt sick as she brushed past them mockingly.
"You're trying out for the Slytherin team?" Timothy blurted out stupidly.
Carla turned back and smiled crudely at them.
"That would be my house, now wouldn't it?"
Timothy moaned to himself at the thought of competing against her in a game should he make his own team. Darian opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't get it out. John simply stared without emotion.
Carla laughed, grabbing her brother roughly and pushing him ahead of her into the Great Hall. Before they got her completely out of their sight when they sat down at the Gryffindor table, she called out,
"Better not fly into the scout, wouldn't want to disgrace the all-mighty Gryffindors!"
"Scout?" Both Timothy and Darian said aloud. Bran, who was sitting across from them, nodded as he loaded his plate.
"Yep, haven't you heard? A talent scout is coming to Hogwarts the day of the try-outs to get a figure on how well the teams are gonna be this year."
"Talent scout!" Darian got excited, forgetting the earlier hostility between them and Bran, along with the rest of their dorm mates. "From where? The professionals?"
"Dunno," Bran mused as he chewed his dinner. "All I heard that it was a talent scout."
"Well in that case, we should do some practicing." Timothy began to grow excited.
"Would be wise," Bran looked at him, before turning slightly pink. "Er… sorry about earlier. It was stupid of me, the others feel the same too."
"No problem," Timothy smiled, eager to get back on friendly terms. "Are you going to be with the team at try-outs?"
"Of course. I'm one of the team, I get to help with the decision." Bran smiled back.
"Well, just be sure to judge fairly this year." Darian mumbled.
"It wasn't my fault…" Bran started, beginning to frown.
"Oh wow, look at the time. Hey, Timothy, Darian, we should get started on that paper that's due in the library right now." John said loudly, getting to his feet before another argument could break out.
"Erm, yeah… right." Timothy followed him, grabbing Darian's arm before he could say anything. Bran simply blinked and shrugged, continuing to eat.
"But, John, I'm still hungry!" Darian whined as they searched the enormous shelves of the library ten minutes later.
"Oh, shut up, Darian." Timothy and John said in union.
"We oughta be practicing right now, Timothy." Darian grumbled a moment afterward as they began to pull huge volumes of history texts from the shelves.
"Later…" Timothy muttered absentmindedly as he found a table and sat down, fingering through pages.
"John, this is your fault." Darian pointed a severe finger at John as he pulled a distinctly moldy smelling book entitled Ancient Quests & How to Solve Them.
"You fail to realize the severity of this situation, Darian, which is not surprising since it doesn't concern your sports life." John said airily.
"How hard could it be to find-?"
"Shhhh!" Timothy and John snapped at him.
"Darian, shut your trap and help us!" Timothy hissed.
Reluctantly and looking very put off, Darian snatched a book from John's pile and started flipping through.
"What exactly is it that I'm looking for?"
"Don't act stupid," John muttered. "Just look for 'Potter' and 'crest'." He whispered the last few words carefully.
For an hour they searched. Timothy came upon countless articles about his father and the first falling of Lord Voldemort when he was a baby, to when his parents caused his final demise. There was even a page in which they showed his parents with himself at eight years old and his sister at three. His parents were proudly wearing their medals bearing the Order of Merlin, First Class. Timothy stopped and stared at the moving photo; his parents beaming shyly, his sister cooing in their mother's arms and himself looking innocently up at the medals his parents wore. He could remember when they had gotten home that day and he watched as his father placed their medals in a hutch that kept their most precious keepsakes in the sitting room.
"Dad?" he had said, standing on his toes to watch his father put the medals on a glass shelf. "Did your parents ever get this much medals?"
Timothy could remember his father's face, and before then he couldn't remember his father ever crying, but there was a tear in the corner of his eye as he shook his head slowly.
"I don't know, I've never asked."
Concerned at his father, Timothy gently hung on to his arm.
"Did they get the Merlin medal too, do you know?"
Timothy remembered how long it seemed for his father to answer, and when he finally looked at him with a sad smile, Timothy knew that he missed his own parents- and that only made Timothy more grateful that he had his own.
"In a way, they did, Timothy. If they didn't have one then, they have one now."
The memory hung around in Timothy's mind as he continued to flip the pages of the history book. Both John and Darian were silent, now intent on the search. However, when three hours had passed, they came up empty.
"I have learned more about your family than maybe you even know, Timothy… but I found nothing on what it is we're looking for." Darian pushed the last book in his pile away and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm afraid I had no luck either." John sighed, closing his book.
"Maybe we're just not looking in the right books." Timothy yawned.
"Oh, c'mon, these books contain the entire history of the world, it seems!" Darian exclaimed.
"Let's call it a night, guys. We've done enough for one day." John got up and began to gather all the books to put away. Somewhat reluctantly and disappointed, Timothy helped him and Darian joined in soon after.
In the two weeks leading up to the 29th of September, they hadn't returned to the library. Instead, Darian was insistent that he and Timothy train for the Quidditch try-outs. It was now more important than ever to do their best, with the talent scout coming and all. John was not pleased, trying to convince Timothy that his quest was top priority and that they should be doing all they could at that time to solve the problem. But Darian's encouraging words of Quidditch glory won him over, and he found himself flying with his Dragonsfire 800 and Darian over the grounds after school hours. John soon gave up on them and spent his time while they practiced with Professor Peacecraft.
On the morning of the 29th, Timothy could hardly contain his excitement. His parents, especially his father, would no doubt be immensely proud of him if he should make the team. So confident he was that he was going to make it, Timothy decided to send Windstone with an early letter to tell them just how much he had prepared for that day. The whole of Gryffindor was buzzing and alive with equal excitement, and Darian had a hard time keeping himself back at not challenging others in their faces over who was going to make it.
It was hard for everyone to keep still that day during classes. The try-outs were scheduled separately for each house, and Gryffindor ended up being scheduled last because Walters slept in too late and was last to sign the house up.
"How that idiot got elected team captain is a question the human race may never know." Darian muttered in exasperation.
"We can't see him like that if we're going to be under his command, Darian. It'll take the fun out of the game." Timothy reminded him.
"Thank you, oh great wise one, you have opened my eyes and I feel my attitude changing with your words of wisdom." Darian cried sarcastically.
"If you two are finished, we have transfiguration to go through now." John rolled his eyes.
Professor Miller was all too aware of the excitement in the air surrounding the try-outs, and gave them little work to do. In Professor Visser's class, those trying out for Slytherin were called, and Carla sneered at Timothy as she left the room. Her brother wasn't trying out, but somehow he had managed to be allowed to go watch. Darian growled under his breath that Carla would catch a headwind and get blown out of the country. As wonderful a thought that it was, Timothy dreaded that it would be just his luck that Carla made the Slytherin team.
It wasn't until the last class for that day, Defense Against Dark Creatures, that Gryffindor was finally called. Lupin gave Timothy an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he left with nearly every other Gryffindor in the class.
"Just be yourself." Lupin whispered in his ear and he gave him a warm smile as the group left the classroom.
Afraid that he was going to fall over with excitement and nerves, Timothy got his broom with the other second years from his dorm room and followed everyone outside with Darian practically bouncing on his heels beside him.
"Thank God dad got me a new broom," Darian said breathlessly, holding up his brand new broom labeled Starshooter on the handle. "This year is going to be a lot different!"
Timothy held his Dragonsfire 800 close to him, remembering the endless times he had played with his father, pretending to be professional players in the Quidditch World Cup. His father had the chance to play professionally when he graduated Hogwarts, but because of Voldemort and Timothy's mother, he turned it down. Timothy was determined to live up to him this much by making the team this year.
When they reached the Quidditch pitch, the whole of Gryffindor house seemed to be there. People lined up along the field while Timothy could see the current team members analyzing each person. Growing steadily more nervous, surprised even since he had already gone through a try-out session the previous year, Timothy and Darian fell into the line. When everyone was in place, the adults addressed the potential players.
"Welcome to this year's Quidditch try-outs." Professor Miller announced, for he was head of Gryffindor. "I hope that all of you will play fairly and honestly. While I'm sure each of you are fine flyers and players, only two people today will make the team. Whatever the outcome, I hope that you'll support your house like true Gryffindors!"
Everyone erupted into cheers while Professor Mali, the Quidditch coach, stepped forward to have her say. When everyone quieted, her authoritative filled the pitch.
"I hope all of you are aware of the rules! This is how the try-outs will be done. A large number of Quaffles and Bludgers will be up on the field, and each one of you will hit as many Quaffles as you can through the goals while avoiding the Bludgers. There will be two Snitches as well, and if anyone can catch one of them within two hour's time the session will be off. Afterwards, if need be, certain selected individuals will be chosen to be judged separately. Alright then? When I blow my whistle, mount and the session will begin! Ready? Go!"
Timothy sprang to life at the sound of the whistle. He was in the air faster than anyone else, yet closely flanked by Darian. With friendly nods they went their separate ways, Timothy going after a nearby Quaffle and Darian avoiding a Bludger.
There were people everywhere, some flying better than others. Timothy applied all his knowledge of the game and the tips his father had taught him when he was smaller- nothing could break his concentration, not even the family crest. All that he could think of was the scarlet colored balls getting through the golden hoops and the gray Bludgers narrowly missing his head.
After thirty minutes, Timothy had made nineteen goals. Darian was close behind with seventeen, but Timothy couldn't allow his concentration to break with congratulations. He was about to make his twentieth, when something small and gold caught his eye.
There it was, hovering near the grass undiscovered by all the other students preoccupied with making goals with the Quaffles. The golden Snitch with it's beating little white wings was now in Timothy's full view. Remembering his father's stories about the many ways in which he caught the Snitch as Gryffindor's seeker, Timothy tried hard to pretend he hadn't seen it. Instead, he pursued a Quaffle that was low to the ground and, at the last second before he reached the ball, zoomed to the side and caught the Snitch!
Professor Mali's whistle shrilled over the pitch, and everyone began to land. Instantly the air was filled with chatter:
"Who caught it?"
"Where's the Snitch?"
"I think I swallowed a bug."
Timothy struggled to keep the frantically beating Snitch in his hands as Darian nearly flew into him.
"You caught it!" he shouted.
Everyone turned in their direction.
"Timothy Potter has it!"
"No surprise there, his dad was seeker."
Professor Mali made her way through the crowd and beamed down at Timothy.
"Well done! There hasn't been a record like that since your father was here! Congratulations, Timothy."
"Thank you, Professor." Timothy blushed as he handed her the Snitch. Never before had he ever felt more proud of himself.
"Like I said, buddy," Darian whispered in his ear as everyone began to walk toward the bleachers. "Piece of cake!"
The students began to fill the bleachers and sit down for further instructions. Now that everyone had a chance to be seen, unless the team already picked the two new players, selected people would be judged individually to narrow down the choices. Timothy and Darian found empty seats and sat down with the rest as the Gryffindor team, Professor Miller, and Professor Mali positioned themselves in front of the crowd.
"Hey, you know what I just realized?" Darian began.
"What?"
"Where's the talent scout we heard about?"
Timothy blinked and searched the field. The only adults there were Miller and Mali. Unless the talent scout was watching from a secret location, he wasn't there. Then he realized that he didn't even know if the scout was a man or a woman.
"All of you did wonderfully! The team, Professor Miller, and I all watched you carefully. We have put together a list of finalists that we will consider to join the team. Now, please, in a calm and civilized manner, check for your name on the list here on the field." Mali called out. However, the request for a calm and civilized crowd to look at one list was a futile one, for when she had uttered her last word the bleachers began to pour students.
"Let's wait 'till the crowd clears." Timothy suggested, but Darian couldn't wait.
"I have to know! I have to know!"
Timothy shook his head as Darian barreled through people and fought his way to the list. He was surprised at how calm he was and figured Darian would tell him if he was on the list or not. Something inside of him told him that there was no need to worry that he wasn't.
Sure enough, all pink in the face with excitement, Darian fought his way through elated and disappointed students back to Timothy.
"We MADE IT! WE MADE IT!" He lifted Timothy clear off his seat and hugged him. At one point he twirled him around and Timothy's flailing limbs nearly knocked a nearby first year tumbling down the stairs.
"Sorry!" He called out as the boy screamed and cursed.
When the din of voices began to lower, Professor Mali made herself heard once more.
"Those of you who are not on the list, we thank you for trying out and doing your best. Please, at this time, those not listed need to return to the castle. All of you who did make it, please come down to the field."
Nearly the entire crowd began to flow out of the pitch, and Timothy and Darian excitedly made their way back onto the field. When the last person had left, they both were standing next to eight other students. Timothy recognized two fifth year girls by sight. There were three sixth year boys who were grinning at Walters out on the field, obviously thinking they had a better chance since they were friends. Finally, there were two fourth year boys and one fourth year girl at the end of the line. The current team members lined up parallel in front of them, Bran giving Timothy and Darian a small smile. Both Miller and Mali walked up and down the line, inspecting each student.
"When your name is called," Mali announced finally. "You'll have three minutes to mount your broom, launch, and make as many goals with the Quaffles that you can. There will be two Bludgers, just like in an official game, so avoid them. Also, within the three minutes, if you see the Snitch you may catch it. Does everyone understand?"
"Yes!" Came the unanimous reply.
"Alright then. Adobe Carter, you're up!"
One of the sixth year boys leapt onto his broom and zoomed into the air. He seemed to be twice Timothy's size, and he began to pelt Quaffles left and right. However, his bulk was more of a disadvantage, for it was harder for him to maneuver. It was more than obvious, for he had suddenly spotted the Snitch, and bolted after it. Timothy was sure he wouldn't be a good seeker if he chased after the Snitch that way, and he was too large and bulky to be very fast. At the end of the three minutes, he had spent the first minute making 13 points with the Quaffles, and the rest of the time fruitlessly chasing the Snitch, which disappeared before he could catch it.
The group clapped politely as he landed, and Professor Mali called "Harold Harrington" to the sky. Timothy watched the fourth year perform slightly better than his older predecessor, making judgement on if he would be a top choice to be picked. Darian, the whole time, tapped his foot in both nervousness and impatience. He suddenly jumped, however, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey guys, how's it going?"
Timothy turned and smiled to see John. The expression his friend was wearing was puzzling, for it was a mixture of weariness, suspicion, and masked excitement.
"Merlin's beard! You scared the living daylights out of me, Too Tall!" Darian looked faint.
"I'm surprised they let you in." Timothy mentioned, trying to hide his concern over John's expression.
"Got a pass from Peacecraft," John held up a figure of a gargoyle. "She… er, thought I should be here to support you and I agreed."
Timothy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. John had used that tone before, when he knew something. Timothy knew better not to ask, knowing he wouldn't get an answer- at least not right away.
"Thanks," he said anyway. "We're gonna need it."
"Is the competition as tough as they said?" John shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Harold made at futile dive at the Snitch, which flew away before he got close.
"I'll admit, it was scary having to compete with nearly the whole house." Darian said breathlessly, still rubbing his chest to gain back his composure.
"So far, I don't think we have anyone to really worry about." Timothy said, giving his attention back to Harold as he flew down when the whistle blew.
"Darian Hall!" cried Mali.
"That's me!" Darian fumbled with his broom and made a hairy take off, but managed to pull himself together and began to attack the Quaffles. Timothy and John watched with equal tension as Darian quickly made 15 points within a minute and a half. For as long as Timothy had played Quidditch one on one with Darian, he knew that catching the Snitch just wasn't his strongest point. He willed vainly as he watched his friend fly that he wouldn't go after the Snitch- he was too broad shouldered and square to go really fast to catch the elusive ball.
Darian dodged the Bludgers easily, making another five points in 30 seconds. Timothy could just see his broadly smiling and confident face as he made another spectacular goal.
Good, Timothy thought, just don't catch the Snitch! Ignore it! Don't catch the Snitch!
But much to his despair, he saw Darian stop his broom so suddenly he nearly fell over face first. Timothy searched the field and saw the golden Snitch hovering just under on of the golden hoop goal posts.
"No!" Timothy cried, hearing another person yell the same cry and realized John had noticed too.
It was useless, Darian couldn't hear them. Using a technique that Timothy commonly used having been taught by his father, Darian flattened himself out on his broom and flew at top speed toward the tiny golden ball. Timothy groaned, hoping that this observed trick would help Darian. It even seemed like he was going to make it, and Timothy grabbed John's arm as he strained his eyes to see across the field through his glasses. They both held their breaths as Darian got closer and closer… nearly there.
"He's gonna do it!" Timothy whispered loudly.
"I dunno…" John's voice doubted.
"No, no, it really looks like it!"
"He's going too fast!"
"Slow down, Darian, slow down!" Timothy cried, realizing John was right.
"He's gonna hit-!"
BAAAAAAAANNNNNNNGGGGGGG!
"-the goal post."
Horrified, Timothy and John cringed as Darian missed the Snitch at the last moment and couldn't slow down, flying headlong into the goal post near the base.
There was a unanimous "Oooooh!" and painful expressions from the other students, and both Miller and Mali mounted brooms and flew across to Darian who was lying dazedly in the grass. Timothy didn't hesitate to mount his own broom to go to him, and turned to John to offer him a lift. But John shook his head quickly, and Timothy remembered with an embarrassed nod that John was allergic to brooms. But before Timothy could turn around to leave, Mali and Miller had already returned with Darian clinging to Miller's back on his broom with a far off look.
"Darian! Are you alright?" Timothy helped Darian half-climb, half-fall from Miller's broom.
"I'd like to buy a vowel!" Darian swooned on his feet, Timothy jumping off his own broom to help him stand.
"What did he mean by that?" Timothy whispered concernedly at John, who shrugged back at him, clueless.
"He'll be alright, he just bumped his head, that's all." Mali reassured them as he handed John Darian's broom, in which John gave a short sneeze. "Bless you."
"Eh… thank you." John muttered, hastily placing the broom on a bleacher with a disgusted look.
"Just as well, he should go see his mother in the hospital wing." Miller advised.
"Oh, but mom, I don't want to eat the pink elephant!" Darian cried out suddenly.
Everyone blinked at him and stared.
"I'll take him." Timothy made up his mind, putting an arm around Darian when he began to stumble again.
"But, Timothy, what about the try-outs? You'll miss your turn!" Bran called out when the team had assembled closer to see what was going on.
Timothy glanced at John, expecting him to offer, but he said nothing. The look in his eyes gave him a strange feeling that John wanted this all to happen, and that Timothy should take Darian to the hospital wing. When Darian began to mumble something about "is that your final answer?" Timothy couldn't let one of his best friends down. He'd just let the rest of the group go ahead of him while he quickly took Darian to see his mother. Certainly he'd make it back in time.
"Oh, but I have already chosen the two new players." Came a smooth, strangely accented voice.
Everyone turned around to see a tall, dark haired and beautiful woman dressed in very fashionable robes coming striding over the grass in her red pumps. There didn't seem to be any visible flaw with this woman; she was simply, perfect. Timothy glanced at his professors for any clue as to who this woman was. Miller's jaw had relaxed fully, and if he wasn't careful, he'd drool. However, Mali's expression was of cool indifference. The tough Quidditch coach crossed her arms and tapped her wand on her side.
"With all due respect, Ms. Tuvok, the current team members have the vote as to who will be admitted to the team."
Timothy gasped in realization that this woman named Tuvok was, in fact, the Quidditch talent scout! Never would he have guessed that his dressed up aristocrat would spend her career outside for a sport!
"The players I have chosen, I'm sure your players will greatly consider, Professor Mali." Her accent was Russian, Timothy recognized.
"Oh?" Mali furrowed her brow.
"Dear Mr. Walters, come forward please." Tuvok turned to the sixth year captain. His eyes were wide and that of an obedient dog, looking up at her eagerly. Timothy had to keep from laughing at the older boy's expression, and looked at everyone else. The rest of the students trying out had a mix of wonder, suspicion, and awe. Then Timothy glanced at John, and his expression made Timothy do a double take.
John's eyes were narrowed almost to slits, directed at Tuvok. He was frowning in what was almost a scowl. Timothy looked all around to see if he was mistaken that John was looking at Tuvok, but there was no doubt he was.
"John, what's wrong?" Timothy whispered.
John didn't seem to hear, didn't notice him at all. Timothy was about to ask again, when Tuvok's voice spoke loudly.
"Of all who stand here, in your honest opinion as captain, tell us who you think would be valuable additions to your team."
It looked difficult for Walters to tear his gaze away from the beautiful woman's face, but he looked anyway and stared down each of the possible players.
"So far, Harrington, most likely. But Potter is my first choice."
Timothy wasn't surprised at Walters' response, and the interested look Tuvok gave seemed forced.
"And why do you say Mr. Potter, when he hasn't performed individually yet?" She asked him smoothly.
"He's the best I've seen, and his father was a legend at Hogwarts." Walters was staring back at Tuvok again.
The rest of the group shuffled their feet and grumbled discontentedly, glaring at Timothy out of the corner of their eyes. He paid them no mind, still holding on to a reeling Darian and watching the talent scout carefully.
"I agree fully with you, Mr. Walters. Mr. Potter is indeed the wisest choice, and one of mine. Now, what about the second and last player? Is Harrington your second choice?" Tuvok gave him a mesmerizing smile.
"Yeah," Walters sighed dreamily. "Ma'am." He added a moment after.
"On this choice, my boy, I'll have to disagree." Tuvok looked at everyone.
"But Ms. Tuvok, he can't make a final decision yet! We haven't seen everyone, and it has to be put to a vote!" spoke up Jane Neeks, one of the chasers.
Tuvok smiled and began to pace in front of everyone. Miller was still stuck in his male stupor and Mali continued to glare at the imposing female, it seemed. All the other possible players had begun to grow fearful that the choice was already made and that they hadn't made it. John was still glowering at the woman as if she were dangerous, and Timothy could only stare bewildered as he held on to Darian's arm.
"You fail to see what makes the most valuable player. The one who risks everything against the odds to win. I saw one candidate demonstrate this trait in it's entirety, and I'm quite disappointed that you have overlooked him." Tuvok said, her pace slowing down until she stopped in front of Timothy. No… in front of Darian.
"Darian Hall?" Walters seemed to snap out of his daze. "But… but he flew into the goal post! I mean, look at him! He's delirious!"
"Price check on prune juice, Bob, price check on prune juice!" Darian sputtered. Timothy blushed, embarrassed for him and yet completely surprised at the same time that Tuvok would choose him after what had just happened!
"All for the sake of the win, Mr. Walters. He was willing to go all out to catch the prized Snitch, even though he must of known he wouldn't be able to do it. But he tried anyway. That, my young captain, is a true team member." Tuvok turned back to the current team members.
"Now, I say you cast a vote now."
The girl players opened their mouths to object, but the three boys nodded.
"All in favor of Potter and Hall, say 'I'!" Walters called out.
Instantly, the three boys raised their hands. The girls exchanged exasperated and dubious looks, but raised their hands anyway. Timothy nearly fell over.
I made it! We made it! I made it on the Gryffindor team!
Tuvok smiled broadly as the remaining candidates groaned loudly and began to leave. Timothy could hardly believe it! Sure, he felt immensely confident that he would get in… but to actually know that he did? And Darian too! For sure, his best friend's unfortunate run-in with the goal post would keep him from the team. But this talent scout saw some sort of promise out of it. They both made it!
"Practice is every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you guys." Walters said to them as the team began to leave. He gave a dreamy glance and nod to Ms. Tuvok, and left himself. Timothy was so shocked with happiness that it took a while to realize that John was tugging at his shoulder.
"Let's go, Timothy, let's go." He said urgently.
Timothy was too caught up in his excited thoughts to react to John's strange dire urge to get away. Perhaps it was just Darian, who stumbled along their strides sloppily, continuing to mutter about pink elephants. When they reached the exit, Timothy got his mind long enough to turn and thank Tuvok, but when he did… she was gone. Mali had dragged Miller out of the pitch with the rest of the students long before, so the field was empty.
"This is the happiest day of my life!" Timothy sighed contently as they walked toward the castle.
"Timothy, I beg to differ." John said distantly, and didn't expand on his meaning.
"Oh say, can you see! By the dawn's early light…!" Darian began to cry.
"Darian, you're not an American." John hissed.
"Oh… right." It was the first competent thing Darian said since the accident.
"Nothing could make this day more great!" Timothy sighed, obliviously.
"You're right," John muttered. "'Cause it's definitely not going to get better after I tell you…"
"Tell me what?" Timothy snapped out of his bliss at John's rarely vain tone.
"O' Canada! O' Canada!"
"Darian! SHUT UP!"
A/N: I'm sorry if the beginning was confusing and if ending was too rushed. In the beginning, I sorta got bored and moved on to what I wanted to write- and the end happened the same way. ::blushes and shrugs:: School has a passion to want to kill me, social life claims more time than I ever imagined, and energy just doesn't seem to want to come to me. ::sigh:: Well, make life a little happier and REVIEW! Paahhhleeeeaaaassseee? Not that I'm begging or anything...::thinks a moment:: OK, maybe I am.
See a newly updated reading list and a new drawing at Renee's site!
HTTP://WWW.THEWORLDOFRENEEPOTTER.DISNEYFANSITES.COM
I update it as much as possible, so if authoralerts don't work, check the site for I always update it with news on the chapters.
What does the future hold? Will Darian snap back to reality? What is John's issue with the seductive Quidditch talent scout? Why did she pick DARIAN, any how? Does this have anything to do with... dun dun dunnnn... Timothy's quest?! I'll tell ya this much... yeah. ::evil giggle:: You'll never guess what happens! I promise a wonderful literary surprise! It all begins with CHAPTER 7! ::dramatic music plays & thunder claps::
~OrcaPotter