Title: The Dragon's Circle
Author: Willow
Status: Work in progress
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any relating character, place, spell, or idea. They belong to J. K. Rowling. I am not making any money off this.
*****
"Out of life's school of war: What does not destroy me, makes me stronger." -Friedrich Nietzsche
*****
Interlude I: Requiem
"Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. James Potter. And myself. The four of us." Peter Pettigrew murmured to himself in the corner of the dusty room. "Together, we thought we were unstoppable. Our idealism. Our righteousness. We were naive. Such puerile conceptions showed our young age."
Across the floor, he started to pace. Week old stubble adorned his pallid face.
Peter continued as his voice grew steadily stronger. "That was the sum of our friendship; that was the total of our whole." He stopped pacing and stared at the crack in the wall. "But with a quarter of the whole missing, the total is incomplete...I'm incomplete..."
"We were inseparable at Hogwarts." He said, "They were the people I turned to. Who turned to me. We would have done anything for one another. Die for each other. But people change. I changed. 'Time waits for no one' and all that rot."
"We drifted apart after graduation. Nobody, including myself, had any time to spend with the others. We had new friends and loved ones. We had blossoming families and flourishing jobs. Every member of our quartet evolved past his adolescent fantasy of grown-up life. He each had his own realization of adulthood and the responsibilities that it requires." He sighed. All he had now was this austere room, a table holding his wand, and a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka.
"Poor James, I guess it was for the best. Such situations always look bleak. But, there is a bright side. I just haven't found it yet."
His world exploded in fire.
*****
Blistering air radiated from the building, wilting the nearby vegetation. Gritty, black smoke poured from the cracks in the roof. Flames leaped through jagged glass jutting from window panes like fire escaping out a dragon's mouth.
Sirens wailed in the background.
Sirius Black regarded the remnants of Peter Pettigrew's house with mounting trepidation. He raced inside the burning building hoping to find his friend. He couldn't stand to lose another.
*****
Chapter Three: Oblivion
*****
James Potter sat morosely while Harry slept in the elderly Potions Professor's arms. She rocked him, alternately cooing at the baby and worrying about James.
Viola Obduraten was distressed over James. 'That poor dear,' she thought to herself, 'losing his wife like that... Makes a girl want to cry.'
"Minerva asked me to contact your friends. I was unable to find Remus or Peter, but I've located Sirius. He said he'll 'round up the other two.' Don't worry about them. I am sure they're fine." To fill the silence permeating the room the older woman continued, "What do you suppose the conference will be about? I know it will relate to that dreadful occurrence yesterday...do you think You-Know-Who did it? I wonder why he would?" James continued with his dour quiet.
"Dearie, I know you're upset, and I understand why. But moping isn't going to help. I'll have the house-elves send us a nice stew. That'll be fine and filling."
"Damn the stew! My wife is dead." James ranted. "She's dead. She's never coming back. Lily is not coming back! Do you understand? She's dead. Lily..." He trailed off.
Viola set little Harry in his nearby bassinet. "I understand, James. Truthfully, I do. Death visits everyone. I'm old. I've seen my share of death, and living with that knowledge is never easy." She paused, trying to judge if her words were having any effect on him. "James, you're right. Lily is dead. Listen." She said sternly, making eye-contact as she spoke. "Listen to me! You're alive. Harry's alive. You have friends who love you, and worry about you. Mourn her loss. She deserves that, but don't let your grief to cloud your senses. Harry needs his father." Her features soften. "She loved you, you know. And him." She looked at the sleeping infant. "Remember that, and her death, though lost senselessly, will have meaning." Silence. "How about some stew. I'll summon the house-elves." She stood up and walked out of the room.
James sat contemplating.
*****
Alone in the corridors, Dumbledore had only his suspicions. "Hopefully," he thought, "they are incorrect." He strode briskly to his office.
Once there, he made his way to a nondescript cabinet. He tapped his wand to the wood and murmured a spell. A hazy-yellow light shot from the wand and enveloped the cabinet.
The wood creaked and began to stretch. Drawers fused together, leaving one solid, oak plank. It's knobs surged together into a single, tarnished-silver handle. Swelling until it reached man-sized proportions, the cabinet was now a grand doorway. Dumbledore straightened his shoulders and pulled at the handle. He opened the door and entered his private library.
The aromatic smell of old parchment and leather lingered on the dry air. Tall bookcases, littered with tomes, lined the room. In front, a flame crackled in the fireplace. Near that, a worn chair rested next to a candle- laden table. Passing a myriad of ancient parchment sat upon thick, oak shelves, he neared the section he searched for.
He meandered through the towering cases until he reached his destination. A heap of decrepit books stacked forlornly on a buckling desk.
"The answer may reside in here," Dumbledore murmured to himself as he pulled a dusty volume from it's niche. He ran a finger down the leather spine and read the peeling, golden letters; Life on a Line: A Dissertation on Inexplicable Phenomena. He slowly made his way to his office for a night of reading.
*****
Motes of dust danced in the waning glow of the lit candelabra. It's flickering light cast shadows over the mahogany furniture, the lush carpet, and the priceless artwork which decorated the walls. A specter standing vigil over his fallen victim; Voldemort contemplated the pale man laying on the ground. He then looked at the wand in his hand.
"Every man's mind is protected, to some extent." He began. "For most untrained individuals, the barrier defending their thoughts are flawed. Through those 'fissures' one can visit their memories and traipse through their thoughts." Voldemort lectured as he stepped by Snape's body on the way to the desk in the corner.
"But their are those who can seal their fissures. Fortifying them until the mind has an almost impenetrable shield. I can't pry this information from a steeled mind without the use of a honed force...Crucio! But, force I have."
Snape started twitching on the floor.
Voldemort picked up a quill from the desk. "And, even the most tempered metal snaps under pressure." He ruffled the plume. "Your shields are strong. Too strong for a novice. What other secrets are you hiding?" Voldemort set down his quill. He then waved his wand, stopping his curse. "Snape. I can easily break your shields." Voldemort said, almost sounding reasonable. Inwardly, he was seething. "I will, if you do not abide by my order. Tell me."
Snape pulled himself to a sitting position.
"Your problem is..." He trailed off. "Your problem is that you perceive, mistakenly, that you are superior." Snape croaked out, almost conversationally. "Did you actually believe you can decipher someone's thoughts with a simple probe?" Snape shook his head in mock surprise. "Are you that delusional? Little effort was needed to mask my motives and fool you. I was playing turncoat the entire time." Snape said, condescendingly. "By your own arrogance, you damned your operations. My Lord." He said the last two words like they left a vulgar taste in his mouth.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He realized Snape was trying to bait him. Snape wanted him to lose his temper, and Snape knew the consequence for such insolence, death. Snape, through his bravado, wanted to die. He was protecting something.
"You haven't answered my questions." Voldemort said.
Snape said nothing, his silence spoke for itself.
"Very well." Voldemort said with finality. "Crucio!"
"Pain works best, you understand. It motivates even the toughest man to betray his truest thoughts. With pain though...You have to be cautious with pain." He looked at the tortured form and stopped his curse. "I may have been too...enthusiastic in dealing with you." An idea struck the Dark Lord's mind. Voldemort's eyes closed. Pointing at Snape, his wand twisting into complex patterns. "Snoit pecrep, derugif sid." He muttered. A silver mist leaked out of the wand and encompassed Snape's body. Slowly, the mist drew together as a cloud and covered Snape's head.
Voldemort's wand flowed up, down, left, and right. Swirls and flicks accentuated the delicate weaving of the spell. "Y'Tinasni selur." The amorphous cloud funneled into the orifices of Snape's head. His spell finished, Voldemort tiredly lowered his wand. "You know Severus, some of the more persuading tortures are not physical in nature." He smiled and left the room. The door clanging shut behind him.
*****
Snape's mind raved. He was desperate. Malignant thoughts ripped through his spirit and tore at the ravished remains like a ravaging vulture.
Ingredients of hate disintegrated his soul. War. Lechery. Poverty. Depravity. Jealousy. His heart, scorched by desolation, was an ash husk.
Life is a cycle and its rotation leads to death...just by living one must kill. Life needs death to flourish. Be that as it may, no. It is not easy to kill. It is not right to kill. This mantra repeats in his head. It is not right to kill. But some things must be done...
Future and past blend as memories coalesce. Fire burns- purges. Lithe and limber, moving and still, the form lingers on its prey. Death hovers. It destroys what it creates. An embittered figure setting his world ablaze.
He rallied. His mind gathering recollections of nobler qualities, happiness...innocence...fidelity, honor, respect. Joy. Love. Hope. Such toxic little thoughts.
Happiness molds. Love rusts. Hatred abounds. Life is murder, exalted. He felt like he was locked in a crypt and the air was running out. He would smother. His mind snapped. Corruption most grand. Like an unholy phoenix, It rose from the smoldering cinders of a defeated man.
Death lived.
And hope died.
*****
Author: Willow
Status: Work in progress
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any relating character, place, spell, or idea. They belong to J. K. Rowling. I am not making any money off this.
*****
"Out of life's school of war: What does not destroy me, makes me stronger." -Friedrich Nietzsche
*****
Interlude I: Requiem
"Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. James Potter. And myself. The four of us." Peter Pettigrew murmured to himself in the corner of the dusty room. "Together, we thought we were unstoppable. Our idealism. Our righteousness. We were naive. Such puerile conceptions showed our young age."
Across the floor, he started to pace. Week old stubble adorned his pallid face.
Peter continued as his voice grew steadily stronger. "That was the sum of our friendship; that was the total of our whole." He stopped pacing and stared at the crack in the wall. "But with a quarter of the whole missing, the total is incomplete...I'm incomplete..."
"We were inseparable at Hogwarts." He said, "They were the people I turned to. Who turned to me. We would have done anything for one another. Die for each other. But people change. I changed. 'Time waits for no one' and all that rot."
"We drifted apart after graduation. Nobody, including myself, had any time to spend with the others. We had new friends and loved ones. We had blossoming families and flourishing jobs. Every member of our quartet evolved past his adolescent fantasy of grown-up life. He each had his own realization of adulthood and the responsibilities that it requires." He sighed. All he had now was this austere room, a table holding his wand, and a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka.
"Poor James, I guess it was for the best. Such situations always look bleak. But, there is a bright side. I just haven't found it yet."
His world exploded in fire.
*****
Blistering air radiated from the building, wilting the nearby vegetation. Gritty, black smoke poured from the cracks in the roof. Flames leaped through jagged glass jutting from window panes like fire escaping out a dragon's mouth.
Sirens wailed in the background.
Sirius Black regarded the remnants of Peter Pettigrew's house with mounting trepidation. He raced inside the burning building hoping to find his friend. He couldn't stand to lose another.
*****
Chapter Three: Oblivion
*****
James Potter sat morosely while Harry slept in the elderly Potions Professor's arms. She rocked him, alternately cooing at the baby and worrying about James.
Viola Obduraten was distressed over James. 'That poor dear,' she thought to herself, 'losing his wife like that... Makes a girl want to cry.'
"Minerva asked me to contact your friends. I was unable to find Remus or Peter, but I've located Sirius. He said he'll 'round up the other two.' Don't worry about them. I am sure they're fine." To fill the silence permeating the room the older woman continued, "What do you suppose the conference will be about? I know it will relate to that dreadful occurrence yesterday...do you think You-Know-Who did it? I wonder why he would?" James continued with his dour quiet.
"Dearie, I know you're upset, and I understand why. But moping isn't going to help. I'll have the house-elves send us a nice stew. That'll be fine and filling."
"Damn the stew! My wife is dead." James ranted. "She's dead. She's never coming back. Lily is not coming back! Do you understand? She's dead. Lily..." He trailed off.
Viola set little Harry in his nearby bassinet. "I understand, James. Truthfully, I do. Death visits everyone. I'm old. I've seen my share of death, and living with that knowledge is never easy." She paused, trying to judge if her words were having any effect on him. "James, you're right. Lily is dead. Listen." She said sternly, making eye-contact as she spoke. "Listen to me! You're alive. Harry's alive. You have friends who love you, and worry about you. Mourn her loss. She deserves that, but don't let your grief to cloud your senses. Harry needs his father." Her features soften. "She loved you, you know. And him." She looked at the sleeping infant. "Remember that, and her death, though lost senselessly, will have meaning." Silence. "How about some stew. I'll summon the house-elves." She stood up and walked out of the room.
James sat contemplating.
*****
Alone in the corridors, Dumbledore had only his suspicions. "Hopefully," he thought, "they are incorrect." He strode briskly to his office.
Once there, he made his way to a nondescript cabinet. He tapped his wand to the wood and murmured a spell. A hazy-yellow light shot from the wand and enveloped the cabinet.
The wood creaked and began to stretch. Drawers fused together, leaving one solid, oak plank. It's knobs surged together into a single, tarnished-silver handle. Swelling until it reached man-sized proportions, the cabinet was now a grand doorway. Dumbledore straightened his shoulders and pulled at the handle. He opened the door and entered his private library.
The aromatic smell of old parchment and leather lingered on the dry air. Tall bookcases, littered with tomes, lined the room. In front, a flame crackled in the fireplace. Near that, a worn chair rested next to a candle- laden table. Passing a myriad of ancient parchment sat upon thick, oak shelves, he neared the section he searched for.
He meandered through the towering cases until he reached his destination. A heap of decrepit books stacked forlornly on a buckling desk.
"The answer may reside in here," Dumbledore murmured to himself as he pulled a dusty volume from it's niche. He ran a finger down the leather spine and read the peeling, golden letters; Life on a Line: A Dissertation on Inexplicable Phenomena. He slowly made his way to his office for a night of reading.
*****
Motes of dust danced in the waning glow of the lit candelabra. It's flickering light cast shadows over the mahogany furniture, the lush carpet, and the priceless artwork which decorated the walls. A specter standing vigil over his fallen victim; Voldemort contemplated the pale man laying on the ground. He then looked at the wand in his hand.
"Every man's mind is protected, to some extent." He began. "For most untrained individuals, the barrier defending their thoughts are flawed. Through those 'fissures' one can visit their memories and traipse through their thoughts." Voldemort lectured as he stepped by Snape's body on the way to the desk in the corner.
"But their are those who can seal their fissures. Fortifying them until the mind has an almost impenetrable shield. I can't pry this information from a steeled mind without the use of a honed force...Crucio! But, force I have."
Snape started twitching on the floor.
Voldemort picked up a quill from the desk. "And, even the most tempered metal snaps under pressure." He ruffled the plume. "Your shields are strong. Too strong for a novice. What other secrets are you hiding?" Voldemort set down his quill. He then waved his wand, stopping his curse. "Snape. I can easily break your shields." Voldemort said, almost sounding reasonable. Inwardly, he was seething. "I will, if you do not abide by my order. Tell me."
Snape pulled himself to a sitting position.
"Your problem is..." He trailed off. "Your problem is that you perceive, mistakenly, that you are superior." Snape croaked out, almost conversationally. "Did you actually believe you can decipher someone's thoughts with a simple probe?" Snape shook his head in mock surprise. "Are you that delusional? Little effort was needed to mask my motives and fool you. I was playing turncoat the entire time." Snape said, condescendingly. "By your own arrogance, you damned your operations. My Lord." He said the last two words like they left a vulgar taste in his mouth.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He realized Snape was trying to bait him. Snape wanted him to lose his temper, and Snape knew the consequence for such insolence, death. Snape, through his bravado, wanted to die. He was protecting something.
"You haven't answered my questions." Voldemort said.
Snape said nothing, his silence spoke for itself.
"Very well." Voldemort said with finality. "Crucio!"
"Pain works best, you understand. It motivates even the toughest man to betray his truest thoughts. With pain though...You have to be cautious with pain." He looked at the tortured form and stopped his curse. "I may have been too...enthusiastic in dealing with you." An idea struck the Dark Lord's mind. Voldemort's eyes closed. Pointing at Snape, his wand twisting into complex patterns. "Snoit pecrep, derugif sid." He muttered. A silver mist leaked out of the wand and encompassed Snape's body. Slowly, the mist drew together as a cloud and covered Snape's head.
Voldemort's wand flowed up, down, left, and right. Swirls and flicks accentuated the delicate weaving of the spell. "Y'Tinasni selur." The amorphous cloud funneled into the orifices of Snape's head. His spell finished, Voldemort tiredly lowered his wand. "You know Severus, some of the more persuading tortures are not physical in nature." He smiled and left the room. The door clanging shut behind him.
*****
Snape's mind raved. He was desperate. Malignant thoughts ripped through his spirit and tore at the ravished remains like a ravaging vulture.
Ingredients of hate disintegrated his soul. War. Lechery. Poverty. Depravity. Jealousy. His heart, scorched by desolation, was an ash husk.
Life is a cycle and its rotation leads to death...just by living one must kill. Life needs death to flourish. Be that as it may, no. It is not easy to kill. It is not right to kill. This mantra repeats in his head. It is not right to kill. But some things must be done...
Future and past blend as memories coalesce. Fire burns- purges. Lithe and limber, moving and still, the form lingers on its prey. Death hovers. It destroys what it creates. An embittered figure setting his world ablaze.
He rallied. His mind gathering recollections of nobler qualities, happiness...innocence...fidelity, honor, respect. Joy. Love. Hope. Such toxic little thoughts.
Happiness molds. Love rusts. Hatred abounds. Life is murder, exalted. He felt like he was locked in a crypt and the air was running out. He would smother. His mind snapped. Corruption most grand. Like an unholy phoenix, It rose from the smoldering cinders of a defeated man.
Death lived.
And hope died.
*****