TITLE: Nihirai
RATING: PG-13 for now
PAIRING: D/H eventually
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is based around my first Harry Potter story Broken. It's going to tell the events up to, during and after Broken, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to have the same ending – this time its going to be happy! You'll find pronunciations and thanks at the end.
SUMMARY: 3000 years ago a prophecy was foretold by one who was reviled because of it. The story passed into legend and thence into myth, until its memory remained only in children's fairy tales and the prophecy was hidden where nobody could find it. But soon they shall be awakened and the breaking of the world shall be upon us – the myth shall know life and an old Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its locations, characters and scenarios belong to J.K.Rowling. Any correlations with the work of somebody else are purely coincidental and I apologise for any insult.
DEDICATION: This is for Merrideth, who was the only one who asked about Harry and Draco's relationship, and who asked to hear the story behind it – thank you for inspiring me to write this!
**************************************************************************** *************
Chapter One: The Beginning
"Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge" – Kahlil Gibran
The sun beat down strong rays on Harry's back, and he could feel his scalp growing hot, the blackness of his hair offering no protection at all. He smiled blissfully as he felt the warmth encompass him as he bent to the flowerbeds, and he started to hum as he engaged himself fully in his task. Aunt Petunia had ordered him to see to the new summer flowers that were just blooming, their petals tender and new, and requiring careful attention. He plunged his fingers into the dark cool soil, feeling the brush of a worm and delighting in the sensation of the roots curling around his fingers.
It had always been this way with him. Gardening felt like he was giving life; he felt good that at least something in this world was not in danger from mere contact with him. He lifted his fingers from the soil and turned to the bag of compost, before stopping with a frown. He could have sworn he felt . . . . something, something to do with the plant roots . . . . were they . . . protesting? He turned back, lips pursed in thought, and reached out to stroke a finger along one of the delicate petals. The response it called forth from somewhere made him gasp and he jumped back, eyes wide. He had felt an . . . . awareness of some kind, a tingling at the back of his mind.
He frowned again, staring at his hand and then at the flower in consternation. Something told him that this wasn't meant to be known by anyone, something deep inside that protested at the very thought. This felt, private, his and his alone; it didn't feel right to tell anyone else about it, not even one of his best friends. Upset, and vaguely disturbed at the knowledge of even more secrets, he turned to look out over the street, taking in the sunlit beauty of the cultured gardens that still didn't feel right to him.
He was greatly looking forward to going to the Burrow this year – the yearning for something that felt like home was stronger than ever, which was confusing, considering the sadness and confusion that awaited him in the Wizarding world. Nevertheless, the fact remained that, no matter how distressing being there was, Hogwarts was home, and most likely always would be.
"Boy! Get on with that gardening! Petunia expects those flowers to be perfect for our visitors tonight!"
Sighing, Harry returned to the flower bed, offering no response. Uncle Vernon didn't like to hear him talk nowadays, and he himself didn't want to, not when there was a possibility of things becoming unpleasant. And he didn't want to spoil this wonderful weather; the sun embracing him from behind as he bent to care for the plants once more.
**************************************************************************** *************
He fell onto the dubious softness of his mattress with a huff, closing his eyes and drifting to the sound of his aunt and uncle entertaining, Aunt Petunia's false laugh ringing up the stairs.
Turning onto his side and digging his fingers into his pillow he reached out, searching for that awareness, but frowned when the feeling eluded him. Instead, he slipped deeper into a trance, trying to find what he was looking for within, a smile hovering about his lips when he felt it, quiescent, but there. It confused him, this new feeling and he really wanted to know what it meant.
He sighed, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to feel it again. No matter how fleeting the contact with it, it had been remarkable, magnificent, and he had felt alive and at peace; a strange connection birthed, filling him with life and . . . . unbelievable sorrow.
He rolled over onto his back, thumping his heels against the mattress in frustration, listening once again to Aunt Petunia's laugh, accompanied this time by Uncle Vernon's and, if he strained hard enough, he could hear dear Cousin Dudley's as well. What fun. Listening to his relatives enjoy themselves was *not* Harry's idea of a fun summer holiday – a typical one, yes, but not a fun one.
The green-eyed boy determinedly closed his eyes, resolved to at least try to sleep, even if he did experience nightmares – he needed the rest, for Aunt Petunia was sure to wake him early in order to do the dishes and any other tasks that she needed done *immediately*. Snorting under his breath, he snuggled deeper into the necessarily thin blanket, his breath slowly deepening as his mind became clouded and fuzzy.
But as he drifted off, his aunt laughed again, and her high teeth- grindingly irritating cackle seemed to echo, fading into his consciousness. It deepened and appeared to come from far away, or more accurately, although he didn't know why he thought this, from long ago. The laugh seemed to branch out in his subconscious, stirring parts of him that he didn't know existed. It sounded triumphant and gleeful, as if it had waited an interminable time for something, and now that something had finally arrived and it was rejoicing.
He sleepily frowned as he fell into an even deeper slumber, his subconscious guiding him into the dream world, where anything was possible, and he found himself wondering dazedly if that something that the laughter had been looking for had anything to do with him . . . .
~*~*~*~
There was nothing. The black void stretched as far as eyes could see and he drifted, empty, voiceless.
A vast patience filled him and he knew that he had to wait here, though it may seem an eternity before what he was waiting for arrived.
Sometimes, he was not alone and the void echoed with the strangest sounds – laughter, of all things, from very far away. At other times, he was filled with promise, with hope and anticipation. Something in him was sure that he would be alright eventually, that the screaming he heard deep down inside where his soul writhed in agony would stop and all would be right again. He wasn't sure, though, what he needed, he just knew that he was yearning and waiting for something.
And he knew that whatever it was he was waiting for was worth an eternity of such pain, an eternity of such emptiness, and that patience would bring its own reward.
The anticipation throbbed within, and caught him up with its eagerness. He waited, and waited, with a terrible patience, for what didn't even know, and he listened to the laughter that circled him sporadically and the song that sometimes accompanied it, that never failed to lift his spirits, it's melody composed of protection and something that was meant to take care of him.
And so he waited . . . . .
~*~*~*~
Harry jerked to a sitting position, his breath sucked in with a gasp of shock, the feeling that had surrounded him in the dream still beating within his chest. He sobbed once, unable to imagine being that patient, waiting that long without complaint for something so wonderful that he could not explain it, and feeling such terrible agony during that wait.
Turning, he stared uncomprehendingly out of the window at the moon, his breathing still in harsh gasps, trying to grasp the scope of the feelings that had embraced him, trying to understand what it all meant, and, when, inevitably, he failed, he succumbed to the fear and the inexplicable sorrow and sobbed out his emotions into his pillow until the dawn rays teased the horizon.
Ahem. Well, what do you think? Go on, have a go at reviewing – its wonderful to hear what my readers' think.
Nihirai: NIH-hih-RYE
Leviathan -- Hey! I'm glad you liked it. And don't worry about the long reviews – its just a peculiar quirk of mine that I have to do so. Hope that this isn't too mysterious. I promise it'll make more sense as we go.
N.U.Washa – I'm happy that it caught your interest; I hope this part catches some more of it!
IBitTheMufinMan – I am so glad that this is that unique in your opinion. I hope it remains that way.
Lost – I have to say, you're not really meant to yet. But thank you for reviewing anyway!
RATING: PG-13 for now
PAIRING: D/H eventually
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is based around my first Harry Potter story Broken. It's going to tell the events up to, during and after Broken, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to have the same ending – this time its going to be happy! You'll find pronunciations and thanks at the end.
SUMMARY: 3000 years ago a prophecy was foretold by one who was reviled because of it. The story passed into legend and thence into myth, until its memory remained only in children's fairy tales and the prophecy was hidden where nobody could find it. But soon they shall be awakened and the breaking of the world shall be upon us – the myth shall know life and an old Seer's laugh shall be heard from the dawn of time, echoed by a terrible, beautiful, triumphant song of protection and love.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and its locations, characters and scenarios belong to J.K.Rowling. Any correlations with the work of somebody else are purely coincidental and I apologise for any insult.
DEDICATION: This is for Merrideth, who was the only one who asked about Harry and Draco's relationship, and who asked to hear the story behind it – thank you for inspiring me to write this!
**************************************************************************** *************
Chapter One: The Beginning
"Perplexity is the beginning of knowledge" – Kahlil Gibran
The sun beat down strong rays on Harry's back, and he could feel his scalp growing hot, the blackness of his hair offering no protection at all. He smiled blissfully as he felt the warmth encompass him as he bent to the flowerbeds, and he started to hum as he engaged himself fully in his task. Aunt Petunia had ordered him to see to the new summer flowers that were just blooming, their petals tender and new, and requiring careful attention. He plunged his fingers into the dark cool soil, feeling the brush of a worm and delighting in the sensation of the roots curling around his fingers.
It had always been this way with him. Gardening felt like he was giving life; he felt good that at least something in this world was not in danger from mere contact with him. He lifted his fingers from the soil and turned to the bag of compost, before stopping with a frown. He could have sworn he felt . . . . something, something to do with the plant roots . . . . were they . . . protesting? He turned back, lips pursed in thought, and reached out to stroke a finger along one of the delicate petals. The response it called forth from somewhere made him gasp and he jumped back, eyes wide. He had felt an . . . . awareness of some kind, a tingling at the back of his mind.
He frowned again, staring at his hand and then at the flower in consternation. Something told him that this wasn't meant to be known by anyone, something deep inside that protested at the very thought. This felt, private, his and his alone; it didn't feel right to tell anyone else about it, not even one of his best friends. Upset, and vaguely disturbed at the knowledge of even more secrets, he turned to look out over the street, taking in the sunlit beauty of the cultured gardens that still didn't feel right to him.
He was greatly looking forward to going to the Burrow this year – the yearning for something that felt like home was stronger than ever, which was confusing, considering the sadness and confusion that awaited him in the Wizarding world. Nevertheless, the fact remained that, no matter how distressing being there was, Hogwarts was home, and most likely always would be.
"Boy! Get on with that gardening! Petunia expects those flowers to be perfect for our visitors tonight!"
Sighing, Harry returned to the flower bed, offering no response. Uncle Vernon didn't like to hear him talk nowadays, and he himself didn't want to, not when there was a possibility of things becoming unpleasant. And he didn't want to spoil this wonderful weather; the sun embracing him from behind as he bent to care for the plants once more.
**************************************************************************** *************
He fell onto the dubious softness of his mattress with a huff, closing his eyes and drifting to the sound of his aunt and uncle entertaining, Aunt Petunia's false laugh ringing up the stairs.
Turning onto his side and digging his fingers into his pillow he reached out, searching for that awareness, but frowned when the feeling eluded him. Instead, he slipped deeper into a trance, trying to find what he was looking for within, a smile hovering about his lips when he felt it, quiescent, but there. It confused him, this new feeling and he really wanted to know what it meant.
He sighed, disappointed that he wouldn't be able to feel it again. No matter how fleeting the contact with it, it had been remarkable, magnificent, and he had felt alive and at peace; a strange connection birthed, filling him with life and . . . . unbelievable sorrow.
He rolled over onto his back, thumping his heels against the mattress in frustration, listening once again to Aunt Petunia's laugh, accompanied this time by Uncle Vernon's and, if he strained hard enough, he could hear dear Cousin Dudley's as well. What fun. Listening to his relatives enjoy themselves was *not* Harry's idea of a fun summer holiday – a typical one, yes, but not a fun one.
The green-eyed boy determinedly closed his eyes, resolved to at least try to sleep, even if he did experience nightmares – he needed the rest, for Aunt Petunia was sure to wake him early in order to do the dishes and any other tasks that she needed done *immediately*. Snorting under his breath, he snuggled deeper into the necessarily thin blanket, his breath slowly deepening as his mind became clouded and fuzzy.
But as he drifted off, his aunt laughed again, and her high teeth- grindingly irritating cackle seemed to echo, fading into his consciousness. It deepened and appeared to come from far away, or more accurately, although he didn't know why he thought this, from long ago. The laugh seemed to branch out in his subconscious, stirring parts of him that he didn't know existed. It sounded triumphant and gleeful, as if it had waited an interminable time for something, and now that something had finally arrived and it was rejoicing.
He sleepily frowned as he fell into an even deeper slumber, his subconscious guiding him into the dream world, where anything was possible, and he found himself wondering dazedly if that something that the laughter had been looking for had anything to do with him . . . .
~*~*~*~
There was nothing. The black void stretched as far as eyes could see and he drifted, empty, voiceless.
A vast patience filled him and he knew that he had to wait here, though it may seem an eternity before what he was waiting for arrived.
Sometimes, he was not alone and the void echoed with the strangest sounds – laughter, of all things, from very far away. At other times, he was filled with promise, with hope and anticipation. Something in him was sure that he would be alright eventually, that the screaming he heard deep down inside where his soul writhed in agony would stop and all would be right again. He wasn't sure, though, what he needed, he just knew that he was yearning and waiting for something.
And he knew that whatever it was he was waiting for was worth an eternity of such pain, an eternity of such emptiness, and that patience would bring its own reward.
The anticipation throbbed within, and caught him up with its eagerness. He waited, and waited, with a terrible patience, for what didn't even know, and he listened to the laughter that circled him sporadically and the song that sometimes accompanied it, that never failed to lift his spirits, it's melody composed of protection and something that was meant to take care of him.
And so he waited . . . . .
~*~*~*~
Harry jerked to a sitting position, his breath sucked in with a gasp of shock, the feeling that had surrounded him in the dream still beating within his chest. He sobbed once, unable to imagine being that patient, waiting that long without complaint for something so wonderful that he could not explain it, and feeling such terrible agony during that wait.
Turning, he stared uncomprehendingly out of the window at the moon, his breathing still in harsh gasps, trying to grasp the scope of the feelings that had embraced him, trying to understand what it all meant, and, when, inevitably, he failed, he succumbed to the fear and the inexplicable sorrow and sobbed out his emotions into his pillow until the dawn rays teased the horizon.
Ahem. Well, what do you think? Go on, have a go at reviewing – its wonderful to hear what my readers' think.
Nihirai: NIH-hih-RYE
Leviathan -- Hey! I'm glad you liked it. And don't worry about the long reviews – its just a peculiar quirk of mine that I have to do so. Hope that this isn't too mysterious. I promise it'll make more sense as we go.
N.U.Washa – I'm happy that it caught your interest; I hope this part catches some more of it!
IBitTheMufinMan – I am so glad that this is that unique in your opinion. I hope it remains that way.
Lost – I have to say, you're not really meant to yet. But thank you for reviewing anyway!