The Old Ones
The sunlight is dappled, dim and cool green; filtered through the dense foliage of centuries old trees. This is one place where I feel like a spry youngster again. Everything here is old, far older than I, even older than my dear departed friend Nicholas. It is as old as the magic that courses through our veins.
I had found this place long ago, quite by accident. Perhaps, it was not such an accident. However, it has been a while since I have questioned these things.
My steps direct themselves on the faint trail through the ferns. My old back bends to avoid the low branch without me willing it. Finally, my feet stop in front of the sanctuary. The entrance is well hidden. Fawkes, lets out a low trill of happiness.
On a bed of moss I prepare my offering; a small cup of wine, and some bread. I retrieve the wooden platter and the candles from my pockets. It is time to venture inside. For the first time in over half a century, I am late. I do not know how he will react. The Old Ones are quick to anger. I stoop under the low lintel and enter the dimness of the cavern.
I feel His presence almost immediately as threads of magic ripple out towards me from the recesses of the cave. No, He is not angry. He is amused instead, amused by my fear.
I light the wax candle and make my way to the altar. When I had first ventured into this place, the altar had been my first indication of the true nature of the cavern. It was, and still is, not much, just a stone shelf at the entrance to the inner caverns. Long ago, this altar used be heaped with offerings, and it was their remains, a few shards of pottery, that had alerted me to the significance of this place. At first it was curiosity that had prompted my first offering. Now the reasons have become complicated. Far too complicated for me to try and unravel their threads. He might know the full extent of it, for I have hidden nothing from Him. Nor have I been able to hide anything from Him.
I think I was the first person in a millennium to disturb His slumber. The New Ones have taken over this island and most of the Old Ones like him have been forgotten. They are still here; waiting for a call in the dark recesses of caves, in the depths of mountains and in cold dark depths of forest streams. Some would call it madness; to dare to disturb the Old Ones. Their ways have become too alien to us, but they are the original protectors of this island and they still come when called.
The offerings made, I sit down in my usual spot as Fawkes takes his spot on my shoulder. Slowly I feel the threads of magic slip inside my head. He is probing for the reason why I have been delayed. Scenes of the last few days flash through my mind. There are many who would be shocked that I would allow my mind to be probed by anyone. But as I have mentioned, I cannot stop Him. An involuntary shudder passes through my frame as I catch fleeting glimpses of Harry's face. The threads of magic slowly withdraw, and there is silence. I know what to do. He has asked for Harry's presence. I am a little surprised, but at the same time, I am not. He has never asked for anyone else in the fifty odd years that I have come here, but it does not surprise me that the only person He ever has asked to see is Harry.
I am worried about Harry. In a way I was hoping that He would take Harry, but I am not sure he is ready for the ways of the Old Ones. It is too late to do anything else now. The Old Ones have placed the burden on his shoulders and now he must meet the only ones who can show him the way. A small sigh escapes me. The sound is loud in the quiet. I think I hear a chuckle. Or was that an echo?
I feel another thread of His magic caress me, and then it is gone.
I slowly gather my old bones and step out of the darkness.