Warnings: Harry Potter and Crew belong to J.K. Rowling, I make no profit
Some of the writing may come out disfigured, I apologize
I do not own the poem at the end, or Shakespeare's writing
Also, I do not have a Beta Reader for this, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. If you find some, please tell me in your review.
~Chapters will be coming out once a week, every Monday, unless my muse fails me and it takes a bit longer.~
Sorry for the delay on getting this out, I had horrible writer's block.
/Denotes Harry's dream-vision/
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Cedric: I know many people who would disagree with you. Mainly all of my English teachers! I think I've just discovered this new style of writing for myself, and I'm trying to get this story out as fast as I can, because I'm pretty afraid that it's going to up and leave on my soon, and I'll go back to writing like crap. ^^;; As you can see, I've got full confidence in myself.
striped_jaguar: Hah! Stripes is contridicting what you said previously! "Kill Harry for all I care" or something along those lines..well. Your wish is my command......Dont die of a heart attack just yet! He's not dead, eh? And he's not going to die...yet...maybe...mwaha. Is this one of those asop fables on be careful what you wish for?
Stripes is thanked for commending Remii, who is happy that she has a bipolar fan. Hehe. Bipolar. Remii would like Stripes to know that she has just twisted the story around and brought something into it that can change it..or not. Stripes will probably be utterly confused..but Remii hopes not.
Harry's magic is awesome, no? Powerful Harry! POWERFUL! I like power..and it's written in the books like he doesnt have much..so I had to change that bit.. I didn't want to...but I decided to do tell you anyways, that Remii can draw. Remii is a damn good artist if she can say so herself. Maybe she will grace her reviewers with a picture of Harry if they reach a certain amount of reviews? [large amount..I'm picky] How large, what say you?
Correct in the 'loosing' 'losing' thing. I hate missing small spelling details like that. I'll try and correct it as soon as I get a chance. [Remii is indeed a North American. Hooyah!]
Remii would also like to appoligize if you didnt really understand that sentence..everything makes more understanding in my mind than it probably does in yours ^^;;
Swooning! I'm waiting for the day that I swoon.. :[
I hate fights between houses! And I'm hoping that Rowling will bring the houses together somehow in the end...grrar... So I always must have friends among houses. And Draco's great, and Blaise you can do anything with. What more could you ask for?
Harry goes through pain 24/7!! And Snapes cool, even though he's an ass.
Sorry this took so long to load today, but I didnt finish writing it until 9:37 exactly, I had major writers block since I stupidly concluded the last chapter so finally. Damn me.
*HUGZ BACK*
Voldie's ass is grass and Harry's the lawnmower!!
crater212: Sorry if it unnerved you! I guess I should write in the summary that it's dark...more specifically? ^^;; Its not that Eadem knows Shakespeare..he doesnt really..er..exhist in their world [or so I say], but I like Shakespeare and think he has some amazing quotes..so it's really Eadem saying them without any outward unfluences, even if I got them from Shakespeare.
Rayne-Jelly: I'm glad you liked it! I'm a bit confused by purple? I hope to explain everything more clearly as it goes along..and confuse you more...but hopefully you'll stick by and check it out. If at the end..you ask WHY? WHAT? HUH? You can hit me over the head with a stick, k?
Rayne-Jelly: I'm a big fan of old writing, using metaphors and analogies. I know there are lots of people out there who hate writing like that, but I can't help it, it intrigues me, and I love trying to match my writing like that. I'm sorry if you feel it cheapens the work, but for me, I feel like it opens me up and brings me into a different time. I dont really know if I'm imitating Shakespeare, mostly because he doesnt bring the outside of his plays into them, leaving the reader to create their own scenery or gestures. All he really tells us is the speaking, and I love that he makes one imagine the rest. I just happened to think you guys deserve a bit more than your imagination should have to work at. I didn't realize it became tedious, but it's really part of the story, inbedded in it, and though I could change it, the whole story would change dramatically, and for the worse, I think. I've always tried to write using unusually vocabulary and wording, but for this story, I really havent used a thesaurus much, but since you pointed it out, I'll try to stop using odd words. I use only the knowledge I have, and if I really need something more, I dont see how theres anything wrong with finding it for a change? I'm happy that you like it though, regardless if you find it not quite your cup of tea. I'm a freak about spelling mistakes! When I read other fanfiction and find mistakes..I go haywire. It's not that hard to proof read your story, right? And people who read it and like it should be given the best, not the minimum. Thats why I appreciate it if people tell me where I have done wrong. Keep reading. Enjoy.
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Chapter Five: Of Time Long Lost
Æternus Noctem
Harry stood among the gentle waves of the lake, the water wrapping itself around his body, closing in on his frame and trapping him within it's grasp. He stood beneath the starlit sky, the moon a torrent of darkness unable to breach his heavy heart. He had locked the others in his room; those he could not remember. There faces were memories trapped forever in the forgotten realms of his mind, not unlocked and not revealed, just out of reach. He had known them once upon a time long lost, where battles were fought amongst enemies and foes: troubles he saw during night when he could not distract himself.
For he felt a calling, unreachable from his grasp, but ever-present in his ear, his mind. Beckoning him to rid this shell he lived in, this life that played before his eyes. Called him into a world he could only remember from a different life. Had he fought so? Along side those that cared for him now? Were they too, part of his past that he could not recall?
For he was Harry Potter, was he not? He knew all too well his destiny and fate, the doings of Gods he could not undo. But what part had those humans played? Frustrated and despondent, Harry stepped further into the lake, the cold water greedily holding to his shaking frame. But he was not cold. Harry could not feel the chill that bit at his bones as he walked until his waist was in the water. The black, unclear water.
Just like his memories of those in his room. So familiar, yet not. The woman who smiled at him- he knew her well. She had an aura of a guider, leading him through his childhood, yet that was not possible. His parents were gone, Voldemort's doings. So why had he the need for her to smile at him again, hold him in his arms? Why did the name Lady Helkaoreiel burn so brightly in his mind? Why did the one Eadem called Dragon, with gray eyes, call to him as Maegcair? Surely he didn't know anyone by the name of Helkaoreiel and Maegcair?
"And here I stand. Born; the answers slowly failing from my grasp as I grew, learned, taught. And still, I wait here in the silent lies of the wind, the questions failing from my grasp as I wither, sink, die. Are you to know the answers? Or shall my questions lead me nowhere..."
Harry stretched his wings out, head falling back to stare into the night above. The silver moon casting it's light upon his frame, basking him in it's eternal sorrow. For it could not help Harry; no one could. The cloth of dark that had encased his body, now encased his heart. That small amount of darkness that couldn't be stolen away no matter how help tried to wretch it from his being. It was his sad fate, he knew, to truly free himself. And yet he could not place that burden upon himself right now. Regardless if he saw it seeping into the place that no one but he could change, forming the contours of his heart.
Harry reached his fingers to his cheek, eyes open in shock. Never before had he cried from sorrow; and yet here he stood among nature, horrid red tears streaming from his eyes, hoping to rid himself of the sorrow that still held him. How long? How long until he was free, until he could heal fully? For that potion had opened his wounds anew, healing them with magic, slowly and surely. Twice had he aggravated his new markings, twice had he created lacerations upon the very skin in which his tattoos adjourned. His victims were crying in blood, their tears a heavy weight he wanted to strip himself of. It was unfair, unjust that he may walk this eternal plane with not only himself, but all those around him also.
But he could not seek the help he needed. Could not open himself to those who were staying with him. Lady Helkaoreiel....
Small rain drops fell from the sky, the Lady of the Moon, such as she could, such a powerful being as herself, felt his call of despair. And yet she did no more than mourn for the loss of his soul, and yet he could do no more then stand, hypnotized by her, her silver dress stark against the cold night surrounding her, giving live to answers she could not voice. No. She would not answer him. She would not help.
They were similar; Harry and the Lady of the Night. Her being an utter void in the sky, her's not the right to bestow upon such a one as he the gift of knowledge. And he, damned to live the life of servitude, so different among the same all around him, yet so small when compared with the rest. Yet she willingly cried for his grief, and Harry could do no more for her then catch her essence in his palm, memorizing their pale blue shimmer, how they glittered even so sad as they were. How they gave him no reassurance that he would survive to know all.
Harry took one last look to the night above, tilting his body back until he plunged into the water beneath him, letting his breath out as he fell backwards into the black hole. No lake creature was there to help him; no being shedding their own needs to save him; letting him float farther and farther down into the dark of the lake. For who would save him when he sought death? His end?
The lake was a never ending spiral towards the dark emptiness Harry sought. As he continued to plunge downwards, the world around him grew so clear. Never before had his thoughts come to him in such a way: never before had he been able to see the magic forming around the very waves of the water. The very threads of magic enlaced in their strands. All around him glowed bright, so strong a light that Harry shielded his arm over his eyes from the white that surrounded him. It was a swirling tangle of sprites; faeries trapped in miniscule threads, braced against and forming the very essence of plants and water. For Harry now saw the spirit of magic encased in every form.
All sound dissipated, silence reigning as he held his hand in front of his hand, eyes wide as he saw nothing but the millions of white particles laced within his flesh. Awestruck and unsure of himself, Harry lifted his arms to guide him back to the surface; wings propelling him forwards in the water to break it's boundaries. Gasping he broke through the fingers that clung to his heavy robes, half running half failing in his steps to get to the shore. Once feeling the sand beneath his feet, Harry dropped to the ground and looked about him. Everywhere was lit with the ghostly white strands, blazing in his eyes. He blinked back tears, the white so overwhelming as to give him the need to shield his sight from harm.
He didn't understand. Why had this happened? Why, suddenly, was he able to see the very fibers of magic that enveloped the grounds of Hogwarts? A shock wave of pain laced through his head, and Harry thought no more of magic and the phantasm of his new sight. He struggled to his feet, calling with all haste to his Sendings, hoping they would arrive to heed his calls before he could no longer voice his requests. And thankful was he when they appeared by his side, seemingly there all along, shielded from his view. Without any further directions, they gathered his tense form within their arms and crossed the grounds of Hogwarts, entering into the corridors that lead to his room. Harry struggled against their hold, damned that he would let them carry him to his room without his help. Again flashes of green glazed over his sight, black creeping at the boundaries of his vision, fighting against his will to stay alert. And yet, fighting as he may, Harry was once again whisked off into the world he could not remember, falling limp in the arms of his magiced Sendings.
/The girl whose name Harry could not recall walked to stand in front of him: his dream like a reality. Before his eyes, in the dark of the room he lay bound in, three more figures appeared from behind the fog's concealment, revealing themselves to be the others he should know. He went to turn from her, her eyes boring into his own; realizations that he could not leave her swarming his conscious. But they did not stay to help him. No. They too disappeared into the gray haze, calling softly for him to follow; his body moving without his command. For those he knew now, once had been the minds that led the Elven Race against the onslot of the coarse Dark's. The Dark Lords of old were shunned by their light, their fight the one that gave birth to Harry. Hundred years fold, and still the souls of those who fought the war of the Ages of Old, battle the evil in this time. How long they would stir was untold, yet though he knew not how, Harry recognized the leaders of his born time. The brunette, she was the Lady Helkaoreiel, brilliant in tactics, yet her downfall the love she possessed, and Harry could see the fierce brain of the once Priestess trying to prevail against the soul of the girl, Hermione, it was trapped in. Her love had lead her astray in the night, into the lands of the Dead and Ever Watchful, seizing her live in their grasp and wringing it until she was no more a devoted worshipper of her God, but a drawn puppet, an empty shell.
The Dragon Maegcair was fighting against the Golden Dragon, once enemy of Harry in his innocent childhood times. His was closest to winning against the new soul, their minds too alike for them to be separate for long. Yet the Gods feared for this binding, for Maegcair's hate was great, and the Dragon was still too innocent to take on the burden of Blood Lust that Maegcair's soul possessed. Maegcair was the last to die during the Final Battle, yet drove his sword into the enemy's leader did he, yet kill him did he not. Tidings were not all well for war, for if Maegcair awoke, Harry would be pulled into a world of greater darkness and fear. But just a moment, how Fate tried not to think of it, Maegcair would free Harry. He, himself would grow out of the dark that threatened to spill from his heart, a new life of love blossoming forth to replace all. But as beautiful as all could see it being, Harry deserved not to fall into a greater web. For once the war was over, Maegcair's soul would rest forever, him gone from Harry's life, the darkness rising to completely overwhelm him.
Yet how simple it seemed to let these Ancients control the bodies of the new, for they would quickly strike against Voldemort for once and for all, ridding the world of his reign. Yet it could not be so. For that was their downfall before, their haste and malice too great to control, their darkness rising for all to feed upon...
The first to die during the Ascafalas Reign was Brilhen the Rememberancer. He was strong in spirit, prevailing against the treachery around him, his sword shining against the evils it was to cut down. And yet, his loss of love was too much to bear. His wife, his everything, and Lady Vethule, caught by the Lords' powers, was hung high above the Castle of the Pure for all to see what would become of them, brought sorrow into his once joyful heart. The darkness fed into him from then on, finally driving Brilhen insane with revenge, his blind fury easily put down by the powers at large. So much did was feared for the boy named Blaise, for he carried within him a sorrow he could not understand, his life thus far complete.
Yet, last of all, was the one Culram, who the Gods watched with a weary eye. His jealousy of the Lady Helkaoreiel's love for another spurred him into a short lived battle against his own and the enemy, his downfall the doom of them all. For Culram's temper was a legend to be known, his heritage of the Berserkers, a great advantage to their battle. His people killed mercilessly, his family grand in size and strength, yet out-casted in the eyes of the humans. For when he turned upon those around him after the Lady Helkaoreiel's death, so did his people turn upon themselves in their confusion of loyalties, decimating his clan into the wind. Ronald Weasley was under strict watch of all who had eyes not seen in his plane, who feared more for Culram to overtake Ron and shine forth, more than they feared for the coming of Maegcair.
Their battle had been the longest, yet they did not win. The evil that did cradle the world shot them down, killing their defenses until long last the four strong stood together; for Lady Helkaoreiel gave her wandering spirit to he who loved her, Culram, freeing his spirit from the burden of her loss. But her's did not heed help in the end. For she was dead, and could no longer use her power to strike against the enemy, having no strength. Culram felt it in his heart, yet he carried her with him to the very ends of his sanity, his Berserker memories showing her by his side. Brilhen was killed instantly, for he rushed head strong into the whirling winds of the evil's defenses, alone not able to fight, not united capable of bringing ruin to all. His spirit joined with those of Culram and Helkaoreiel, the three uniting themselves into a solid sphere to be wielded by Maegcair. He, who brought the songs and legends upon himself in his great heroics, fought for six days and five nights with the enemy, destroying their forces with the power of his friends in his hand. But little too late did they learn to unite themselves, and they could no longer win this battle than start over. For on the morning of the sixth day, the sun rose golden in the horizon; basking the world in light it had not seen for years. The dark fled to the caves and mines, the light hindering their souls, feeding off the shadows that lurked in their beings. In the end it was only the Dark Lords and Maegcair left. His instrument of work, the souls of his friend, was long gone, broken upon the very ground that he tread. Raised his sword to the sky did he, calling out his final battle cry, he launched himself upon the Great Leader, the lesser gods flying into the woods from his wrath. And such did the Dark Lord Helkahir stand alone among the battle field fighting Maegcair, and winning. For at the very last second, when all seemed lost and the Dark Lord struck Maegcair a deadly blow, the sun reflected off Maegcair's loyal sword, blinding the shadow eyes of Helkahir, giving strength to Maegcair to rise up and strike the Lord, before his body died and fell to the ground forever.
Yet over was it not. For all his strength, Maegcair did not kill Helkahir's spirit, only his body. And over the centuries did it fester in the dark, all seemingly lost to it's power until only fifty years ago was a child born from such a broken god forsaken womb dark enough to hold his spirit. Into the child he did go, living the boy's life until he was strong enough to conquer all, shedding the false skin of the human and making himself known. For what was once Tom Riddle, Helkahir now did rise. For he himself could not be known. And so, when all was peaceful within his changed world, Helkahir chose to rise again, known to those who dread, as Lord Voldemort.../
Harry awoke upon his bed, obscure vision gazing into the sky encrypted on his ceiling. For the second time in such a short length passed was he once again naked and in the safe haven of his bed. Around him swarmed the four of his present, past, and future, caring for him since he was left outside the painting; only then letting them open the door. He was not asleep for long, only until the tidings of his dream and foresight were passed and imprinted into his mind.
Lady Helkaoreiel...Hermione..
The Dragon Maegcair...Draco..
Culram...Ron..
Brilhen...Blaise..
What did it all mean? Harry turned to his side, away from the worried faces that looked upon him. He was confused, so confused. Was this Vision that which had been calling him to remember? That, his memories of old? But how had he known such tidings had come to pass? For he was not born until recently, regardless of his newest stature, and friends. Be as it may that they were parts to people from long ago, Harry had no part in that war, his time was now. Was it a necessity for him to know that these Ancients resided in the ones loyal to him now? Were they there to help him in the Final Battle? Would he never be free of them?
"Harry?" Hermione called. She had seen his eyes gaze lifelessly at the canopy above him, had seen him shudder under their close standings, had turned away from them. Surely he would tell them what happened? Why he was soaked and shivering? Why he was suddenly dropped outside of his room by hands they could not see? "Harry, what happened? Did you see anything?" For Hermione had listened very carefully to the words he whispered in his dreams. She knew he was having a Vision of some sorts, though it did not pain him.
"Foretell- I cannot bare such bitter sweet, as a harmonious violin weeps to her dying love, I will no more search for your truth...than known my own demise." Harry turned his head to gaze remorsefully into the eyes of Hermione. He understood what she asked of him. To entrust his secrets to her. Take his burden away. But he could not. Not with the information he now possessed. "Lady Helkaoreiel.." He reached his arm to her and gently ran his fingers along the soft skin of the young girl who's spirit was that of a warrior. How were they to be? so similar and yet so different?
"Lady..Helkoareiel?" Hermione looked to Draco for guidance. Beside her, he stood, eye's burning with a hidden fire that roared to life at the mention of that name. He ignored her curious gaze, but the fire in his eyes quickly disappeared, and he turned to Hermione confused, not understanding who the Lady may be. "Is she in trouble Harry? Does she need our help?"
Harry let out a dry laugh, coarse against his unused throat. "Help. She needing of my help, when I can no longer help myself? Yet you ask me to help her? You need no help, Hermione! Don't ask more of me, for I am afraid to tell you of what I know. Afraid to let you know."
"I don't understand, Harry. Tell me. Involve me!" Draco pulled Hermione from Harry's bedside, afraid for the glint that took over his leader's eyes. Afraid for Hermione. In that brief instant, that single moment of 'Lady Helkoareiel' being whispered from Harry's lips as his eyes flashed dangerously, delirious long enough for a ragged breath to be drawn; there was something wrong. Something inside him that stirred, his heart beat frantically as a first kiss experience, adrenaline rushing through his veins and pumping into his head. He felt a pull at his naval, traveling by floo standing by Harry's bed. For that brief amount of time, he was gone. The world had faded from sight and all he saw was his eyes dancing in his line of vision, eyes so like and different from his own; changing and yet remaining the same. Eyes identical to his own, but of another person. And then he was back. Begging himself not to loose his grip on reality, he had come back full force, jumping into his body and adjusting as if he had not grown up in it. But it hadn't really happened? Just a slight twist of his mind, wandering from his worries of Harry to something far from everything. Just a cold, perhaps? nothing of dire importance.
"Let me go this instant. Something is wrong, I can feel it. I feel..." Hermione toppled where she was held in Draco's arms, feinting to the ground. Draco felt Hermione's forehead, then looked up into Harry's eyes, narrowed in suspicion, his hand held towards Hermione, still tinted green from the released spell. It was close..so close. He had felt Hermione drifting, something pulling at a part of him as Hermione struggled to figure out what Lady Helkoareiel had to do with Harry. With herself. He had been foolish, not thinking straight as he mentioned her chosen name, careful to avoid it if she brought it up again, which his spell hastened her to forget. He wasn't quite sure or understood everything he had just seen, but what he had felt was enough to convince himself not to dare utter the Priestess's name in her presence. If ever. For names were a strong incantation, and if just whispering her name tugged at her dormant spirit, he would not risk calling upon the dead leader for risk of loosing the girl Hermione.
Life had just flipped over and resituated itself upon different grounds. When he finally understood his place in the world, his situation, his need to lead the people, it was ripped from his grasp, sending him whirling into the vortex of confusion and despair. For everything he had lived for, his pillar of strength, was broken before his eyes, stones falling to the ground to fall apart into dust, never to be rebuilt again. Such a torment as this to befall a mere human in one lifetime called for his rest of a thousand. And now this. Now it was to be revealed that he was connected to the Dark struggles of centuries before wizards were established into societies, before Purebloods caste all lowers out, before the society took on a human form, fooling themselves into thinking they were superior to mere fragile Muggles when they themselves took on the same roles of society. It was all so much. Was Lady Helkoareiel to be a burden upon his life? Another scar of a life he took, just so he may be born to save her after the lay dead? So much blood to be scattered to atone for deaths. So much blood he was loosing, his body forgoing to replenish, killing him slowly, surely.
"I've not the answer."
"Harry?" Ron looked to him, tense, watching the exchange between Harry and Hermione, Draco...
"I search an answer...but I'm not another liar." Harry sat up in bed, looking between the people in his room. "Why have you stayed here? School..you have....to go.." Harry swayed in his bed, hands gripping the sheets tight between his fingers, vision fading as his last thoughts reprimanded himself for not guarding himself and letting his defenses fall. For letting a spell hit him.
"Harry?" Ron caught his body as it fell, gently setting him down on the bed and careful not to let his skull hit the headboard. "What happened?" he turned to Blaise for answers, who looked to the open painting of the clock and snake, staring at the visitor in the doorway.
"Gentlemen, and women," Dumbledore greeted, holding the painting open, his wand pointed at Harry and coming to rest at his side. For he would never admit it, but it had taken much of his strength to sedate Harry into a comatose state. Energy drained from him that would likely be pulled into Harry's weak body, temporarily giving his body the small amount of life force needed to sustain it until he was too insubstantial to work on it's own, taking energy directed towards it again, whether it be evil or good. And such dire necessities didn't last for long, and came at a price best not to find out. As Unicorn Blood would give life from death, so would stealing the fiber of potency take away from all it seemingly helped.
"Dumbledore..but...how.." Blaise looked between the open door and the Headmasters, confusion evident on his face. They had all witnessed first hand how Harry had concealed himself from view and anyone finding him that he didn't want. Complicated spells that Hermione hadn't figured out how to remove, spells that Draco had seen in his father's books.
"I'd be happy to escort you back to your house commonrooms, if you feel you cannot make it back there on your own. I need to speak with Harry for a small while." Dumbledore dismissed them, voice calm, eyes betraying his strict command, settling on Hermione, whom he had believed to be the perfect cooperative student once, now seeing that he had mistaken her for another from the past.
They rose from their positions, Draco waking Hermione with a small charm, helping her up and walking her from the room, Blaise and Ron trailing reluctantly behind, the door slamming with such force as to make the red snake call out in anger of being jarred so. Blaise turned abruptly and pushed his hand against the painting that Draco had charmed to stay ajar no matter how forcefully closed, but it seemed that Dumbledore had been recounted with the charm and countered it, locking them from Harry; leaving him with Dumbledore. He cursed softly, recalling how the door easily opened for Eadem many times, and try as they might, the snake remained loyal to Harry and would not tell them the password, no matter how they begged. The snake that was with Harry in his room.
Dumbledore looked about the old room the teachers of Hogwart's first years had used for Boggarts and the like in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The room had aged years faster than the rest of the building, once smooth gray stone turned coarse from dust and grime, jagged and disheartening to look at; yet making Hogwart's seem all the older and stronger. Stains adorned the walls, dried mold and cobwebs hanging from the star filled ceiling, floating just above his head, taunting him with worries of them falling upon him, dragging anything from the dark ceiling upon their decent. Harry had changed it from an abandoned room to one of a home, his belongings lined about the walls and ground, desk covered with papers no doubt belonging to one of the students that had locked themselves in here. He was hard to find, brushing off Dumbledore's location spells as if swatting away a fly; just an annoyance to be easily dealt with. He had even destroyed an ancient detection device passed down through the Headmasters at a time of importance, throwing it's power back into it and overloading the magic usage; shattering it without a thought to anything else.
He walked to the glass table in the middle of the room, eyes grazing over the different books lined up; merely school texts and nothing more. Candles were lit, their golden flames casting shadows upon the covers, ghosts dancing along the bound papers. He reached down to lift one of Harry's own spell books from the floor, but found his hand unable to touch the book. Even with his subconscious at rest, Harry had still evoked a spell to preserve everything in his room from movement or harm until he lifted it, allowing any to wander with it.
He stood silent as the student in the hall tried to pry the painting open, heard the snake's voice it's displeasure with the hustle of bodies against it's frame, bodies that sought to get back into the room of their friend, bodies that ignored his request.
Eadem glanced at Dumbledore from beneath Harry's bed, unsure if it be wise to reveal himself to the aging wizard that had ordered the humans from the room and locked Harry in a spell. A powerful old wizard that would best not know he existed, increasing his chance of helping Harry to escape from his confines. Carefully, keeping to the dark floor corners and moving slowly as to not attract attention, Eadem moved to the exit, listening to the sounds of panic from outside. As he reached the door, he saw Dumbledore move to stand besides Harry, hand reaching down to hover above his elbow. It was too sudden for Eadem to register, and as he spoke the password to open the door, Dumbledore leaned his hand to touch Harry's arm, both disappearing as the four rushed into the room.
OF TIME LONG LOST
I tell a tale of time long lost
ancient back before the earths's first frost
afore winter dawned the genacide of magic
oblierating the lore of fairy tales tragic
When centaurs proud and noble warred
with dragaons, reptillian, winged, inside fired
weapons, slayers of Memnock, from hell sent forth
feeding on pure, white, blessed right and anihilating all of holy worth
Wherein draves did dwell gestating in the musky earth
in riddled cities of gold, onyx, and bone, spanning a contenent's girth
beneath savage gardens of lacivious, lavish, fragrant flowers
wherein slumbered faries of gossamer, translucnet light with mythical powers
dwelling under the original time gnarled tree of eternal oak
watcher over man, mass encased, and horborer of the seat of hope
shooting branches forth over ever vast expanses of towns afar
encasing a soul Memnock cursed, love for him in the body of this tree forever barred
so he conspires with the creatures so dwindled left of light
scheeming to conguer, to survive the erupting grotesque creatures of eternal night
being spewed forth from an oozing boil upon the land
tools of sadistic, black, scourge demons of the evil lord's hand
sluffing down into the gurgling gruel of dank bog
itself wicked soaked till corrupt, now threatening clean waters to clog
further chokeing off the distant chance of good as the victor
the alpha foe through hoards corrupt alliance vieing to be hopes desecrator
The armies are divided, well defined and true
each growing in number and strength as the last decide which to commit to
all the creatures of the land both large and small to the battle are joining
there is no turning back, the line has been crossed, no time for warnings
The army of right is smaller by far
commanded by the bravest ancestor of the first centaur
his troops hold all of his kind, some men, unicorns, faries, gnomes, elves, nymphs, and sprites
the last winged horse, birds, dogs, a lone changeling, and the high priestess of light
Memnock's evil hoards possess the rest
led by a demon born of a long enslaved virgin under diress
a bulging blight opon the earth of minataurs, hydras, dragons, Pan, Bacchi, ulf, and witches
wolves, hyenas, trolls, and human headed canine bitches
As the dawn's first light over the land shines
the two in death grips met, upon each other striveing to commit the greater crime
when it was all over only one stood and still remained
every other creature died that day, the earth with their blood is still stained
Under the mighty tree steadfastly dug in the dwarves as packs of ulf and wolf rained gnashing fangs
couragously cunning were the shrunken warriors, but the pack too imense, encircling one alone in gangs
until there was no more flesh from bone to tear
and Pan cowardness from behind a rock let hiss through the sky did flare
As it struck the massive trunk of the noble tree
flames raged upward as if to claim heven with a firey key
as the watchers soul flame licked roasted screamed
the last of the centaurs fell to catapults hurling globs of molten tar, their skins off them seething
Huge clouds of dust fogged the battle field
and ragged cries of pain echoed up through hanging mists of blood as all manner of weapons they did wield
swarms of flies soon gorged upon the mutalated corpses bloating in the heat
as the evil one stood alone eating the flesh of the downtroden meek
Now the battle is over, it's all said and done, we have only to look around to see who won
the mythical creatures of time long past did forever their future in this battle loose
but my fiend the war is just starting...
which side do you choose?
vix... rhonda enrayne (c) oct. 1997
Some of the writing may come out disfigured, I apologize
I do not own the poem at the end, or Shakespeare's writing
Also, I do not have a Beta Reader for this, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. If you find some, please tell me in your review.
~Chapters will be coming out once a week, every Monday, unless my muse fails me and it takes a bit longer.~
Sorry for the delay on getting this out, I had horrible writer's block.
/Denotes Harry's dream-vision/
***
Cedric: I know many people who would disagree with you. Mainly all of my English teachers! I think I've just discovered this new style of writing for myself, and I'm trying to get this story out as fast as I can, because I'm pretty afraid that it's going to up and leave on my soon, and I'll go back to writing like crap. ^^;; As you can see, I've got full confidence in myself.
striped_jaguar: Hah! Stripes is contridicting what you said previously! "Kill Harry for all I care" or something along those lines..well. Your wish is my command......Dont die of a heart attack just yet! He's not dead, eh? And he's not going to die...yet...maybe...mwaha. Is this one of those asop fables on be careful what you wish for?
Stripes is thanked for commending Remii, who is happy that she has a bipolar fan. Hehe. Bipolar. Remii would like Stripes to know that she has just twisted the story around and brought something into it that can change it..or not. Stripes will probably be utterly confused..but Remii hopes not.
Harry's magic is awesome, no? Powerful Harry! POWERFUL! I like power..and it's written in the books like he doesnt have much..so I had to change that bit.. I didn't want to...but I decided to do tell you anyways, that Remii can draw. Remii is a damn good artist if she can say so herself. Maybe she will grace her reviewers with a picture of Harry if they reach a certain amount of reviews? [large amount..I'm picky] How large, what say you?
Correct in the 'loosing' 'losing' thing. I hate missing small spelling details like that. I'll try and correct it as soon as I get a chance. [Remii is indeed a North American. Hooyah!]
Remii would also like to appoligize if you didnt really understand that sentence..everything makes more understanding in my mind than it probably does in yours ^^;;
Swooning! I'm waiting for the day that I swoon.. :[
I hate fights between houses! And I'm hoping that Rowling will bring the houses together somehow in the end...grrar... So I always must have friends among houses. And Draco's great, and Blaise you can do anything with. What more could you ask for?
Harry goes through pain 24/7!! And Snapes cool, even though he's an ass.
Sorry this took so long to load today, but I didnt finish writing it until 9:37 exactly, I had major writers block since I stupidly concluded the last chapter so finally. Damn me.
*HUGZ BACK*
Voldie's ass is grass and Harry's the lawnmower!!
crater212: Sorry if it unnerved you! I guess I should write in the summary that it's dark...more specifically? ^^;; Its not that Eadem knows Shakespeare..he doesnt really..er..exhist in their world [or so I say], but I like Shakespeare and think he has some amazing quotes..so it's really Eadem saying them without any outward unfluences, even if I got them from Shakespeare.
Rayne-Jelly: I'm glad you liked it! I'm a bit confused by purple? I hope to explain everything more clearly as it goes along..and confuse you more...but hopefully you'll stick by and check it out. If at the end..you ask WHY? WHAT? HUH? You can hit me over the head with a stick, k?
Rayne-Jelly: I'm a big fan of old writing, using metaphors and analogies. I know there are lots of people out there who hate writing like that, but I can't help it, it intrigues me, and I love trying to match my writing like that. I'm sorry if you feel it cheapens the work, but for me, I feel like it opens me up and brings me into a different time. I dont really know if I'm imitating Shakespeare, mostly because he doesnt bring the outside of his plays into them, leaving the reader to create their own scenery or gestures. All he really tells us is the speaking, and I love that he makes one imagine the rest. I just happened to think you guys deserve a bit more than your imagination should have to work at. I didn't realize it became tedious, but it's really part of the story, inbedded in it, and though I could change it, the whole story would change dramatically, and for the worse, I think. I've always tried to write using unusually vocabulary and wording, but for this story, I really havent used a thesaurus much, but since you pointed it out, I'll try to stop using odd words. I use only the knowledge I have, and if I really need something more, I dont see how theres anything wrong with finding it for a change? I'm happy that you like it though, regardless if you find it not quite your cup of tea. I'm a freak about spelling mistakes! When I read other fanfiction and find mistakes..I go haywire. It's not that hard to proof read your story, right? And people who read it and like it should be given the best, not the minimum. Thats why I appreciate it if people tell me where I have done wrong. Keep reading. Enjoy.
***
Chapter Five: Of Time Long Lost
Æternus Noctem
Harry stood among the gentle waves of the lake, the water wrapping itself around his body, closing in on his frame and trapping him within it's grasp. He stood beneath the starlit sky, the moon a torrent of darkness unable to breach his heavy heart. He had locked the others in his room; those he could not remember. There faces were memories trapped forever in the forgotten realms of his mind, not unlocked and not revealed, just out of reach. He had known them once upon a time long lost, where battles were fought amongst enemies and foes: troubles he saw during night when he could not distract himself.
For he felt a calling, unreachable from his grasp, but ever-present in his ear, his mind. Beckoning him to rid this shell he lived in, this life that played before his eyes. Called him into a world he could only remember from a different life. Had he fought so? Along side those that cared for him now? Were they too, part of his past that he could not recall?
For he was Harry Potter, was he not? He knew all too well his destiny and fate, the doings of Gods he could not undo. But what part had those humans played? Frustrated and despondent, Harry stepped further into the lake, the cold water greedily holding to his shaking frame. But he was not cold. Harry could not feel the chill that bit at his bones as he walked until his waist was in the water. The black, unclear water.
Just like his memories of those in his room. So familiar, yet not. The woman who smiled at him- he knew her well. She had an aura of a guider, leading him through his childhood, yet that was not possible. His parents were gone, Voldemort's doings. So why had he the need for her to smile at him again, hold him in his arms? Why did the name Lady Helkaoreiel burn so brightly in his mind? Why did the one Eadem called Dragon, with gray eyes, call to him as Maegcair? Surely he didn't know anyone by the name of Helkaoreiel and Maegcair?
"And here I stand. Born; the answers slowly failing from my grasp as I grew, learned, taught. And still, I wait here in the silent lies of the wind, the questions failing from my grasp as I wither, sink, die. Are you to know the answers? Or shall my questions lead me nowhere..."
Harry stretched his wings out, head falling back to stare into the night above. The silver moon casting it's light upon his frame, basking him in it's eternal sorrow. For it could not help Harry; no one could. The cloth of dark that had encased his body, now encased his heart. That small amount of darkness that couldn't be stolen away no matter how help tried to wretch it from his being. It was his sad fate, he knew, to truly free himself. And yet he could not place that burden upon himself right now. Regardless if he saw it seeping into the place that no one but he could change, forming the contours of his heart.
Harry reached his fingers to his cheek, eyes open in shock. Never before had he cried from sorrow; and yet here he stood among nature, horrid red tears streaming from his eyes, hoping to rid himself of the sorrow that still held him. How long? How long until he was free, until he could heal fully? For that potion had opened his wounds anew, healing them with magic, slowly and surely. Twice had he aggravated his new markings, twice had he created lacerations upon the very skin in which his tattoos adjourned. His victims were crying in blood, their tears a heavy weight he wanted to strip himself of. It was unfair, unjust that he may walk this eternal plane with not only himself, but all those around him also.
But he could not seek the help he needed. Could not open himself to those who were staying with him. Lady Helkaoreiel....
Small rain drops fell from the sky, the Lady of the Moon, such as she could, such a powerful being as herself, felt his call of despair. And yet she did no more than mourn for the loss of his soul, and yet he could do no more then stand, hypnotized by her, her silver dress stark against the cold night surrounding her, giving live to answers she could not voice. No. She would not answer him. She would not help.
They were similar; Harry and the Lady of the Night. Her being an utter void in the sky, her's not the right to bestow upon such a one as he the gift of knowledge. And he, damned to live the life of servitude, so different among the same all around him, yet so small when compared with the rest. Yet she willingly cried for his grief, and Harry could do no more for her then catch her essence in his palm, memorizing their pale blue shimmer, how they glittered even so sad as they were. How they gave him no reassurance that he would survive to know all.
Harry took one last look to the night above, tilting his body back until he plunged into the water beneath him, letting his breath out as he fell backwards into the black hole. No lake creature was there to help him; no being shedding their own needs to save him; letting him float farther and farther down into the dark of the lake. For who would save him when he sought death? His end?
The lake was a never ending spiral towards the dark emptiness Harry sought. As he continued to plunge downwards, the world around him grew so clear. Never before had his thoughts come to him in such a way: never before had he been able to see the magic forming around the very waves of the water. The very threads of magic enlaced in their strands. All around him glowed bright, so strong a light that Harry shielded his arm over his eyes from the white that surrounded him. It was a swirling tangle of sprites; faeries trapped in miniscule threads, braced against and forming the very essence of plants and water. For Harry now saw the spirit of magic encased in every form.
All sound dissipated, silence reigning as he held his hand in front of his hand, eyes wide as he saw nothing but the millions of white particles laced within his flesh. Awestruck and unsure of himself, Harry lifted his arms to guide him back to the surface; wings propelling him forwards in the water to break it's boundaries. Gasping he broke through the fingers that clung to his heavy robes, half running half failing in his steps to get to the shore. Once feeling the sand beneath his feet, Harry dropped to the ground and looked about him. Everywhere was lit with the ghostly white strands, blazing in his eyes. He blinked back tears, the white so overwhelming as to give him the need to shield his sight from harm.
He didn't understand. Why had this happened? Why, suddenly, was he able to see the very fibers of magic that enveloped the grounds of Hogwarts? A shock wave of pain laced through his head, and Harry thought no more of magic and the phantasm of his new sight. He struggled to his feet, calling with all haste to his Sendings, hoping they would arrive to heed his calls before he could no longer voice his requests. And thankful was he when they appeared by his side, seemingly there all along, shielded from his view. Without any further directions, they gathered his tense form within their arms and crossed the grounds of Hogwarts, entering into the corridors that lead to his room. Harry struggled against their hold, damned that he would let them carry him to his room without his help. Again flashes of green glazed over his sight, black creeping at the boundaries of his vision, fighting against his will to stay alert. And yet, fighting as he may, Harry was once again whisked off into the world he could not remember, falling limp in the arms of his magiced Sendings.
/The girl whose name Harry could not recall walked to stand in front of him: his dream like a reality. Before his eyes, in the dark of the room he lay bound in, three more figures appeared from behind the fog's concealment, revealing themselves to be the others he should know. He went to turn from her, her eyes boring into his own; realizations that he could not leave her swarming his conscious. But they did not stay to help him. No. They too disappeared into the gray haze, calling softly for him to follow; his body moving without his command. For those he knew now, once had been the minds that led the Elven Race against the onslot of the coarse Dark's. The Dark Lords of old were shunned by their light, their fight the one that gave birth to Harry. Hundred years fold, and still the souls of those who fought the war of the Ages of Old, battle the evil in this time. How long they would stir was untold, yet though he knew not how, Harry recognized the leaders of his born time. The brunette, she was the Lady Helkaoreiel, brilliant in tactics, yet her downfall the love she possessed, and Harry could see the fierce brain of the once Priestess trying to prevail against the soul of the girl, Hermione, it was trapped in. Her love had lead her astray in the night, into the lands of the Dead and Ever Watchful, seizing her live in their grasp and wringing it until she was no more a devoted worshipper of her God, but a drawn puppet, an empty shell.
The Dragon Maegcair was fighting against the Golden Dragon, once enemy of Harry in his innocent childhood times. His was closest to winning against the new soul, their minds too alike for them to be separate for long. Yet the Gods feared for this binding, for Maegcair's hate was great, and the Dragon was still too innocent to take on the burden of Blood Lust that Maegcair's soul possessed. Maegcair was the last to die during the Final Battle, yet drove his sword into the enemy's leader did he, yet kill him did he not. Tidings were not all well for war, for if Maegcair awoke, Harry would be pulled into a world of greater darkness and fear. But just a moment, how Fate tried not to think of it, Maegcair would free Harry. He, himself would grow out of the dark that threatened to spill from his heart, a new life of love blossoming forth to replace all. But as beautiful as all could see it being, Harry deserved not to fall into a greater web. For once the war was over, Maegcair's soul would rest forever, him gone from Harry's life, the darkness rising to completely overwhelm him.
Yet how simple it seemed to let these Ancients control the bodies of the new, for they would quickly strike against Voldemort for once and for all, ridding the world of his reign. Yet it could not be so. For that was their downfall before, their haste and malice too great to control, their darkness rising for all to feed upon...
The first to die during the Ascafalas Reign was Brilhen the Rememberancer. He was strong in spirit, prevailing against the treachery around him, his sword shining against the evils it was to cut down. And yet, his loss of love was too much to bear. His wife, his everything, and Lady Vethule, caught by the Lords' powers, was hung high above the Castle of the Pure for all to see what would become of them, brought sorrow into his once joyful heart. The darkness fed into him from then on, finally driving Brilhen insane with revenge, his blind fury easily put down by the powers at large. So much did was feared for the boy named Blaise, for he carried within him a sorrow he could not understand, his life thus far complete.
Yet, last of all, was the one Culram, who the Gods watched with a weary eye. His jealousy of the Lady Helkaoreiel's love for another spurred him into a short lived battle against his own and the enemy, his downfall the doom of them all. For Culram's temper was a legend to be known, his heritage of the Berserkers, a great advantage to their battle. His people killed mercilessly, his family grand in size and strength, yet out-casted in the eyes of the humans. For when he turned upon those around him after the Lady Helkaoreiel's death, so did his people turn upon themselves in their confusion of loyalties, decimating his clan into the wind. Ronald Weasley was under strict watch of all who had eyes not seen in his plane, who feared more for Culram to overtake Ron and shine forth, more than they feared for the coming of Maegcair.
Their battle had been the longest, yet they did not win. The evil that did cradle the world shot them down, killing their defenses until long last the four strong stood together; for Lady Helkaoreiel gave her wandering spirit to he who loved her, Culram, freeing his spirit from the burden of her loss. But her's did not heed help in the end. For she was dead, and could no longer use her power to strike against the enemy, having no strength. Culram felt it in his heart, yet he carried her with him to the very ends of his sanity, his Berserker memories showing her by his side. Brilhen was killed instantly, for he rushed head strong into the whirling winds of the evil's defenses, alone not able to fight, not united capable of bringing ruin to all. His spirit joined with those of Culram and Helkaoreiel, the three uniting themselves into a solid sphere to be wielded by Maegcair. He, who brought the songs and legends upon himself in his great heroics, fought for six days and five nights with the enemy, destroying their forces with the power of his friends in his hand. But little too late did they learn to unite themselves, and they could no longer win this battle than start over. For on the morning of the sixth day, the sun rose golden in the horizon; basking the world in light it had not seen for years. The dark fled to the caves and mines, the light hindering their souls, feeding off the shadows that lurked in their beings. In the end it was only the Dark Lords and Maegcair left. His instrument of work, the souls of his friend, was long gone, broken upon the very ground that he tread. Raised his sword to the sky did he, calling out his final battle cry, he launched himself upon the Great Leader, the lesser gods flying into the woods from his wrath. And such did the Dark Lord Helkahir stand alone among the battle field fighting Maegcair, and winning. For at the very last second, when all seemed lost and the Dark Lord struck Maegcair a deadly blow, the sun reflected off Maegcair's loyal sword, blinding the shadow eyes of Helkahir, giving strength to Maegcair to rise up and strike the Lord, before his body died and fell to the ground forever.
Yet over was it not. For all his strength, Maegcair did not kill Helkahir's spirit, only his body. And over the centuries did it fester in the dark, all seemingly lost to it's power until only fifty years ago was a child born from such a broken god forsaken womb dark enough to hold his spirit. Into the child he did go, living the boy's life until he was strong enough to conquer all, shedding the false skin of the human and making himself known. For what was once Tom Riddle, Helkahir now did rise. For he himself could not be known. And so, when all was peaceful within his changed world, Helkahir chose to rise again, known to those who dread, as Lord Voldemort.../
Harry awoke upon his bed, obscure vision gazing into the sky encrypted on his ceiling. For the second time in such a short length passed was he once again naked and in the safe haven of his bed. Around him swarmed the four of his present, past, and future, caring for him since he was left outside the painting; only then letting them open the door. He was not asleep for long, only until the tidings of his dream and foresight were passed and imprinted into his mind.
Lady Helkaoreiel...Hermione..
The Dragon Maegcair...Draco..
Culram...Ron..
Brilhen...Blaise..
What did it all mean? Harry turned to his side, away from the worried faces that looked upon him. He was confused, so confused. Was this Vision that which had been calling him to remember? That, his memories of old? But how had he known such tidings had come to pass? For he was not born until recently, regardless of his newest stature, and friends. Be as it may that they were parts to people from long ago, Harry had no part in that war, his time was now. Was it a necessity for him to know that these Ancients resided in the ones loyal to him now? Were they there to help him in the Final Battle? Would he never be free of them?
"Harry?" Hermione called. She had seen his eyes gaze lifelessly at the canopy above him, had seen him shudder under their close standings, had turned away from them. Surely he would tell them what happened? Why he was soaked and shivering? Why he was suddenly dropped outside of his room by hands they could not see? "Harry, what happened? Did you see anything?" For Hermione had listened very carefully to the words he whispered in his dreams. She knew he was having a Vision of some sorts, though it did not pain him.
"Foretell- I cannot bare such bitter sweet, as a harmonious violin weeps to her dying love, I will no more search for your truth...than known my own demise." Harry turned his head to gaze remorsefully into the eyes of Hermione. He understood what she asked of him. To entrust his secrets to her. Take his burden away. But he could not. Not with the information he now possessed. "Lady Helkaoreiel.." He reached his arm to her and gently ran his fingers along the soft skin of the young girl who's spirit was that of a warrior. How were they to be? so similar and yet so different?
"Lady..Helkoareiel?" Hermione looked to Draco for guidance. Beside her, he stood, eye's burning with a hidden fire that roared to life at the mention of that name. He ignored her curious gaze, but the fire in his eyes quickly disappeared, and he turned to Hermione confused, not understanding who the Lady may be. "Is she in trouble Harry? Does she need our help?"
Harry let out a dry laugh, coarse against his unused throat. "Help. She needing of my help, when I can no longer help myself? Yet you ask me to help her? You need no help, Hermione! Don't ask more of me, for I am afraid to tell you of what I know. Afraid to let you know."
"I don't understand, Harry. Tell me. Involve me!" Draco pulled Hermione from Harry's bedside, afraid for the glint that took over his leader's eyes. Afraid for Hermione. In that brief instant, that single moment of 'Lady Helkoareiel' being whispered from Harry's lips as his eyes flashed dangerously, delirious long enough for a ragged breath to be drawn; there was something wrong. Something inside him that stirred, his heart beat frantically as a first kiss experience, adrenaline rushing through his veins and pumping into his head. He felt a pull at his naval, traveling by floo standing by Harry's bed. For that brief amount of time, he was gone. The world had faded from sight and all he saw was his eyes dancing in his line of vision, eyes so like and different from his own; changing and yet remaining the same. Eyes identical to his own, but of another person. And then he was back. Begging himself not to loose his grip on reality, he had come back full force, jumping into his body and adjusting as if he had not grown up in it. But it hadn't really happened? Just a slight twist of his mind, wandering from his worries of Harry to something far from everything. Just a cold, perhaps? nothing of dire importance.
"Let me go this instant. Something is wrong, I can feel it. I feel..." Hermione toppled where she was held in Draco's arms, feinting to the ground. Draco felt Hermione's forehead, then looked up into Harry's eyes, narrowed in suspicion, his hand held towards Hermione, still tinted green from the released spell. It was close..so close. He had felt Hermione drifting, something pulling at a part of him as Hermione struggled to figure out what Lady Helkoareiel had to do with Harry. With herself. He had been foolish, not thinking straight as he mentioned her chosen name, careful to avoid it if she brought it up again, which his spell hastened her to forget. He wasn't quite sure or understood everything he had just seen, but what he had felt was enough to convince himself not to dare utter the Priestess's name in her presence. If ever. For names were a strong incantation, and if just whispering her name tugged at her dormant spirit, he would not risk calling upon the dead leader for risk of loosing the girl Hermione.
Life had just flipped over and resituated itself upon different grounds. When he finally understood his place in the world, his situation, his need to lead the people, it was ripped from his grasp, sending him whirling into the vortex of confusion and despair. For everything he had lived for, his pillar of strength, was broken before his eyes, stones falling to the ground to fall apart into dust, never to be rebuilt again. Such a torment as this to befall a mere human in one lifetime called for his rest of a thousand. And now this. Now it was to be revealed that he was connected to the Dark struggles of centuries before wizards were established into societies, before Purebloods caste all lowers out, before the society took on a human form, fooling themselves into thinking they were superior to mere fragile Muggles when they themselves took on the same roles of society. It was all so much. Was Lady Helkoareiel to be a burden upon his life? Another scar of a life he took, just so he may be born to save her after the lay dead? So much blood to be scattered to atone for deaths. So much blood he was loosing, his body forgoing to replenish, killing him slowly, surely.
"I've not the answer."
"Harry?" Ron looked to him, tense, watching the exchange between Harry and Hermione, Draco...
"I search an answer...but I'm not another liar." Harry sat up in bed, looking between the people in his room. "Why have you stayed here? School..you have....to go.." Harry swayed in his bed, hands gripping the sheets tight between his fingers, vision fading as his last thoughts reprimanded himself for not guarding himself and letting his defenses fall. For letting a spell hit him.
"Harry?" Ron caught his body as it fell, gently setting him down on the bed and careful not to let his skull hit the headboard. "What happened?" he turned to Blaise for answers, who looked to the open painting of the clock and snake, staring at the visitor in the doorway.
"Gentlemen, and women," Dumbledore greeted, holding the painting open, his wand pointed at Harry and coming to rest at his side. For he would never admit it, but it had taken much of his strength to sedate Harry into a comatose state. Energy drained from him that would likely be pulled into Harry's weak body, temporarily giving his body the small amount of life force needed to sustain it until he was too insubstantial to work on it's own, taking energy directed towards it again, whether it be evil or good. And such dire necessities didn't last for long, and came at a price best not to find out. As Unicorn Blood would give life from death, so would stealing the fiber of potency take away from all it seemingly helped.
"Dumbledore..but...how.." Blaise looked between the open door and the Headmasters, confusion evident on his face. They had all witnessed first hand how Harry had concealed himself from view and anyone finding him that he didn't want. Complicated spells that Hermione hadn't figured out how to remove, spells that Draco had seen in his father's books.
"I'd be happy to escort you back to your house commonrooms, if you feel you cannot make it back there on your own. I need to speak with Harry for a small while." Dumbledore dismissed them, voice calm, eyes betraying his strict command, settling on Hermione, whom he had believed to be the perfect cooperative student once, now seeing that he had mistaken her for another from the past.
They rose from their positions, Draco waking Hermione with a small charm, helping her up and walking her from the room, Blaise and Ron trailing reluctantly behind, the door slamming with such force as to make the red snake call out in anger of being jarred so. Blaise turned abruptly and pushed his hand against the painting that Draco had charmed to stay ajar no matter how forcefully closed, but it seemed that Dumbledore had been recounted with the charm and countered it, locking them from Harry; leaving him with Dumbledore. He cursed softly, recalling how the door easily opened for Eadem many times, and try as they might, the snake remained loyal to Harry and would not tell them the password, no matter how they begged. The snake that was with Harry in his room.
Dumbledore looked about the old room the teachers of Hogwart's first years had used for Boggarts and the like in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The room had aged years faster than the rest of the building, once smooth gray stone turned coarse from dust and grime, jagged and disheartening to look at; yet making Hogwart's seem all the older and stronger. Stains adorned the walls, dried mold and cobwebs hanging from the star filled ceiling, floating just above his head, taunting him with worries of them falling upon him, dragging anything from the dark ceiling upon their decent. Harry had changed it from an abandoned room to one of a home, his belongings lined about the walls and ground, desk covered with papers no doubt belonging to one of the students that had locked themselves in here. He was hard to find, brushing off Dumbledore's location spells as if swatting away a fly; just an annoyance to be easily dealt with. He had even destroyed an ancient detection device passed down through the Headmasters at a time of importance, throwing it's power back into it and overloading the magic usage; shattering it without a thought to anything else.
He walked to the glass table in the middle of the room, eyes grazing over the different books lined up; merely school texts and nothing more. Candles were lit, their golden flames casting shadows upon the covers, ghosts dancing along the bound papers. He reached down to lift one of Harry's own spell books from the floor, but found his hand unable to touch the book. Even with his subconscious at rest, Harry had still evoked a spell to preserve everything in his room from movement or harm until he lifted it, allowing any to wander with it.
He stood silent as the student in the hall tried to pry the painting open, heard the snake's voice it's displeasure with the hustle of bodies against it's frame, bodies that sought to get back into the room of their friend, bodies that ignored his request.
Eadem glanced at Dumbledore from beneath Harry's bed, unsure if it be wise to reveal himself to the aging wizard that had ordered the humans from the room and locked Harry in a spell. A powerful old wizard that would best not know he existed, increasing his chance of helping Harry to escape from his confines. Carefully, keeping to the dark floor corners and moving slowly as to not attract attention, Eadem moved to the exit, listening to the sounds of panic from outside. As he reached the door, he saw Dumbledore move to stand besides Harry, hand reaching down to hover above his elbow. It was too sudden for Eadem to register, and as he spoke the password to open the door, Dumbledore leaned his hand to touch Harry's arm, both disappearing as the four rushed into the room.
OF TIME LONG LOST
I tell a tale of time long lost
ancient back before the earths's first frost
afore winter dawned the genacide of magic
oblierating the lore of fairy tales tragic
When centaurs proud and noble warred
with dragaons, reptillian, winged, inside fired
weapons, slayers of Memnock, from hell sent forth
feeding on pure, white, blessed right and anihilating all of holy worth
Wherein draves did dwell gestating in the musky earth
in riddled cities of gold, onyx, and bone, spanning a contenent's girth
beneath savage gardens of lacivious, lavish, fragrant flowers
wherein slumbered faries of gossamer, translucnet light with mythical powers
dwelling under the original time gnarled tree of eternal oak
watcher over man, mass encased, and horborer of the seat of hope
shooting branches forth over ever vast expanses of towns afar
encasing a soul Memnock cursed, love for him in the body of this tree forever barred
so he conspires with the creatures so dwindled left of light
scheeming to conguer, to survive the erupting grotesque creatures of eternal night
being spewed forth from an oozing boil upon the land
tools of sadistic, black, scourge demons of the evil lord's hand
sluffing down into the gurgling gruel of dank bog
itself wicked soaked till corrupt, now threatening clean waters to clog
further chokeing off the distant chance of good as the victor
the alpha foe through hoards corrupt alliance vieing to be hopes desecrator
The armies are divided, well defined and true
each growing in number and strength as the last decide which to commit to
all the creatures of the land both large and small to the battle are joining
there is no turning back, the line has been crossed, no time for warnings
The army of right is smaller by far
commanded by the bravest ancestor of the first centaur
his troops hold all of his kind, some men, unicorns, faries, gnomes, elves, nymphs, and sprites
the last winged horse, birds, dogs, a lone changeling, and the high priestess of light
Memnock's evil hoards possess the rest
led by a demon born of a long enslaved virgin under diress
a bulging blight opon the earth of minataurs, hydras, dragons, Pan, Bacchi, ulf, and witches
wolves, hyenas, trolls, and human headed canine bitches
As the dawn's first light over the land shines
the two in death grips met, upon each other striveing to commit the greater crime
when it was all over only one stood and still remained
every other creature died that day, the earth with their blood is still stained
Under the mighty tree steadfastly dug in the dwarves as packs of ulf and wolf rained gnashing fangs
couragously cunning were the shrunken warriors, but the pack too imense, encircling one alone in gangs
until there was no more flesh from bone to tear
and Pan cowardness from behind a rock let hiss through the sky did flare
As it struck the massive trunk of the noble tree
flames raged upward as if to claim heven with a firey key
as the watchers soul flame licked roasted screamed
the last of the centaurs fell to catapults hurling globs of molten tar, their skins off them seething
Huge clouds of dust fogged the battle field
and ragged cries of pain echoed up through hanging mists of blood as all manner of weapons they did wield
swarms of flies soon gorged upon the mutalated corpses bloating in the heat
as the evil one stood alone eating the flesh of the downtroden meek
Now the battle is over, it's all said and done, we have only to look around to see who won
the mythical creatures of time long past did forever their future in this battle loose
but my fiend the war is just starting...
which side do you choose?
vix... rhonda enrayne (c) oct. 1997