Blindfolds on for the small children too young to keep their eyes closed.
Hands linked.
Count to ten.
I'm starting.
Tingles of electricity fill the air as my youthful voice chants out the first few syllables, quickly joined by Hermione and Ron.
Youthful magic.
Power.
Lightening, illuminating the twilight, the hour before dark.
"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clemons.
You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martins.
When will you pay me? say the bells of old Bailey.
When I am rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.
When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney.
I do not know, say the great bell of Bowe."
Sparkles in the room, fluttering under the blindfolds. Our hair stands on end.
"Here comes a candle to light you to bed...
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head."
Our voices grow stronger and louder and more forceful as we chant, over and over and then we're not alone. We keep chanting, oblivious to the raw magic we've uncovered.
Power.
We're loosening our grips and all of a sudden we're floating; here, there, nowhere, everywhere, dammit! In each others minds, and in the mind of the beast of our own creation.
The last thing I see is the moon creeping down the window, and then it's dark.
We're still floating, and there's no way back. We must face it...
That thing!
...face it in the dark. Face it's gleaming eyes and snarling fangs and bloodsoaked robes and then...
A singsong voice:
'Too late, you're gone, you can't come back.'
...silence.
(&)(&)(&)(&)(&)
"The Hour Before Dark" and "Harry Potter" aren't mine. They belong to their respective owners. I tweaked the mersong from book four a little, but I figured it wouldn't matter.
((Dedicated to Kat))