As promised, I post this upon the reception of the fifth review.If
you really want a disclaimer, refer to the first chapter. Enjoy!
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
the dim grey sands with light,
far off by furthest Rosses'
we foot it all the night,
weaving olden dances,
mingling hands and mingling glances,
till the moon has taken flight.
To and fro we leap
and chase the frothy bubbles,
while the world is full of troubles
and is anxious in its sleep.
He'd heard the crashing of those waves before. He didn't know where; it was like the dream-memory of the flying motorcycle. But Harry knew that he had heard them before tonight. The knowing was just another odd thing at the end of another odd day.
The whole week had been strange. Ever since that first letter written with emerald ink, life had turned topsy-turvy and upside-down. Uncle Vernon, the boy feared, would soon crack. Aunt Petunia wasn't much better off. Both of them knew what the letters meant as surely as he knew he'd heard these waves. As surely as he knew that he'd heard this - song?
Was song the right name for that sound? There was some sort of music in the waves and the wind and the thunder. It reminded him of a picture he'd seen above a poem in one of Dudley's neglected books. Stolen Child, it had been called. The picture had been of waves on a beach at night, and faeries dancing there. Some of them had been chasing bubbles, and the scene had looked almost... familiar. The poem had been familiar, too. He figured it was just one of those weird cases of deja vu. But tonight, with the Dursleys all asleep, and the weird music outside, he wondered.
His thoughts wandered in a different direction. Tomorrow was his birthday. At the stroke of midnight, he would be eleven years old - not that anyone cared to remember. Who would remember a skinny messy-haired boy with glasses and ugly clothes? "Happy Birthday to me," he whispered under his breath. Maybe tomorrow he'd at least get off of this island with its strange deja vu and learn about those letters. "Happy Birthday to me."
The music outside got louder. Harry was almost certain that he could hear voices now. He should have been afraid, he thought - who knew who else would be on this island? But he wasn't. The voices were even more familiar than the music was. The song that they were singing hit a chord somewhere in him. He had heard it before. Where?
Wherever it had been, he couldn't just stay here on the ground listening. His curiosity wouldn't let him. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on his head. Pushing himself up, he checked the couch - needlessly; he could hear the snores perfectly well - to make sure Dudley was asleep. Then he stood, and tiptoed over to the filthy window.
He blinked, took off his glasses, and rubbed them on his shirt. When he slid them back over his eyes, he gaped. He hadn't been imagining things after all. There, whirling in circles above the moon-washed sand, were faeries. They were about his size, and draped with shimmering clothes that looked like they'd been made out of diamonds. And they were beautiful, more so than anything he'd ever seen.
They were singing.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand,
for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Harry recognized the words, but couldn't remember when he'd listened to them. Even more than the waves and wind had done earlier, they struck a chord in him. And, he realized with a shock, they were singing to him. The faeries wanted him to come with them.
For a second, he was surprised. Then suspicion hit. Why would they want him? Nobody wanted him. He was a useless four-eyed freak that couldn't even tame his hair. He had a scar on his forehead, and wherever he went, trouble and strange things followed.
Even if it weren't for that... Faeries didn't exist. They couldn't. Magic didn't exist, and faeries were, by definition, magic. He was dreaming. Resolutely he turned, went back to his spot on the floor, and laid back down. But he did not sleep. He couldn't. And so he kept thinking, ticking down the time until midnight, doing anything to keep his mind from faeries.
Three... Two... One...
And then the door slammed open.
---
Harry stared unabashedly at the giant who called himself Hagrid. His birthday had turned out to be a surprise after all, and tomorrow he would go to Diagon Ally. But, though he rationally accepted the explanation, he still couldn't quite believe. His parents hadn't been worthless; they'd been heroes, and so was he. He was going to a school called Hogwarts, not to Stonewall. Magic was real.
That last was the one that he kept questioning, even after he'd seen Dudley with a pig's tail. Magic was real! And that meant that he wasn't a freak, and the strange things that happened around him really weren't so strange after all, and some of his dreams might have actually happened. Maybe he had been carried on a flying motorcycle. And maybe...
The waves still crashed.
Maybe, in the past, he'd come here with his parents before, or somewhere similar. Maybe he'd been on lots of trips as a baby.
Was it possible that he had, after all, heard this song before? Had he really seen faeries, heard them calling to him? Just as he could hear them now...
Hagrid was sleeping. The boy slipped his glasses on and padded to the window. The beautiful people were still there, still dancing and chasing the foaming sea-bubbles, heedless of the storm. They turned to watch him as he watched them, singing, calling. Now that he knew they were real, he couldn't believe that they meant him harm.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild,
with a faery, hand in hand,
for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
For a fleeting moment, Harry felt a wave of longing inside him. He did want to go with them, away from the Dursleys and Privet Drive. But -
But Hagrid had come. And now Harry knew that he wouldn't be staying the Dursley family, because he would be leaving for Hogwarts, where people who knew his parents would be kind to him, and where he could learn magic. Perhaps, away from Dudley's gang, he could even make some friends.
Harry turned away from the window again to his spot on the hard boards. Things were getting better. He couldn't go with the faeries right now.
But he still heard the song as he drifted off.
Review responses:
Mage Alia: My very first review for Stolen Child! -grins- Proof-reading is something I'm good at, don't worry. It's other things - like writing something over a few thousand words and finishing long stories - that I have trouble with. But this should be finished; it's only four relatively short parts. -somewhat dreamy smile- And I love faeries, too, and sometimes want to go away with them.
Goddessa39: Well, this should answer that question. Hope you enjoyed it!
Howler: -fond smile- Thanks, cub. You'll find out, now, won't you?
Arrina: Wow, sis, is it honestly that difficult for you to review? Maybe it'll be easier this time since you haven't read it in advance.
Maybe: Thanks. But I don't know if I can agree, seeing as I've never read your stuff. Do you have an account with some stuff I could go through?
Okay, all, I think this time I want to be a tad ambitious. Let's see: ten days or seven reviews this time, I think!