Chapter 13: Dante
"Arrogant defiance still thrives within us all: the belief that this is not the way things should be run, the way the world needs to turn. Evil will always exist, which is why we must always fight against it, and in doing so balance the equation. Truth does exist, there is a deeper meaning of life, and there is not one day that I shall live that I cannot fight for the oppressed. Ideology is only ideology until the world accepts it.
Beauty is within us all. People look at us and say: what? How can they be anything but animated corpses? But that is only what makes our achievements more vibrant. Light is most visible in dark places, beauty is more appreciated when it is contrasted to destruction. To me, a single rose contrasted to a sea of barren mud is more beautiful than any garden." Sidnay Ignatious Drakulya
((Now…it wont always go path 1-2, it will pick up where the last left off path wise and sometimes both paths will be the same…if that makes any sense at all…the path system is only so people don't get confused.))
DISCLAIMER: This storyline contains foul language, and violent themes. I strongly caution my readers. I will try to dilute it as much as possible, but I still advise that my readers understand it is all in the name of my overall message.
Path the Seconde: Way of the Music Maker
Though it was a beautiful day, certain darkness emanated I recall; Diagon Alley was almost empty. Voldemort had seen to that, and Mrs. Weasley was hurrying them all along with great worry on her face. She had reacted in a way I had never expected to the news that I was a vampire. Though it obviously surprised her, she seemed to feel no great worry about that. Perhaps this was Lupins influence on her; perhaps it was simply a deep-seated belief in the equality of all creatures, or perhaps a mixture of the two.
As I passed by the fork that led down Knockturn Alley, I felt a sudden…presence. Eyes boring into me although the alley appeared empty. I turned my CD player off and stopped in my tracks.
Hermione noticed I had stopped, "Sid, what's up?"
"Nothing…just…I'll meet you guys back at the pub…" I replied, and I walked down the alley ignoring her please to do otherwise: I was a good deal stronger than any human who felt that I would be easy prey.
I was able to conceal myself in shadows form the tall buildings. Occasionally I would pass by a group of huddled people who would anylyse me. I however, ignored them: if they approached me…well…it had been a long time since I had tasted fresh blood and I doubted that they would be missed. Do not get me wrong: I am not violent by nature, I am simply sick of the shit the world shoves down my throat. I was very disillusioned at this point in my life.
The sound of throbbing bass, pounding drums…rock. I stopped in my tracks and found myself facing a shop. The windows were barred, but in the window were several guitars, amps, drums… a sign proclaimed "Remedy: Music Shop and Bar". The throbbing music was coming from here. The guitars themselves were enough to peak my curiosity.
I opened the door and the noise hit me like a wall, washing over me…purifying. The lights were unbelievably dim, but the store itself seemed a mixture of guitar shop, arena and practice space. The floor was covered with guitars on stands, amps stacked on each other, drums, bass guitars, keyboards, turn tables: my head was swimming with the possibilities, the sheer…amount of instruments. I had never seen more than a few in one location. A service counter was located to the left of the door and was manned by what looked like a rather muscular gargoyle who gave me the once over before nodding his assent that I enter. In the opposite corner behind a stack of amps, a small stage had been erected, and a band was playing with great gusto, with a few people watching them.
The guitar player was…great, the drums and bass were heavy and pounding, but as my eyes fell on the singer time seemed to stop for a moment.
He looked as if he had fallen out of a video game: his face was slim and slightly pointed his hair game down in bangs around his eyes. He was wearing sunglasses, and an old beaten dark grey bomber jacket, ripped jeans, and a black t-shirt, studded belts. He was what I would have classified as, in the muggle world, may be defined as a 'hardcore' or 'screamo' kid. He was also a vampire. They all were. Vampires can immediately tell each other, as a human can distinguish a rock from a tree. He was…not handsome: beautiful; almost feminine. He was…animated: both in appearance and in motions. His skin was too white, his complexion too clear, his hair too motionless.
He was the presence I had felt. In the spotlights limelight his pale skin was almost a searing white. I felt…entranced for a moment, and even as the wave of sound crashed over me again I remained motionless.
It became very apparent however that this was not a unified band. It was an apparent jam session. I picked up a nearby guitar, a Gibson Les Paul, and stepped up on the stage. The vampires eyed me for a moment but the music didn't stop though they obviously had their misgivings. The other guitarist stood before me and without breaking the groove showed me the chords he was playing and I joined in, tentatively at first. The lyrics kept going, the groove seemed unshakable: the drums were throbbing; the lighted stage seemed to shimmer and contrasted to the dark room. At once the lyrics stopped, and the other guitars started to solo. The singer looked back at me, and I realized that this was a challenge: as two swordsmen in a duel, it was time for me to prove myself. I played rhythm for the guitarist until he began to slide back into the rhythm, before launching into my solo. Eyes turned to me, people's expressions were stunned. The notes kept pouring out of my fingers. Everyone was swaying to the motion of the song nodding heads. I could feel the power of our music building and at the climax of the solo; I ended it and began to play a more distorted version of the rhythm: the two guitars were both perfectly contrasting, and the singer began again. I had passed their test…
The spotlights came down and the lights of the room went up a bit, though it was still very dark. People turned back to their shopping, those who had walked in to listen to the music exited talking among themselves. It was as if nothing had ever happened, though for one moment it was as if…as if some sort of musical nirvana had been attained…a kind of…of black heaven (not unlike the Anime). I set the guitar aside. The other musicians were clearing away, chatting among themselves, though the singer was still standing there eying me. The contrast in life styles must have been startling for any onlookers: me the one who looked like a classical reproduction of my grandfather Count Dracula and him the image of Squall from Final Fantasy 8.
He looked a bit suspicious for a moment before extending his hand, "Dante." He said simply.
I however bowed and said, very melodramatically to emphasize my importance and title, I said, "Count Sidnay Ignatius Vladimir Alexandre Drakulya."
Several people stopped what they were doing and turned obviously surprised, Dante however stared at me for a moment, blinked and than began to laugh.
I had to crack a smile a bit surprised by his reaction, "Yah…maybe a bit too melodramatic?"
He smiled and peered over his shades, "So what shall I call you than?"
"Sid will be fine. Or Vladimir…"
Dante was still chuckling, "So, what brings the 'Count of Drakulya' to a run down dive like Knockturn alley."
"I came in search of something."
Just than a commotion at the door distracted them; Ron had just walked through the door only to be apprehended by a goblin and the gargoyle, "No Humans allowed!" hissed the gargoyle, "People might think were doing something illegal in here. You know the rules."
Sid called over form the stage, "He's fine, he's with me."
The gargoyle and goblin shrugged and allowed Ron to enter. Ron looked a little bit disoriented, whether it was being in such a foreign environment, or the general number of so called 'magical creatures'.
While all the other patrons seemed a bit wary of Ron, Ron seemed intoxicated with the environment: his face mirrored the kind of brain rebooting Sid had seen on Ron's face so many times before, and he strode over to Sid quickly, trying to take everything in at once.
"Sorry, but we're staying at…the umm… hey drums…I mean, the pub tonight…" he seemed oblivious to his present company, "Just thought you'd like to know…" and with that he went off to inspect something.
Dante smiled, "Strange people…"
"Yah well… cant live with 'em, can't live without 'em." I replied with not a hint of irony in my voice.
Dante laughed, "I think we need to sit and talk." He gestured over to another counter that ran parallel with the stage, which had been hidden partially behind a stack of amplifiers. The place obviously doubled as some kind of…well probably illegal bar at times.
I sat down next to him. I didn't even know who he was, but I felt I could tell him things. Later I learned that this was one of his vampiric powers and he had been manipulating them to make me talk. Later when we were living together he told me that…
Path the Firste: Way of the Sword
Perhaps the strangest thing about that night I met Dante, was that I knew he would somehow be a major force in my life. I wasn't sure what that impact would be: good or bad; whether he would be Yin and Yang, and I decided to cast my luck to fate, "Fate often enough will save a man if his courage holds" as the saying from Beowulf goes.
Oddly enough on that day in the…well…I'm not sure what was odder than that day, but Ron seemed equally effected: he was enraptured by the Drum sets he saw there, and as he joined us at the counter, be muttered forlornly about an old set Bill had stored in the basement at the Burrow.
Dante walked us out of the bar and down the street said little, and before we parted he said to me, "Farewell Count Sidnay Ignatious Vladimir Alexandre Drakulya. I will be on contact with you…"
I called after him a bit 'drunk' on the blood we had ingested at the pub and he simply looked over his shoulder and said, "You go to Hogwarts. Just watch the mail dumbass." And with a laugh he disappeared into the gloom.
I can summarize my last months at Hogwarts in a paragraph because they were a time in my life of little, if any progression magically, spiritually and intellectually. Moreover I was catching a lot of flak at this time: Voldemort had struck a small community North of London. It was rumored Vampires were involved, so I was branded as 'One of Them.' or 'those fucking Vimps.' Ron, Hermione and Harry tried futilely to protect me, but that didn't stop the vandalism and harassment. I tried to rise above: I woke up very early with the rising sun and would practice with my swords for hours, and go to classes, than practice again during the evening.
However when I returned to my coffin one night I found my guitar in fragments: someone had taken it and smashed it to pieces: even the pickups had been ripped out and smashed so nothing could have been saved from the guitar. I felt a loss that cannot be described in words: than again loss cannot be conveyed within words: it must be felt to be understood. Just as courage and compassion can not be described in words, unless they are felt in every bone. Musashi-san told me that in one of my visions I had frequently now. You never know being alone until you are a wolf in a pack of sheep.
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