Prologue - The Awakening
Towering trees holding back the sun, small critters whimpering in their burrows, and paths laden with leaves traversing the maze of bark behemoths, the silence of the forest is almost deafening.
Crunch!
The sound of heavy boots crushing leaves disturbs the tranquility, a slender figure dashes through the maze, its cloak flapping wildly in the strange wind conjured from nowhere. The sound of its heavy boots pounding on the path sends shockwaves through the forest, sending critters scurrying for cover. The figure has an air of strangeness about it, something that nature herself fears.
The figure quickened its pace.
I must reach the clearing; that is my only hope.
Ahead was a bright clearing, free from the strangling embrace of the huge tress. The clearing floods the surrounding forest with light; it cast a set of shadows across the figure's course.
There it is. I've almost made it.
With a final burst of speed, the figure stepped into the clearing and was immersed in the silvery light. The change of scenery seemed to have relaxed the figure because it slowed to a walk and pulled back its hood, revealing a woman with silky blonde hair. Her icy blue eyes shone brightly in the moonlight, offsetting her dark skin.
Not wanting to linger any longer, she moved swiftly to the center, avoiding certain rocks while moving others. Reaching the center, she began to chant, her voice escaping as hisses. The ground around her began to glow a blazing emerald. Circles formed, connecting the meticulously placed stones. Her hisses grew in intensity, beads of sweat formed on her brow, dripping into her eyes, stinging them, but she did not move. Her hissing reached its apex as she called forth a magical wind to encompass her where she stood.
"Almost there, concentrate, don't break the circles, the ritual is almost complete, he will be safe."
A freeze descended over the clearing, frosting over the foliage. A sense of dread came over the woman.
Not now, not when I'm so close.
The shadows of the forest slithered over the clearing, blocking the light of the moon, encompassing the clearing in semi-darkness as the magical winds slowly died. Out of the forest, another figure appeared, slowly gliding towards the woman.
"Let me be! I do not have what you are looking for!"
The dark figure chuckled. "We shall see."
The dark figure soared into the sky, somersaulted, then plunged down at the woman. She froze knowing it was the end.
Be safe my son, I'm sorry I could not protect you.
The figure collided with her, filling her body with its essence. Everything went black. The pain was unbearable. She did the only thing that she could do… she screamed, a scream of pure agony.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
As the sun rose, the tranquility of Number Eight Privet Drive was shattered. The screams of an eleven-year-old boy echoed through the small townhouse.
He shot straight up, his body dripping with sweat. Clambering off his sawdust mattress, which was hard as a board from long wear, the boy found his way to the sink and mirror. He clasped his hand around the edges of the cold ceramic sink and stared at his reflection. What stared back was a gaunt human being. His normally icy blue eyes were dull and void of life. His silky silver hair was lackluster and limp. His skin was sickly pale. The boy proceeded to wash his face in the ice-cold water that poured from the rusty tap. The intense cold against his pale complexion turned his face a blistering red.
This was the usual morning routine: have the same recurring nightmare, wake up screaming, wash your face and wait for stepfather to yell.
"I have about three minutes," the boy said collapsing on the bed. His dull blue eyes, hidden behind limp silver hair, darted from one side of the ceiling to the next as he thought over his most recent nightmare.
"Now that was different," he said turning to rest on his side. "The woman never made it to the clearing before, the figure would always jump her before she got a chance."
Shortly after his nightmare began on his tenth birthday, the boy had been keeping a dream journal to try to decipher their meanings. He reached under his bed and pulled a large book. "The Big Book of Dreams and What They Mean," he read before opening it.
He'd read about every symbol in his nightmare, but as a whole, it still didn't fit together. The woman was trying to escape from the dark figure – of that he was sure. The book suggested all sorts of wacky symbolism; the woman was comfort, the darkness a 'fear of the unknown' and the ripping apart – abuse. Perhaps the clearing would add a new piece to his puzzle. He found an entry for "forest clearing" and read aloud: "When seen from within darkness…can mean hope or desire for change…when reached in pursuit…finding your destiny." His eyes became downcast as he read that line.
Ever since mom died, that is all I have wanted - change.
His mother had died of cancer just before his tenth birthday and, since then; his stepfather had blamed her death on the boy even though his stepfather knew he could not have caused it.
A tear formed in the corner of his eye and, though he tried to prevent its escape, it trickled out, etching a light streak on his cheek before collecting on his pillow.
"Why did she have to go? Why did she have to leave me? Why did…."
"BOY, GET DOWN HERE NOW!" bellowed the voice of his stepfather, Bart, from downstairs.
The boy quickly jumped out of his bed, wiped his tears, and threw on one of his makeshift shirts. It was actually a pillowcase with the sides cut out and a hole in the top for his head. He stumbled into his only pair of jeans, some hand-me-downs from his stepbrother, Nick, that were two sizes too big.
After throwing his clothes on, he dashed out of his room, down the stairs, into the kitchen and slammed right into Bart. Bart, who was a professional body builder, was short and very muscular.
"Whoa there little doggie, don't want to cause any accidents now do we," joked Nick in a fake American western movie drawl.
Nick was surprisingly tall coming from a father who was so short. He had short brown hair that refused to stay neat, not that he ever combed it. His eyes were dark brown with green flecks. Nick's body was well toned. Hoping to be like his father, Nick was training to be a bodybuilder.
"Good one, Nick," said a voice from the opposite side of the room.
"Yeah, he is like a little doggie. Always so clumsy," said a second voice coming from the same place as the first.
The voices belonged to his twin stepsisters, Agatha and June. As identical twins, they shared everything. They had long blonde hair, soft blue eyes and velvety soft skin. They both strived to become models like their Aunt, who was one of the top models in England.
"ENOUGH!" boomed Bart.
The boy backed out of Bart's chest and slowly raised his head to meet Bart's furious eyes.
"Where have you been, boy?" he said, spitting out the last word.
"I was… in my room," the boy muttered, trying not to give Bart any reason to get any angrier than he already was.
"I was supposed to be out at seven o'clock, but thanks to you, I am late for my appointment," he spat.
"I'm sorry, sir. I was… thinking of a dream I had last night," the boy stuttered, suddenly becoming very interested in his feet.
"A dream, A DREAM!" Bart screamed before grabbing the boy by the back of his shirt and carrying him back up to the boy's room.
"OHHH! You're going to get it now," called Nick.
"About time. Do you think Dad will kick him out?" asked June.
"I hope so. We could really use that room," Agatha replied.
Bart kicked the door open, threw the boy to the floor, and whipped off his belt. Sage curled up and braced himself for the first blow.
THWACK!
The black of the belt reminded him of a plunging dark figure.
THWACK!
The ground around the boy began to glow a blazing emerald.
THWACK!
Magical winds encompassed the boy where he lay.
Bart raised the leather high over his head, poised to deliver another painful blow to his sorry excuse of a stepson, when he caught the boy's eyes ablaze with a fire that Bart thought he had extinguished long ago. He was frozen mid-swing.
The boy began to hiss like a snake, as he stood, before bringing his right arm back and clenching his fist.
"You wouldn't dare," Bart spat.
The boy did not answer in words; instead, he thrust his fist into Bart's stomach causing the man to drop the belt and cradle his stomach.
A broad smile crossed the boy's face: he had done it.
"Don't celebrate yet," Bart retorted, whipping his leg out and kicking the boy in his side sending the boy skidding across the floor and smashing into the wall, blood trickling from the boy's mouth. Bart finally got the double satisfaction of hearing some ribs crack and the boy gasp in pain.
Picking up his instrument of discipline, Bart continued his assault. The belt cut through the boy's thin shirt and tore at his skin as if being ripped apart. Bart stopped after few more minutes.
"Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite," Bart said coldly as he slammed the door behind him, causing some plaster from the ceiling to fall on the floor.
The boy lay there on the floor whispering "Why, Why…" until he slipped into unconsciousness.
Crunch!
His nightmare began again. The slender figure, which the boy knew was a woman, dashed through the maze of dark trees. Her cloak flapped wildly in a strange wind as she raced to the clearing in her heavy boots.
The figure quickened its pace.
I must reach the clearing; that is my only hope.
With a final burst of speed, the figure stepped into the clearing and was immersed in the silver light.
She began the ritual again.
The ritual is almost complete he will be safe.
A freeze descended over the clearing, frosting over the foliage. A sense of dread came over the woman; however, a broad smile encompassed her face.
He's too late.
The shadows of the forest slithered over the clearing, blocking the light of the moon, encompassing the clearing in semi-darkness. Out of the forest, another figure appeared, slowly gliding towards the woman.
"You have arrived too late, my task is complete."
The figure chuckled, "We shall see."
The figure soared into the sky, somersaulted, then plunged downwards at the woman. The woman converted into a battle-ready stance.
This is for you my son.
The figure collided with her, filling her body with its essence. Everything went black. The pain was unbearable but she did not scream. She would not give the dark figure the pleasure of hearing her scream. Instead, she bellowed a war cry of pure primitive instinct and lashed back in enraged defense.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Instead of waking up everything went white. The boy was floating in a sea of white as peaceful as ever.
"So this is what heaven is like… it's nice," he mumbled before drifting off to the first dreamless sleep in one year.
Level three of the Ministry of Magic is home to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The heavy oak door entrance opens into a cluttered, open area divided into cubicles buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos zoom in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on one of the cubicles reads: Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.
There are many witches and wizards in this squad but one stands above the rest -- Brendan Ashford. Ashford is a tall man with graying black hair. He has dark brown eyes under black bushy eyebrows. Ashford has been working for the Ministry for fifteen years and he has been on the Reversal Squad for seven of those years, earning him the Head position.
Ashford was currently working on his latest mission report. He had only just returned from an incident in London involving three Muggle children and a teen wizard. Anyone who had worked with Ashford for more than a week could tell you that he was a very outspoken person.
"Such carelessness. And where were the parents? They were harassing a Muggle shop owner for not accepting Knuts. The state of the nation I tell you, the state of the nation," he muttered to nobody in particular.
The casual atmosphere was shattered by an alarm sounding. The blaring could be heard from anywhere in the Ministry.
"What in the blazes is going on?" Ashford shouted, though unable to top the alarm. "Someone turn that thing off!"
As if on command, the alarm went silent.
"What happened, why did the Navy alarm sound?" Ashford questioned.
"I don't know sir. Do you think it's You-Know-Who?" a new recruit asked.
"Don't be ridiculous Recruit. You-Know-Who is dead. Gone forever. It's probably a false alarm."
"I don't think so sir, look at this," said another squad member, handing Ashford a piece of parchment.
Ashford examined the parchment, his eyes widening to the size of food dishes as he finished.
This can't be. A magical power output of 72.6 ALMODS on Privet Drive. That's… that's unheard of! The highest output to date, Sirius Black's blast that killed twelve Muggles, was only 48.2 ALMODS. The level of destruction must be catastrophic!
"I never new MODS went that high," said the squad member, Watson was his name.
"What are MODS?" asked the clueless recruit.
"MODS is short for ALMODS, the Artemisia Lufkin Magical Output Detection Scale. Highest I've heard is 48.2 MODS," explained Watson.
Both Watson and the recruit watched Ashford struggle to comprehend what the 72.6 rating could possibly mean.
Suddenly, a thought dawned on Ashford.
I hope it's not Potter. If it is, God help us.
"All right men… and women," he added after a few mutters from the female population. "We have a Code Navy Ten on Privet Drive. This is no joke. I want all available units on the scene at once. We have to remove the residual magic quickly before it seeps into the ground. Obliviators will be on the scene already, so don't get in their way. Any questions?"
"NO SIR!" was the resounding reply.
"Alright then, MOVE OUT!" Ashford ordered.
The room immediately came to life with the shuffling of feet. Ashford returned to his desk, took out an inkbottle, quill and parchment and proceeded to scribble a quick note.
Albus,
There has been a Code Navy 10 reported on Privet Drive. I thought you might want to know since a certain ward of yours resides there.
I'll meet you in that park close by.
Regards,
B. Ashford
Folding it and sealing it within an envelope, Ashford grabbed a pinch of green powder from a small bag next to his desk.
With the envelope in hand, Ashford tossed it into a nearby fireplace, hurling the green powder after it while stating, "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts."
The note disappeared in a swirl of green flames.
The Muggle Park was alive with witches and wizards from almost every department in the Ministry. They were all running around trying to figure out what had happened.
Ashford had arrived shortly after he had sent the note to Dumbledore. His task was to set up a base of operations for the different departments to work from. So far, it seemed to be working. St. Mungos had also arrived on the scene, setting up a tent to treat any injured witch, wizard or Muggle that needed help.
The Obliviators had been working hard trying to modify the memories of the Muggles. One case had a Muggle woman attacking an Obliviator with a baseball bat for breaking into her house. Another case involved an Obliviator running away from a pack of vicious dogs that had been unleashed on him by a disgruntled resident. Fortunately, both matters were resolved with no harm coming to either man or beasts.
Ashford was at the Apparition point issuing orders and waiting for Dumbledore to arrive.
I hope no one discovers where the boy lives. Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn't share that information with me.
"Dumbledore and his secrets," Ashford mumbled.
Crack!
Ashford jumped at the sudden sound. Looking up, he saw Albus Dumbledore looking rather serious. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple coat that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes, light and bright, were not sparkling as they normally would behind his half-moon spectacles, and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.
Never seen him look so concerned before. I had better make this quick.
"Glad you could make it, Albus," Ashford greeted. "Let's get straight to business." Ashford motioned towards Privet Drive.
"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "What is the situation? You said in the letter that a Code Navy 10 was reported. At what house exactly?"
As they, both strode briskly towards ground zero, Ashford replied. "This morning at around eight o'clock, we received the report. The magical output was recorded at 72.6 ALMODS, the highest ever recorded. We believe the origin was number eight. At the moment, Obliviators have been working to modify all Muggles who witnessed the incident but it has proven difficult." They rounded a corner. "We are almost there," Ashford announced. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "The level of destruction is phenomenal. Never have I seen anything like it in all my years in the Ministry."
"What does it look like?" Dumbledore queried.
"I think it's better if I showed you," Ashford responded as they turned another corner.
The scene before them was that out of a war movie, witches, wizards and Muggles were running everywhere, trying to find loved ones or trying to keep the peace. In the center of it, all was a large crater where Number 8, 10 and 6 once stood. The houses next to 10 and 6 had severe structural damage. Parts of the roof were missing on some houses. Others only had a few broken windows. Every house on Privet Drive had been affected by whatever had happened.
Dumbledore was stunned by the devastation, his eyes widened the more he took in. Composing himself, he asked, "What do you think caused this… this disaster? It looks as if a bomb went off."
Ashford nodded. "We think that's what it was, a bomb or a hundred ton Dr. Filibuster firework. Only something like that could have produced a magical output that high."
"That would seem to be the case; however, it also seems too localized to have been a bomb or a firework," Dumbledore added allowing a miniscule smile to grace is aged face. He frowned and sniffed the air. "This seems to be a release of pure magic. Have you analyzed the magical signature of the residue?"
Ashford reached into his robe pocket and retrieved a small piece of parchment. He then handed it to Dumbledore.
"This is the results of the analysis. What puzzles me is the fact that the magical signature reads as unknown. How can there be an unknown signature when the Ministry has a complete record of every witch's, wizard's and magical creature's signature?"
Dumbledore thought for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth. "Well… it's possible for the person responsible to be a Muggle-born who has no knowledge of the wizarding world. But that then begs the question, how can a Muggle-born be so powerful?" At this point Dumbledore began to pace. "I'm not trying to discredit Muggle-borns by any means, but for one to have unleashed power of this magnitude is unheard of. Only a pureblood or maybe even a half-blood could have done this. However, no magical family around today has this kind of power. I myself can only use a minuscule amount of pure magic without causing harm to myself. I believe the last wizard to use pure magic, to its fullest, died centuries ago as well as all his descendants. Most perplexing …."
Dumbledore continued to pace, deep in thought. Ashford had learned not to interrupt Dumbledore when he began to pace.
Dumbledore's argument seems sound enough but one thing keeps nagging at me….
"Ashford, we've found something!" shouted one of the squad members. "Or, should I say, someone…."
Ashford glanced at Dumbledore who glanced back at him. The sparkle had returned to Dumbledore's eyes. Without saying a word, they both dashed towards the crater. There, on a stretcher, lay a pale, malnourished boy.
"Where did you find him?" Dumbledore asked.
"Uh…under some rubble in the center of the crater," stuttered the squad member, surprised to see Dumbledore.
"Quickly, let's get him to the medi-witches in the park," Ashford ordered.
Not letting a moment pass, Dumbledore, Ashford and 2 other squad members dashed up the path towards the park with the boy on the stretcher between them. The journey to the park was fraught with tension.
"Merlin's Beard," thought Ashford, "three Muggle families blown to bits and this kid is lying in the middle, untouched."
He stole a glance at the boy's forehead.
"No scar, it ain't Potter."
His brow creased with frustration, "How did he do this!"
Reaching the park, they quickly found their way to the medical tent.
"Thanks a lot boys," Ashford said to the two squad members. "We can take it from here." Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
"What seems to be the problem?" a nearby medi-witch asked.
"We found this boy in the middle of the crater, he needs immediate medical attention."
"Let me see then, hurry!"
The witch brandished her wand and moved it across the boy's body horizontally. Her face paled at what she saw.
"Quickly, we have to get him to St. Mungos," she ordered pushing past both Ashford and Dumbledore. She retrieved a small button from a nearby chest and placed it on the boy. "This Portkey will send him directly there. I hope we're not too late."
The boy disappeared as soon as the Portkey was set. Dumbledore and Ashford quickly left the tent and made their way to the Apparition point.
"We may be able to catch him if we hurry," Ashford suggested.
"Of course," agreed Dumbledore.
With a pop, Dumbledore disappeared.
Ashford turned to a member of his squad, "Your in charge while I'm gone, get this place cleaned up before the bloody Muggle authorities show up. Got it?"
"Yes sir!"
With a nod, Ashford was gone.